The Great Bedbug War

Out of the many "challenges" that come with living in China, (squatties, overt racism, food, etc) the insects are the worst. During the summer, the mosquito situation is always bad. I would kill a few and then more would come to avenge their fallen brethren. I remembered reading how kings of old would place the heads of captured spies and scouts on poles at the borders of their kingdoms so for a while, I tried the same. You'd walk into my room and see a bunch of toothpicks with mosquitos. Apparently, psychological warfare doesn't go over real well with them. Other guys would showcase their kills like any other hunting trophy. "Yeah, man I'll tell you what...that one over their squished between the poster and the mystery stain....I must have swatted that sucker ten times before I got 'em. Darn frustrating..." and then the guys standing there nearby reply "Nice one, looks good. What'd you use?"

"Started with my hand but then when the hunt got tough, I switched over to Old Bessie, my 80 watt electrified tennis racket." All the guys nod in approval, save one.

"80 watt, eh? I got me one here thats 120 watt....whooooweee, mosquito flambe any day of the week. Practically gets up on its own to go kill 'em."

So now that summer is over and the season for big game mosquito hunting is almost, you think things would be ok with insects....Nope, they just tag team us.

Apparently from what I read, New York is struggling with a bit of a bed bug problem. Well like most things, China may not have had it first but darn it, if they won't try and outdo the US in it. These tiny little blood-suckers which lurk in mattresses and bedding have been spotted in massive numbers in recent years. It turns out that the popularity of bed bug infestations has only been matched by the popularity of bed bug remedies, because while waking up with tiny little bites is very trendy, it is also possibly the single most annoying non-Justin Bieber-related-thing ever.So for the past few days, I've declared war on them and documented the results and the eventual peace treaty.

Day One: Natural Remedy

I decided to start off gently, looking for non-toxic, 100-mile, fair trade ways to rid myself of my infestation. A few sites on the Internet recommended rubbing alcohol, and a couple others recommended baking soda, so I decided to mix them together in a big bowl and see what happened. There were two results from this. The first was that I didn't die, and the second was that I made a kind of whitish paste. Didn't look very useful or effective. Worried that I wasn't being thorough enough, and dimly recalling that tomato juice and club soda were also useful for some unremembered home remedies (constipation? Moon repellent? Deodorant?), I added large quantities of those to the mix, and liberally applied the whole batch to my mattress . That night I went to sleep, eager to see if my techniques had worked.

Results: 10 fresh bites

Day Two: Can of Raid

Deciding to up the ante a bit after my first failed attempt, and having adopted a new "I really hate bed bugs" mentality, I went out and got a can of Raid, a consumer-grade pesticide. Returning to my room and ignoring the instructions, I doused every part of my increasingly horrible mattress nest with the poison.

"Juuu try to maayys with me you leetle cock-a-roaches," I said, lying in bed, misremembering some Scarface dialog. "Then let me introduce you to my friend the little... uh. My leeeetle friend. That's it." I coughed myself to sleep.

Results: 6 fresh bites

Day Three: Gloves are off.

"In a way, I'm glad," I said to the mirror, as I examined my fresh wounds. "Otherwise this would have been a dull blog posting." My muscles rippled in agreement.

This time around I purchased eight cans of Raid, extra strength, giant skull and cross bones logo and applied them to everything in my apartment, including my clothes, the floor, my collection of empty plastic bottles and then all of the above again. The next morning I did actually wake without any fresh bites, which would constitute a success, but for the fact that I had slept out in the living room, terrified of killing myself by spending any time in the Vestibule of Poisoned Hell that my room had become. But after 16 hours of open windows and fresh air, I summoned up the courage to spend the night in what I thought was my own bed. (I had moved the mattress around a bit by that point, and given the amount of poison I had ingested, the mattress-identifying part of my memory was a little patchy.)

Results: 10 fresh bites.

