No, wait, I don't think you fully got that.
OH. EM. GEE. Exclamation Point!
One of the "pleasures" of living in the hot and humid south is that we have a certain type of wildlife that thrives in all the nooks and crannies of almost every building, every tree stump, in every tangle of vines and under every rock. They go by several names: Water Bugs, Palmetto Bugs, the American Cockroach, but usually I just refer to them as the unholy bastard bugs straight from Satan's anus. I hate them with a passion that I don't think I could adequately put into words, and for your sake, I won't even try. Just imagine a series of guttural, spitty, choking noises and rude finger gestures and that will be close enough.
During the months when the air is heavy and dense and the sun is shining, these little monsters tend to stay in the nice shady spots outside, except for the ones that find a way to get inside a person's home or place of business, regardless of the amount and strength of the poison that one pays to have squirted about by professionals. They are wiley, and if I'm being truthful about what I believe, malicious and self aware.
Two nights ago, Steve and I were sitting in the living room when Steve suddenly says "What is that?" The fact that movement caught his attention while he was absorbed in whatever it was he was watching on television should tell you something. I looked up from my reading and saw what looked like a slipper scrabbling wildly near the door. It had, unfortunately, made it's way through the side of the door where the cat has shredded the weather stripping, leaving a gap. It was possibly the largest waterbug I've ever seen, and trust me, I work in an old building and have seen some shit. I sat up in my chair far enough to realize that me going after said bug was an impossibility, due to the fact that I'm certain it had the size and strength to tackle me to the ground, and so it became Steve's job to get rid of it. He did, after a fashion. I'm not sure if he killed it with the Swiffer he wielded, or if he had to hold it at gunpoint and threaten the life of its children if it didn't leave, (I was cowering in my chair and didn't see) but the mutant bug was driven out of the house and out into the night. Afterwards I liberally sprayed the doorway with a bug poison supposedly so powerful that it is only required to be applied once a year. I use it more than that, just in case, because I live in fear of rolling up on one of those bugs in my house. Our house is old, so yes, it happens occasionally.
I knew that I'd probably be seeing some of that bug's unholy brethren at some point, but I assumed that it would be in the house or in the garage. I was not expecting to find one of them in my car.
I don't think I need to state that our cars should be a good place. Sure, maybe we always run the risk of accidents when we drive them, but aside from that, the interior of our vehicles should be a haven where we can have a bit of quiet after a stressful day, where we can sing to our favorite music loudly and without shame, and where we can unabashedly eat french fries by shoving our faces directly into a greasy paper bag so that we don't get our hands messy. It should be a safe place, but now my safe space has been ruined.
When I was leaving for work, I opened the door to my car and another huge waterbug scurried around the frame of my door. I know it wasn't happy to be discovered, because I'm almost positive I heard it curse under it's breath. I stood frozen, nothing to protect myself with but my soft sided lunchbox, and wondered what to do. I kicked at it, granted not the best action since I was wearing soft toed shoes, but instead of leaping to the driveway and running towards freedom, it ran across the door frame and disappeared. It ran so fast I couldn't tell where it went! I stood there for a moment, wondering if I should just call in sick to work and torch the car to be safe, but that seemed to be a bit excessive. I still didn't want to get in the car until the bug was found, but unless I felt like disassembling the whole car, I had no choice. I started kicking the car, hoping that it would scare the little hastared out of hiding, but no giant bug emerged. I finally had to get in and go. The whole ride to work I just knew that thing would find it's way out of hiding and crawl up my pants leg. If that had happened, I'd have either wrecked the car, or there would be reports of a pantsless women screaming and running through the church parking lot (although to be fair, I'm sure that happens at least once a week in this neighborhood.)
I made it to work with no incident and parked my car in a parking spot that I hope remains so exposed to the sun that anything alive in the car will spontaneously combust, but since roaches and the like can withstand nuclear fall out, I'm not sure it will even get uncomfortable. My car is visible in the security feed, and I keep expecting to see the thing hot wire my car and drive off into the sunset.
So now, here I sit, knowing that today is a Wednesday which means I won't be getting back into the car until almost sundown, and in the shadows of the waning day, I may be getting back into a car where the disgusting vermin is hiding, waiting on me to get inside and shut the door so that it can exact it's revenge on me for my past, bug-killing actions. If my car is found empty, on the side of the road somewhere between church and home, you'll know the thing attacked and won. Don't let him get away with it!