Today I was
so angry. So, so angry. Like a toxic cloud, the anger descended upon me. It was
triggered by a stupid thing, an announcement tapped on the building’s door
about a disinfection that will take place someday next week. For the
cockroaches.
It happened
so many times in the past. They came and did whatever they do and for a while
the air would choke me and then I would find dead cockroaches all over our
building, on their back, feet in the air. The survivors would try and sneak in
our apartment, to the delight of our cats, who would chase them, play with them
and then, of course, kill them.
I hate
cockroaches, just like everyone else. But, look around, so much trash
everywhere.
The first
thing you fell when you enter our building is the smell of mold, of things
rotting away in corners. Nobody knows what really lurks in our basement. People
drag their trash bags from the elevator through the lobby, leaving a wet streak
of slops. Sometimes, they throw the trash bags from a distance, missing the
trash can altogether, the litter spilling everywhere. Nobody ever cleans it. In
the summer the stench is unbearable.
Sometimes
the sewerage is clogged because people throw all kind of stuff into their
toilets, from diapers to clothes.
On the
third floor it is impossible to pass through. There is a bike there, chairs and
lots of carboard boxes. In case of a fire, a death trap. On the fourth floor, a
broken, I assume, washing machine, a couple of small tables with pots filled
with dead plants. And a heartfelt thank you to our neighbor who stopped
smoking. Congrats! Before that, he used to throw on the window the still
burning cigarette butts. Many of them landed on the roof of our car that was
parked under his window.
There is so
much filth and neglect around us.
Nothing
works. The elevator is broken almost all the time, the water doesn’t have
enough pressure to reach the upper floors. But we decided to wage a war against
cockroaches. Not for a minute to ponder and ask ourselves why do they love our
building so much. According to some tradition or other, it is forbidden to
throw bread in the bin, so people put plastic bags filled with bread on the lid
of the trash can or on the ground. It stays there until it rots. But they determined
the cockroaches are to blame. Who knew?
We decided
to kill the cockroaches. Their bodies will litter the staircase and the lobby
for many days afterwards because nobody will bother to sweep them. We’ll feel a
sense of righteousness every time we will look at them. We exterminated the
roaches, they’ll say. While, in one corner, they are already scuttling. They
would survive an atomic bomb, did you know?
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