Friday July 29, 2005

Hm, what's my biggest irrational phobic fear? OH YEAH, THAT.

Harkening back to my Bat Story #1 (aka Stories Involving Myself and Rabbits, Kinda: see June 17 2005), most of you are aware that I have one giant, phobic, fetal-position-and-screaming-in-pain fear. Bats.

Any bats.

Big scary dogs, spiders, muggers, clowns, tight spaces, crowds of people? Girl, I got it. I can totally handle those. The one thing I cannot act rationally about, I cannot handle, I cannot ever ever face, is bats.


Yesterday, I come from the gym to the grocery store to home. I've purchased a NY Times for the reading pleasure and several biscotti for the snacking and breakfasting pleasure. My back staircase has a little nook in the basement where I always store my bike, so I unlock the back door and hoist my bike up on my shoulder in preparation of locking it up to go upstairs to indulge with the paper and a cookie.

Then, there is this flying thing in said nook. I'm thinking: ok, please let it be a bird. Birds I can handle. I've dealt with many a scared trapped-inside bird before.

Not a bird. Bat. BAT!

You'd be ever so proud: I did not immediately go fetal. I squeaked out in fear and tried to back up and open the door in the hopes that the bat would fly away into the outside. No, the bat swerves toward my head and the door, but then flies UP the stairwell, closer to my apartment. Fuck.

I'm shaking and crying and I have to lug my bike outside to lock to a pole on the street, because ain't no way I'm going back in there.

After much checking of hallways and front stairs, I make it, tearfully, up to my apartment and flop down on the couch. I eat the entire bag of biscotti I've just purchased, because I'm convinced I'm going to die soon and that I'd better not waste all this delicious food. The last thing I eat before I die can't be salad, can it?

Of course, this all happens after 5 pm, so the landlord is nowhere to be found to deal with this trauma, and the caretaker in the building is not home (is he ever?).

An hour passes, and I'm supposed to go to Smoo's to get a ride to rehearsal. I don't think I can leave the house.

I call Smoo, and as she's talking me out of the apartment, I crack the door open a tiny bit to prepare for my exit. I HEAR THE BAT SCREECHING BUT I CAN'T TELL WHERE IT IS.

Door slams shut, hysterical dry-sobs commence.

I did eventually make it outside and to rehearsal. On the way home, Smoo was an angel and volunteered to walk me to my apartment door and then check my place to verify that it was bat-free.

Yet despite all this, I'm still wound up every time I walk through the hallways; I dreamt about bats last night and at one point woke up screaming because I thought that Yitzak's tail was a bat landing on my arm.

I know that in all probability, the bat has made its way out of the building and is currently outside being a happy nature-bat. Regardless, I will never ever again use the back stairwell. This sucks, because the laundry is in the basement (via back stairs) and is so so cheap ($1/load!), and I have so many loads of clothes to wash. The laundromat is about 3x as expensive, but you know what? I think I'd rather pay $3/load for peace of mind.

If anyone is crazy and fearless and owns bat-destroying weapons and would volunteer to come over and kill this crazy flying fucker, I'd highly encourage this course of action.

No comments: