Bedbugs!

by Sally Jack
Recently we were enjoying a breakfast buffet in the sunroom of a motel in New Mexico, when a truck pulled into the parking lot and backed up near the window. “Orkin,’ it said. ‘Pests, mosquitoes, termites, and cockroaches,’ followed by the ominous ‘and more,’ (meaning bedbugs, which no one ever talks about). I started to itch, just thinking about it.
It reminded me of another day in another motel when we took our daughter to her first year of college. The whole take-a-child-to-college routine is bittersweet; it’s also expensive, so when a friend of a friend offered us a discount at a certain college town motel, we took the offer.
When I woke up in that certain motel that morning and remembered why we were there, I felt sad. Maybe if I fluffed up the pillow and went back to sleep, I wouldn’t have to say goodbye. I picked up the pillow, and then stared at the mattress underneath it where a whole pile of bugs had apparently spent the night. What? My newly awakened mind said, “What?!”
I quickly put the pillow down. I must be dreaming. I lifted the pillow again—no, not dreaming—the bugs were still there. I dropped the pillow, ran into the bathroom and shouted over the noise of the shower and steam, “Derryl, there are bugs under my pillow!”
“What?” he shouted back, ears full of soap.
“Bugs! Under my pillow!!”
“What kind?”
I don’t know.” I went back to look and stopped, transfixed with fascinated horror. While our two daughters slept blissfully unware, bugs crawled all over them, up and down their arms, across their cheeks and foreheads, over their eyelids, through their eyelashes.
It was one of those could’ve - should’ve - would’ve moments. I could have taken a picture. I should have woken them up. I would have called the police, or the fire department, or the motel office, or my mother. Unfortunately, the only thought running through my mind was that idiotic camp song our Boy Scouts used to sing with delighted glee: “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout . . .”
It was mesmerizing, watching bugs playing cards on our girls’ cute little snouts. Big red bugs, little red bugs, Why were they red? I jolted out of my trancelike state as it dawned on me.
“BEDBUGS!” I shouted.
“Wake up girls, we have bedbugs!!” I yanked the bedding off of them. Everything scattered, bugs, girls, and blankets.
We discovered that bedbugs can disappear into mattresses, cracks, woodwork and hidey-holes in three seconds flat.
We all took showers. We scrubbed our hair two and three times, just to make sure. We reported it to the motel office. But we didn’t have any pictures to prove it, and we didn’t get our money back, either.
As we pulled away from the motel, we could hear the boss scolding his employee, “What did I tell you?! Air out mattress! Air out mattress in sun! Now we lose rich customers!”
We couldn’t see any bites, but they had to be there, because we itched a-plenty. Our scalps itched. Our arms itched. Our very thoughts itched. We scratched while we toured the college campus. We scratched while we shopped and filled our daughter’s refrigerator with groceries. When it was time for us to go, our daughter stood in front of her apartment crying and scratching. And we drove away, crying and scratching. This day was hard enough without providing free lunch for a horde of miniature Draculas.
Three days later, the bites started popping out. Our daughter called home. “I have itchy red spots in a straight line all the way up my arms. Is it the measles?” “Nope,” I said, “just bedbug bites.” And all of us were covered with them.
But the saga didn’t end there. The little vampires had climbed into our suitcases and nestled into my favorite blanket, which I had taken with me on the trip; we had unwittingly brought them home with us. In the end we had to throw away all of our pillows, my beloved blanket, and our new couch. By Christmas time we had to admit that we probably still had bedbugs in our own mattress.
We were reluctant to call the pest control guy. The Monticello Telegraph was alive and well. If one of those trucks pulled up in front of our house, by nightfall everyone in town would know it. So I went to the pharmacy and looked in the area next to the lice shampoo desperately wishing they had something, anything, for bedbugs. They didn’t. I stood there so long the pharmacy tech finally asked if I needed help. “No, I’m just looking,” I replied.
“She has lice and is too embarrassed to admit it,” she whispered to the other tech.
I went home and called the pest control guy. He drove up in a truck with sides that shouted ‘Pest Control: pests, termites, cockroaches, bedbugs, and more!’ And quicker than a bedbug can disappear, the secret was out: “The Jacks have cockroaches, head lice, bedbugs, and more!”