It Came From Behind the File Cabinet

Last night we completed our move at work up to a higher, better floor. In all honesty, if I may be allowed to toot my own horn for just a moment, it could not possibly have gone better. I am not one who's given to feeling proud of himself, but let me add that they don't teach you office relocation at conservatory, even in the master's program. I have -- erm, had! -- zero experience soliciting competitive bids from contractors, movers, furniture companies, negotiating contracts, and lining all this stuff up. Lately I've been depressed and anxiety prone because I've wondered, in all honesty, how someone as ditzy as myself was ever going to be capable of overseeing this kind of operation.

Everything went absolutely like clockwork, I could not believe it. The system I improvised for labeling furniture and new locations was flawless; the movers just put everything down exactly where I wanted it. Now all that's left is the delivery of the new furniture (next week) and the unpacking and organizing of the new space.

Also, even though I don't think anyone from work reads my blog, I have to give enormous props to my co-workers, every single one of whom pitched in and had a great attitude about the whole thing and all the inconveniences that came with it. We were completely packed and ready to go hours before the movers arrived. Stunning.

Late yesterday afternoon, I was in the file room with E., a straight guy from North Carolina, who was helping me move some of the heavier boxes. I was just reaching up to a heavy box high on top of a cabinet when I spied a long antenna twitching. "Hmm, I think there's a bug up there," I said.

Well, that's my recollection of what I said, at any rate. The official transcript probably reads, "[squeal of terror like Janet Leigh in Psycho] Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God a cockroach, a big one help a really big oh my god, it's huge helllllp!"

And it was. This sucker's body must have been four inches long, with antennas that can probably get FM stations from Samarkand. As E. came in, the antennas scuttled to the back of the box. "Hmm," he said, as he picked up a piece of cardboard and tapped the box.

The roach came back, angered I suppose, at what he (rightly) took to be a challenge. He walked boldly to the edge of the box and stared at us, antennas twitching and whirling around as he faced us down.

"Cocky little sucker," said E. I spent about the next five minutes watching E. try to thwack it with this piece of cardboard, but the roach was always one step ahead, racing over and around the sides of the box. At one point, when I thought E. had him for sure, the monster's carapace suddenly opened, and he flew into the air in my direction and landed on the opposite file cabinet.

"Okay, see, now you're just showing off," said E. His mistake was climbing up the wall and then walking across the ceiling, upside down, where E. easily swatted him to the floor. Then he raised his sneakered right foot and brought it down with a stomp that nearly damaged the tile. The roach expired in a crunchy-pop that was so loud, the deputy director down the hall shouted, "What the hell was that?"

* I had planned an additional Parsifal post for today, but since it focuses on Act III, it only seems appropriate to wait until tomorrow, Good Friday.