open warfare

when you live or work on an island called manhattan, you know that there's no such thing as personal space. jostling shoulders and elbows with strangers on the sidewalk...reaching for the pole on the train, hand next to someone else's, your bag in someone's back...sharing a closet-sized studio with two other people....this is all part of the new york experience.

what makes it okay is the human aspect of it all, the feeling of making contact with someone else. you feel connected somehow to the person sitting next to you on the subway, whose skirt is draped over the seat and touching the hem of your jeans. the city is breathing and living, full of motion, and it's human.

but when a thing or creature creeps into your space, the space is suddenly and irrevocably violated. this is especially true when the sanctity of work or home is concerned. then it's time for serious all out warfare. someone recently told me about the workers at the Union Square Starbucks who went on strike because they didn't want to come into a workplace overrun with rats. and a few days ago, i went to a housewarming dinner and noticed "an open letter to bedbugs" (from craigslist's best-of) stuck on the refrigerator door. curiosity aroused, i immediately asked about it.

me: "what's this?"
friend: "read it! it describes exactly how we felt!"
me (mouth open in disbelief): "you had bedbugs?! when was this?"
friend: "a month ago. uhh, we didn't tell anyone."

and who could blame them? their ordeal sounded kafkaesque. they woke up covered with itchy bites and unable to sleep. they doused everything in alcohol, blow-dried their books, sprayed and sprayed, encased mattresses in plastic, sealed clothes in plastic bags, autoclaved what they could at the laundromat, and sprayed some more. less than a month later, they were out of their apartment in spanish harlem (or spaha as silly people like to call it) and in the comparative safety of queens, without a sign of their bloodthirsty friends.

all the same, while i was in their new apartment, i couldn't help being a little nervous. although i had meant to ask for my books back, which were on loan, i left without them. and when i went home, my problems with roaches, and now mice, seemed minor in light of what could have been. my friends were my new heroes. they had struggled, fought back valiantly against seemingly invisible (and invincible) enemies, and won. inspired, i put fresh peanut butter in the traps, barricaded my door for the night, and turned out the lights.