So long, suckers!

I arrived in Walnut Creek last Wednesday. As usual, I took the BART train from SFO to Walnut Creek, then walked to my parents’ house. I was supposed to call for a lift, since night had already fallen when I got to Walnut Creek, but:

1. I don’t carry a cell phone when I travel.
2. I didn’t have any coins for the pay phone.
3. I probably had bed bugs hiding out in my clothes and didn’t want to give them a chance to migrate into the car. (To the two airplanes and the BART train: Sorry!)

Bed bugs!

I was mis-led by several factors:

1. The hostel staff said that no one else had complained about getting bitten. It’s possible that they had, but they didn’t know it, as everyone reacts differently to bed bug bites. Me, I swell and itch terribly, although I don’t stop breathing or anything so extreme.
2. The bites didn’t seem to line up very well. I had read that bed bugs typically feed in a line. I was expecting something like needle tracks, but in hindsight, one cannot expect a bed bug drunk on my blood to walk in a straight line.
3. I didn’t find any signs of bed bugs on my bed. But then, I probably didn’t look closely enough.
4. I had seen mosquitoes zipping around the room.

So I went with what I knew: mosquitoes. I apologize to the mosquitoes I maligned earlier. Sure, they also probably sampled some of the good stuff (i.e., my blood), and I don’t regret smashing them to pieces, but the bed bugs were far more prolific.

I was stupid enough to stick around that hostel for the entire time I was in Florence (9 nights!). All the while, bed bugs were feasting on me. I had little bites, bites that got infected and became the site of a pus-filled blister, bites that itched like crazy, bites on my face, bites on my fingers that made flossing tricky, bites that made my flesh swell until coins bounced off the skin, bites on my back, bites on my arms that turned into welts, bites on my legs (though not that many), one bite on each of my eyelids (at different times) that made it hard to see… Madness!

I finally caught a mature bed bug crawling eagerly toward my face late one night, while I lay in bed surfing the internet. #*%&! I pinched it with an old receipt. Although it wasn’t yet fat with my blood, the bed bug popped wetly between the folded paper, splattering gruesomely from the seething acid of my vengeance. As usual, the hostel staffer on duty was out, so I left the little package at the front desk with a note.

The next morning, after a restless night spent in an adjacent room, I moved into a different room. Why didn’t I just leave? Good question! Despite the bed bugs, I liked the place and its location near the cathedral and Galleria dell’Accademia, and the staff were nice. After the housekeeper made up the next room, I took my gear in, eager to catch some restful sleep. I flip the blanket back, revealing a bed bug slumbering on the sheet. #*%&!

I got the housekeeper and showed him. These were fresh sheets, so the bed bug had to have been underneath the mattress, then pulled up with the blanket. The housekeeper said that there shouldn’t be any bed bugs in this room, since the floor was tile, unlike the wooden floor in the other room. I was too tired to care. One more night, I told myself, and I was off to Rome anyway. Sure, I got some more bites, but what’s a dozen compared to the hundreds I’d already received?

During my six nights in Rome, I didn’t receive any more bug bites. Or did I? Honestly, it was hard to keep track. Was that itchy patch of skin sporting a new bite, or not? #*%&!

The flights back to San Francisco convinced me. I had received some new bites on my hands and left forearm. I wore my long-sleeve shirt and fleece jacket throughout the trip. My jacket was probably harboring a bed bug or two, as I hadn’t washed it in scalding water like I had my shirt. (Exposure to high heat, sustained over 120ºF kills bed bugs reliably.) #*%&!

Thus, when my mom opened the front door to greet me, I held out my arm in warning and said, “Don’t hug me!”

I went around the back, stripped, dumped my travel clothes in the washer, and then the dryer on high heat. I don’t think any bed bugs got into my gear, since the zipper seals on the PacSafe backpack are pretty tight (part of its security), but I left most things outside to bake in the sun. Fortunately, I haven’t gotten any new bites since taking those measures.

#*%&!

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