The Dirt Field

I was making breakfast the other morning before work and, in the process of preparing my toast, I pulled open a kitchen drawer to get a napkin. Something scurried across the top of the napkin and with a little brown body so lively and quick, I knew in a moment I was going to be sick. It was a roach.

Few people like roaches or enjoy finding roaches in their home. I know I’m not alone in disliking them. But my feelings run deeper, somewhere along the lines of hatred, crippling fear, and utter disgust. Finding one in my kitchen was unimaginable.

I grabbed the can of Raid and slaughtered the roach, and then cautiously removed everything from the drawer in order to disinfect every surface. I realized I needed a plastic bag in which to place all the crap, so I went to the coat closet where we keep bags. It appeared that we were out, but in pushing back the coats to find any stray bags on the floor, I saw another roach on the wall. And then I died.

In the time it took me to un-freeze from horror and get the Raid, the roach disappeared into the depths of the closet. What followed was an incredibly harrowing five minutes as I slowly pulled out each item from the closet and checked it for bugs. I know people live through wars and disease and other terrifying situations every day, but nothing can compare to the sensation of reaching into a winter boot to feel around for a roach. When the little shit failed to materialize, I was finally left with one empty closet and two folded camping chairs. It turned out that he was hiding in one of the chairs, safe until I unfolded the chair and doused half of it in gasoline followed by a lit match.

Once the roach was dead on the floor, I called my mother and had a panic attack, complete with crying and gasping. My father got on the phone and the two of them consoled me until I was calm enough to put down the Raid and put back on my clothes. Then I went to work, came home nine hours later, and emptied the entire kitchen from top to bottom to clean everything. In my mind, cleaning everything thoroughly would both prevent future visitors and remove the germs of past visitors. I transferred all open food to the refrigerator, emptied every drawer and cabinet to clean it thoroughly, and put everything in the dishwasher. On my third load of dishes, I put in parts of the espresso machine that sits on our countertop.

I’ve washed these parts in the past without incident, but in unloading the dishwasher the following morning, I discovered that the removable plastic top to the machine’s water reservoir had bent slightly from the heat of the dry cycle. This was concerning, so I decided to fix the problem. Heat caused the damage, so heat could reverse it, right? I considered the microwave, but ruled it out due to the unpredictability of microwaving solid objects. I then settled on the toaster oven. It made sense at the time – I had an EZBake Oven as a kid and that was nothing more than a toaster over into which you’d shove pieces of plastic to melt them and make them pliable.

The idea might have worked if I hadn’t gotten distracted and forgotten about the plastic. Instead, I discovered it after it had started bubbling and twisting and had to be fished out of the toaster oven with a fork.

Needless to say, it no longer works as a lid.