I walked past something terribly frightening on the sidewalk on the East Side yesterday. I stopped mid-stride as feelings of panic flooded my body. There's only one thing in New York City that could cause such an immediate reaction... bedbugs.
I approached a pile of trash that included a mattress covered in plastic with the words "NYC Bedbugs" scrawled across the front in black sharpie. I froze. Then, I freaked out as I imagined little bedbugs leaping from the plastic wrap onto my coat. I imagined them scurrying across the concrete and up my legs. I imagined baby bedbugs parachuting down from the scaffolding and landing in my hair. I imagined an entire colony of bedbugs celebrating the fall of their new victim.
I turned to run back, but knew I had to press forward (a real trooper). I frantically tiptoed across the pavement in an attempt to decrease my surface area in a potentially contaminated space. I sighed with relief when I made it to a self-declared "safe zone." I finally looked up and, for the first time, saw a bystander and his dog watching me.
I started to feel slightly embarrassed until he half-smiled and nodded. Oh, yeah. He understood.
