May 19, 2010

Today I met the killer of small crawling objects, a man known as the exterminator. Not the same as the half-robotic one played by California's governor. This was just your normal every day dude carrying in his pick-up hazardous chemicals. The master of infestation, destroyer of colonies where unsuspecting creepy-crawlies hide within crevices because they can. Exterminator man didn't wear a special suit - no armor, rubber boots or silly mask. He performed his destruction using a shiny aluminum sprayer, talking to the critters while he sprayed. "How'd you get in there?" he asked the ceiling. Bug speak comes in the form of saw-dust piles, webs and strange munching sounds. All silent to the normal human, but exterminator man understood them very well, spraying wherever they silently screamed. Usually I feel for little creatures, especially the unsuspecting ones, but in the case of ones who move silently within the walls, their only calling card a pile of sawdust, my opinion changes greatly. After all, homes are for humans. I've never desired to inhabit an ant hill, only follow my strong desire to destroy those piling between sidewalk cracks.