The Toxic Circus

As I prepare to head off to the "summer camp for adults", also known as SOLO, I find that I must also deal with the incredible frustrations of subtropical pest management. One of the joys of living in south Florida is having to share one's abode with all manner of creep-leggedy whatsits, one of the favorites being the ever-gnawing, ever-pooping termite. Our entire condo building is about to be tented, and as we were given no real choice in this matter, we have no option but to get on with all the cumbersome preparations associated with this deadly carnival coming to town. Why they make the tents in such cheerful, festive colors I will never understand. The truth is that the whole process is a royal pain in the hindquarters. The tents should be striped black and white, like old-fashioned prison garb. Before the exterminators arrive, we must remove all foods (except those in non-porous containers with factory seals), all living things, including plants, any moisture-proof mattress covers (???), all valuables, and basically anything we don't want to be stolen or destroyed. The company, naturally, has you sign the standard waiver stating that they are not responsible for theft/destruction/residential armageddon, and they suggest that you might think about hiring a security guard. Why? You have to leave all the windows open. Oh, but the house is required to be locked. Oh, except you have to give them a key, and then they'll leave it somewhere when they're done. Eh... There's also a bit about detaching any and all fencing from the house, which is going to be difficult considering ours is cinder block and basically part of the foundation. The outcome of this is that they have to tent over the fencing, which means they kill all the grass and other plants in the yard. I know this because the other building got done last week, and it looks like a targeted agent orange strike. Swell. Raid and D-con make my nose bleed, so I'm glad I'll be up in New Hampshire with the hippies for a few weeks. While the alleged "residue-free" treatment is going on, I will be happily crunching granola and listening to my classmates wax poetic about gnarly climbing routes. Then I'll come home and start the arduous process of washing every fricking thing in the house, because I might be poisoned by the "residue-free" treatment if I don't. I almost prefer the termites because at least they won't creep into my nervous system late at night. Wait 'til I tell the hippies about this...