Infest Sacramento

      This week I got to experience what life must be like for the one percent, looking down from their posh penthouse suites, wondering when the angry horde might appear.

      It is usually a sign of impending inconvenience when I see a door tag hanging from my apartment door. It means someone I don't know has to come into my home for one reason or another. It's an old building, and I understand the point, but it is still inconvenient.

      Oh, this was different though. This was inconvenience on a whole new level.

A unit in your building is being treated for bed bugs.

An inspector will be checking your unit on Thursday, September 29.

      The inspection turned up no bed bugs. A few disgruntled carpet beetles, yes, but nothing else.

      In the first days of the protests, it must have been easy for the 1% to deny the reality of what was happening all around them. The long-haired, dirty people living in the park and protesting against people who have money and jobs must have been good for a laugh from the office windows.

      A few days before the inspection, I killed a small bug. I didn't recognize it, but it was a dark brown color, and tear drop shaped. It had an ugly triangular head like a tick, but it wasn't. I denied the reality of what it was.

      The Fat Cats probably got angry in the first week. Probably when their children started asking questions. It must be frightening to be the spouse or relative of one of the 1%, out in public, never knowing who recognizes you from Google searches, who is lying in wait plotting some horrid demonstration against your way of life. Protestors are forcing them to wear their wealth like a badge of shame and there is no clear remedy.

      The inspector recommended that we go through all of our items and throw out cardboard. He left glue traps for us to set out at night and told us about the treatment, an elaborate process with sketchy results. The unit next door was scheduled to be treated Friday, Oct. 7.

      The thought of an infestation of parasites feasting on my blood while I slept in the safety of my home grew into a paranoia. We started sleeping on the floor of the living room, the farthest point from the infested unit, spending twenty minutes each night moving plastic tubs making room to lie down. Even then, the thought of hungry parasites would send six-legged tingling down the inside of my arm. Day by day, I became more defeated and bed bug dread caused me to lose more sleep.

      The treatment for our unit was scheduled for Tuesday Oct. 12, a grueling twelve days after the first inspection.

      Emotionally, this process had taken a steep toll. The grinding exhaustion of constant vacuuming, cleaning, boxing and bagging wore me down. The hopelessness and inescapably of the infestation smothered me. Every dark spot on the carpet, in the sheets, or on the wall made my blood go cold. Bed bugs became the only thing on my mind.

      If the protests continue, they will drive the 1% into chaotic depression, eroding their families and their wealth. They will stop working and start spending money in every creative, useless way to strike back at the parasites. I mean protestors.

      So far, we found four bed bugs in our unit, the one I killed, a dead adult, a larva molt, and another live one that appeared in a trap the day after the next door unit was treated. Our unit was treated once and will get treated again in two weeks.

      It wasn't the parasites themselves, but rather the thought of them feeding on me, and what I had to go through that caused stress in my life. And for the 1%, the images of protestors on Facebook with signs saying “Eat the Rich” is probably enough to start a cold sweat under their black Armani suits.