We're gonna need a bigger truck
I woke up 30 minutes after my scheduled house call. But that's ok. We exterminators can be like the cable company that way.
Except they get no cable up here.
And they know everyone.
And they recon' that Joe-Bob Bumblefuck will be around at two or whot not.
Who the hell says shit like that?
Point being, they get upset when you're not on time up here.
After my lovely hot shower, hot oatmeal breakfast, and hot coffee, I get blasted with COLD as soon as I open the door. It cuts through layers and fleece and shivers the entire body. The damn truck won't start. The pleather seats are cold even through layers and fleece. This suuuuuucks!
Up here the cel phone reception goes in and out. When the truck hits a good place, I notice that Joe-Bob, and yes, his name is Joe-Bob, Joe-Bob from Hog Island, I'm tellin' you I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, he's left me a voice mail.
"Yeah, uh, my name is Joe-Bob, and I'm tryin' ta reach Max. Where the hell are you? My wife is tired of smackin' her counters with a shoe and watchin' some nasty critters crawl around the stove when she cooks! We had a very specific appointment made and--"
Crash, scream, message cuts off.
There's not much one can do to a message like that. You look at the phone. You wonder if you're about to arrive at a crime scene. You drive on like everything is normal.
And you arrive at a house that looks like a train's been through it.
And you find Joe Bob dead under three or four feet of debris.
And you find odd tracks in some mud. Like someone made a giant pipe cleaner bug and that was what ran through the house.
And then you follow these tracks until you come to that giant pipe cleaner bug. Only, it's a giant ant.
So I'm standing in some hillbilly backyard, trash and tractor parts included, staring at a 10 foot tall ant, and suddenly all those canadian news reports jump up from my subconcious. The news said that guns don't hurt them. They spit acid. They are virtually unstoppable. And yet, I still manage to ask myself "which spray from the truck is gonna kill this?"
And somehow, I think that the matter is actually that simple. Just spray the giant ant with bug spray, and it will die. Or go away and die later. Or, just...go away.
I am not panicked until it moves. Towards me.
It makes no noise. It just moves forward. Its feet make soft squishes in the mud, like rapid fire wet sneakers. It's body passes right over me and it continues back through the hole it made in the house, then further out, ignoring the truck.
The next car, however, sizzles away after the ant vomits all over it.
The cel phone decides its hit a nice patch of reception, and chimes in a news update.
"Giant Ants Invade. US Military Unable To Stop Them, Suggests Evacuation."
Wonder what my family would say about Them now?
Except they get no cable up here.
And they know everyone.
And they recon' that Joe-Bob Bumblefuck will be around at two or whot not.
Who the hell says shit like that?
Point being, they get upset when you're not on time up here.
After my lovely hot shower, hot oatmeal breakfast, and hot coffee, I get blasted with COLD as soon as I open the door. It cuts through layers and fleece and shivers the entire body. The damn truck won't start. The pleather seats are cold even through layers and fleece. This suuuuuucks!
Up here the cel phone reception goes in and out. When the truck hits a good place, I notice that Joe-Bob, and yes, his name is Joe-Bob, Joe-Bob from Hog Island, I'm tellin' you I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, he's left me a voice mail.
"Yeah, uh, my name is Joe-Bob, and I'm tryin' ta reach Max. Where the hell are you? My wife is tired of smackin' her counters with a shoe and watchin' some nasty critters crawl around the stove when she cooks! We had a very specific appointment made and--"
Crash, scream, message cuts off.
There's not much one can do to a message like that. You look at the phone. You wonder if you're about to arrive at a crime scene. You drive on like everything is normal.
And you arrive at a house that looks like a train's been through it.
And you find Joe Bob dead under three or four feet of debris.
And you find odd tracks in some mud. Like someone made a giant pipe cleaner bug and that was what ran through the house.
And then you follow these tracks until you come to that giant pipe cleaner bug. Only, it's a giant ant.
So I'm standing in some hillbilly backyard, trash and tractor parts included, staring at a 10 foot tall ant, and suddenly all those canadian news reports jump up from my subconcious. The news said that guns don't hurt them. They spit acid. They are virtually unstoppable. And yet, I still manage to ask myself "which spray from the truck is gonna kill this?"
And somehow, I think that the matter is actually that simple. Just spray the giant ant with bug spray, and it will die. Or go away and die later. Or, just...go away.
I am not panicked until it moves. Towards me.
It makes no noise. It just moves forward. Its feet make soft squishes in the mud, like rapid fire wet sneakers. It's body passes right over me and it continues back through the hole it made in the house, then further out, ignoring the truck.
The next car, however, sizzles away after the ant vomits all over it.
The cel phone decides its hit a nice patch of reception, and chimes in a news update.
"Giant Ants Invade. US Military Unable To Stop Them, Suggests Evacuation."
Wonder what my family would say about Them now?
posted by Max Orkin at 3:26 AM
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