More Perils in the Kitchen

Time: three hours ago. I'd just run up the stairs ten minutes ahead of my colleague to do a quick clean up before he arrived. I chucked the junk mail in the trash, and was ambushed. They were everywhere. Floating, and from the looks of it, covered in germs. Fruit flies.

My logic was this: I hadn't noticed them before, so they must have not been flying around. They hadn't been flying around then because they hadn't been disturbed by flying junk mail. Conclusion: if I don't disturb them, they will not fly around, and my colleague who has never been to my apartment before will not know that I live in a state of filth.

I backed away from the kitchen slowly, and sure enough, when Steve buzzed ten minutes later, it was as if the fruit flies weren't there. I conveniently blocked the kitchen door and escorted him into the living room.

Time: forty minutes ago. Every speck of dust which landed on my skin seemed to me a fruit fly. I imagined them everywhere. In my hair, on my face and feet.

Google search: kill fruit flies.

Informative webpages introduced me to my enemy, told me that they are most common in the late summer months, and offered to sell me different chemicals that would rid me of the pests once and for all. I didn't have time to order over the internet. It felt like one had just landed on my foot. I needed results, and I needed them immediately.

I thought back to what I'd eaten and cooked over the last week. The most probable culprit was the middle of a canteloupe I'd had for breakfast about a week ago. Fruit. Flies. Yes, it was all becoming clear. The flies were in the trashcan. I could just locate the lid to the trash can, cover them up, and take out the whole trash in the morning.

The problem, I soon discovered, was that Chris had apparently thrown out the top to the trash can while I was on vacation. I searched every closet, corner, and top of wardrobe. I then wrote him an email asking where the lid was. In the three minutes I waited for a reply, ten imaginary fruit flies landed on my nose and crawled on my scalp.

I sat back down on the couch. Garbage bag. Cover entire trash can with garbage bag, flip, and then tie a knot really fast, trapping fruit flies and offensive garbage inside. Checked the kitchen. No garbage bags. Back to couch.

I thought of other bug methodology. Ushering them out the window. Option not valid: self greatly outnumbered by fruit fly army. Then, there's the method of trapping a bug under a cup, sliding a piece of cardboard under the cup, and then releasing the bug outside. I looked around the apartment. I had a cardboard box for moving that could possibly cover the entire trash can, but then nothing large and sturdy enough to carry it into the courtyard and release the whole swarm. Plus, I would probably receive complaints from the neighbor via the diplomatic concierge.

Then I saw it, my solution: packing tape. Genius.

I took the roll to the kitchen, and, extremely slowly and ever so gently, covered the entire top to the trash can, one strip at a time. The poor fruit flies had no idea. When I was done, I shook the trash can, hard, just to be sure of my success. No fruit flies. Victory was mine.

Rather pleased with my genius, I resolved to attack the pile of dishes I'd been ignoring for a full week. As I went for the sponge, I noticed--I kid you not--a spider web, complete with a spider. Method of attack: pot of water. When I grabbed the pot, the world's largest moth flew out from underneath and flapped against the light fixture. World's largest moths make a hell of a lot of noise. By the time I realized what it was I had already fled to the living room.

Spider and moth will wait until tomorrow. So this is what it's like to live by myself.


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PS. As I wrote the last line, email from Chris: "Under the sink?" The one place I didn't look.