Day Four: The Professional

"Did something die in here?" the building manager sniffed, my homemade remedies having not aged well in the previous days. The janitor didn't seem to care, just started bringing in what looked like quite lethal equipment.

"No," I said, only half-bothering to come up with a lie. "I've been tanning leather. Anyways, you said this was guaranteed to work? And get rid of them?"

"Oh my no. It may take up to three or four return trips to finally get them all," she said. "And even then, there's no guarantee."

"Well, so long as it's covered by Beida."

"It's not. Speaking of which, how are you going to pay for this?"

I quickly looked in my pockets.

"Uh....do you accept bits of string?"

Results: 10 fresh bites, 1 annoyed building manager and janitor.

Day Five: Everything Must Go!

My research had taught me that bed bugs like to hide during the day, concealing themselves in various cavities, crevices and crannies around the apartment. Adopting a scorched earth policy, I took every one of my many sheets and comforters, my carpets and all of my non-vinyl clothing, and threw it in a pile in the alley. After that, I vacuumed every square inch of the bare concrete surfaces that remained, hissing angry words at the floors and walls as I did so, the day's activities having kicked up a lot of toxic dust and residual pesticide, now lodged in my brain. That night I curled up in the bathroom, hands close to my chest, muttering something about the Weimar Republic.

Results: 4 fresh bites

Day Six: Deep Undercover

When I awoke the next day, the answer appeared to me, having been born, fully formed, in the crucible of my fevered sleep. By learning the techniques of the bed bugs, I could adapt them for my own use. I would become the enemy, then destroy them from within. I quickly made a bedbug disguise.

Realizing that bed bugs feast on blood, and after a moment's thought, I determined that the nearest source of blood could be found in my neighbor Geoff, often located in my neighbor Geoff's room. While he was in class, I let myself into his place, and quietly squirreled myself away in his closet. Following standard daytime bed bug methodology, I promptly fell asleep.

I awoke around midnight, undiscovered, and possessed with an insatiable hunger. Creeping out of the hamper, I observed my neighbor's sleeping form. Cautiously, I approached the bed, and leaning down, carefully took a bite out of his ankle.

"What the heck are you doing?" he yelled, sitting upright in bed. Not wearing his contacts, Geoff couldn't recognize me, but was able to see enough to know that a grown man came out of his closet in a bedbug suit and was chewing on his leg. This was evidently something he was angry about.

Results: 0 fresh bites (suffered) + 1 fresh bite (inflicted) + 24 punches (suffered)

Day Seven: Symbiosis.

"Dan... wake up Dan..." a voice that was many voices called out to me.

"What? Who is it?" I asked, rousing myself awake. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I realized I was lying on the bare floor of my room, surrounded by bed bugs. "What's going on here?"

"You're going insane," the bed bugs replied.

"Oh good. Do you think it's from eating nothing but poisoned food for the last week?"

"Food is tasty," the bed bugs observed. "You don't taste like food any more. We need food. Food is tasty."

I nodded. "It is." Thinking for a second, an idea came to me. "Say, bed bugs. I've just had a thought. What if I were to get you a steady supply of food?"

"Food is tasty," the bed bugs replied.

"Indeed. Here's my plan: You guys climb aboard me, and I'll give you a ride into people's rooms, and around bedding stores and such. All I ask in return is that when you're done feeding, you bring me back some Cheetos. I'm pretty sure you should be able to lift a Cheeto with a couple of you working together. That way you'll get all the food you'll need, and I'll have a never ending stream of Cheetos slowly marching towards my door. It's a classic win-win."

"Food is tasty," the bed bugs agreed, sealing the deal.

"THEN CLIMB ABOARD FRIENDS," I bellowed. "YOU SHALL SAIL THE SEAS OF GLORY, ABOARD ME, YOUR MAN-BUG SHIP OF HONOR!"

The Treaty was made, peace was observed.

Results: 0 fresh bites + 17 Cheetos (and counting)