cartoon bugWhen I was in my mid-20s, I lived in an apartment that had its fair share of problems: green shag carpeting, pitiful air conditioning, and a laundry room buried in a dark and scary basement next to the boiler system that ran so loud you wouldn’t hear if a murderer walked in to kill you until it was too late.

But I lived close to work and shopping, and the rent was dirt cheap. Despite the chance of being killed and no one finding my body until they had to do laundry, I couldn’t complain.

Until the summer of the thousand leggers.

Circa 1987 my apartment suffered an infestation of thousand leggers, known to entomologists as the Scutigera coleoptrata. They’re like tiny hair pieces that can move at cheetah speed.

That summer, I would find five or six of them every day in various places: on walls, in the shower, and inside appliances. No place was off-limits.

I feared I’d start finding them nuzzled up in bed with me, just waiting for me to fall asleep so they could crawl into my ear and burrow through my brain.

For the ones that were on the walls and stayed still, I’d grab a can of what had become my “go to” for instant bug death – Aqua Net hair spray. I chose this over bug spray because it wasn’t toxic to me and one long blast of it caused Scutigera coleoptrata to shrivel up and die within seconds.

I co-existed with the thousand leggers for weeks and we had a loose agreement. You don’t touch me. When I spot you, you will die. But I promise to give you a quick, merciful death. Sound good? Good.

They didn’t hold up the agreement.

I recall coming home from class one night, unlocking my apartment door, and reaching inside the hallway to turn on a light.

I felt something.

Bumpy.

Hairy.

And it moved.

The light illuminated one of meaty, leggy intruders that had parked itself on the light switch. “Evening, Kathy! Where’ve you been?”

I dropped my books and my purse, went screaming through the apartment looking for my Aqua Net, and prayed I’d find it in time for our agreed-upon merciful death.

I didn’t. When I came back to the hallway, it was long gone, free to move about the cabin, or – go tell its friends that I was home and they could begin their reign of terror into the night.

I slept with the Aqua Net.

Another day, when I pulled down the door to empty the dishwasher one fell out. On. To. My. Bare. Foot.

Primal Scream is the name of a British indie rock band from the early 80s. It’s also the sound I made when this thing landed on me. Not only did I make a sound I didn’t know I was capable of, but I jumped up and down so loudly that my downstairs neighbor came up to see about the hubbub.

“A thousand legger got me,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” said she.

We shared a moment of exasperation, then I shut the door and began a recon session, Aqua Net in hand.

Spot, spray, die. Spot, spray, die. Spot, spray, die.

This went on the rest of the summer and luckily the infestation lasted only that year.

A few years later we had bees and by then I decided enough was enough. An elderly neighbor had them too, and I learned she was allergic to bee stings. Our apartment didn’t allow pets, but she’d been grandfathered in before the new policy was enacted and didn’t want to make waves with apartment management by complaining.

I had nothing to lose, so I called the Health Department.

Bees no more.

So why have I called this story “You’ve come a long way, baby?”

Because I just saw a tiny thousand legger crawl across my kitchen floor.

They’re here.

But I let it live because someone posted on Facebook yesterday that Scutigera coleoptrata are super good at eating other insects and you want them in your house.

Lucky bastard. I just gave you merciful life.

Carry on.

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