Papa Roach

The morning began like any other. I woke up a little before eight, rolled out of bed, whacked my skull on the nightstand, and resolved for the eighth day in a row to move that damn thing a few inches to the left. Then came a delicious breakfast of Honey Bunches of Oats—pardon me, “Honey & Oat Mixers with Almonds.” That’s what you call the Target knock-off version of HB of O. You think that sounds silly? How about their version of Cheerios, “Small Oat-and-Wheatish Crunch Cereal Shaped in a Form Resembling the Lowercase Version of the Letter ‘O’ ”?

But I digress. I finished up breakfast in my usual manner; I licked the bowl clean, then I licked the spoon clean, and I finished by licking clean the book I was reading. An intern can’t afford to waste food. I stumbled over to the bathroom for a hearty round of toothbrushing. As I stood in front of the sink, blinking and squinting like crazy, I saw something in the mirror…something on the floor behind me. I froze. My God, I thought, that can’t be a…

OH MY GOD A COCKROACH AAAAAARGGGHH!

I am ashamed to admit that I leapt at least five feet into the air—straight up. I swear that I nearly cracked my head on the ceiling. Dr. J has nothing on me. I then beat a strategic retreat from the bathroom. Like General Lee at Petersburg, I found myself forced to give up prime territory to the enemy. The bathroom now lay in enemy hands. Or enemy…whatever it is cockroaches have instead of hands.

Immediately, I began plotting my return. First, I reached for my cockroach gun. Then I realized I didn’t have one. This was followed by the realization that such things do not actually exist. Cut me some slack; just ten minutes before, I had been lying in bed dreaming about H.R. Haldeman. You can’t expect me to get my brain in gear that quickly. I’m not a machine!

But I pride myself on being a strategic thinker. My brain sprang into action like a big…springing…thing. I developed an ingenious strategy, based on the many years I spent playing StarCraft. First, I would build up a supply of Drones. Then, I would order one of these Drones to mutate into a Spawning Pool. The next and final step: the irresistible Zerg Rush. Again, though, this plan came to nought. As I feared, it required more Vespense gas.

Finally, I summoned up every little bit of my meager courage and decided to face my fears head-on. I grabbed approximately ten feet of paper towel, took a deep breath, and plunged forward into hostile territory. Then came something I did not expect. The cockroach moved. Specifically, it moved right towards me. I reacted by doing the “Cockroach Dance.” You take two steps to the left, two steps to the right, and a thousand steps backward while flailing your arms and squealing like a little girl.

What followed was a game of cat-and-mouse that, while hilarious in retrospect, seemed like a matter of life-and-death at the time. Yes, I know very, very, very few people are killed by cockroaches. As far as “lethal animals” go, cockroaches rank somewhere between dust mites and unicorns. Even if the cockroach escaped, it probably wasn’t going to come back later and kill me. But I didn’t want to take that chance. There’s a first time for everything. I didn’t want my obituary to begin, “DIED TODAY. Young intern at the Nixon Library, mangled to death by a cockroach in his bathroom.”

I triumphed, though, through a mix of pluck, brains, and double-ply paper towel. As I flushed by nemesis away, I felt a sense of elation, mingled with exhaustion. Victory never tasted so sweet. And so, pumped up from the battle, I prepared for another day at the office.