The other night, I took advantage of 80-degree weather in October – going for a walk with Sarah and the boy (a.k.a. my son Grayson). Usually, we invite our friends from up the street, who also have a little man.
After a couple of laps around the block, we always end up standing in our cul-de-sac and talking. Other neighbors spill out of their homes into the evening, and it becomes one big, happy party.
Yeah, everyone just kind of unwinds from the day, sharing stories about what they ate for dinner, what home project (fiasco) their husband undertook on the weekend, which neighbor’s yard has gone to hell… You know, subdivision banter.
It always winds up being a good time. That is until the “Bug Guy” makes his appearance. This modern-day monster comes from the depths of the county municipal complex. He drives his pickup truck amidst the veil of night, pumping mystery chemicals into the air. His goal: exterminate mosquitoes. The result: dead insects and extreme fear among the mothers in our community.
Somewhere along the line, word got out you must flee when Bug Guy comes calling. At all costs, get the kids inside. For the love of God, get the kids inside. There’s no factual evidence that running away is necessary, but crazy Susan down the street said… Therefore, it must be true.
It’s quite a site to watch a half dozen women scrambling with strollers, running in all directions for safe harbor. Huh, I can only imagine how the mosquito mommies feel.
Actually, it’s better entertainment than anything on primetime television. Predictably, it always starts with the distant hum of hydraulic sprayers. One mom glances at another, as to say with her eyes: “You hear that, right?” With Bug Guy awareness now elevated, the conversation speeds up a bit.
The rumble of the spray truck makes its way around the bend and cruises along one block over. At this point, someone officially declares, “The bug guy’s spraying.” As if no one else heard his 15-year-old, V-8 engine struggling to maintain 20 mph.
“O.K., well we’ll stop by tomorrow…” Suddenly, the flashing lights atop the truck become visible, throwing orange shadows on the homes at the cul-de-sac’s entrance. Let the mayhem begin.
No more niceties. Mommies with kid walkers grab tiny arms and make a mad dash toward their respective garages. Others sling strollers around, baby heads swaying and bobbing. Utter chaos. Someone yells at a husband for lagging behind, “What’s wrong with you – come on!”
People who haven’t run in years suddenly try to do so without looking like complete fools. There’s not a lot of grace, just winded gasps. The excitement ends with the simultaneous closing of garage doors.
Back in the day (before kids), Bug Guy never posed a threat. Hey, I even remember standing outside with my friend and waving to him. We breathed in, drank beer, laughed – all the while Bug Guy sprayed to his hearts content. Nothing’s wrong with me. Now my friend, that’s a different story. He’s grown a small toe on his elbow.
Happy Halloween!
Steve and the staff at Bon’s Eye
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