The Most Miserable Months of My Life
This happened at my first apartment out of college. When I toured the place it was filthy, but I could tell it would be pretty sweet when cleaned up. The landlord explained that it was so messy because it had been occupied by an older man with health issues. That was understandable. The landlord assured me he’d get it cleaned up before I moved in, which sounded good to me.
Red flag number one: On move-in day it was clear that nothing had been done with the place. It took me and my poor, sweet grandma two days of scrubbing to get everything clean. After about a week, everything was looking really good. One day, however, I was putting stuff away in a cabinet and I made a disturbing discovery. I found some bed bug spray that had never been opened.
At this point, I started to get nervous, but I had been there for a week and hadn’t felt or seen any bugs, so everything should be fine, right? Wrong. What followed was the most miserable two months of my life. I was constantly fighting with the landlord over taking care of what was an increasingly worsening bed bug issue.
First, he told me he was “fumigating,” but the next day I found the same cans from Target that I had found earlier. Every night, I would go to bed crying because I could feel the bugs all over me: crawling on me, biting me, making me feel disgusting. I was a basket case on zero sleep and the landlord was doing absolutely nothing about it.
I wish I could say I sued him. I should have, but I had nothing left in the tank. I would spend my nights at the laundromat, scratching myself raw with a crazed look in my eye. I finally moved back with my parents and spent the next two months still feeling the bugs all over me, scared sick that I had carried this nightmare to their house, too.
Story credit: Reddit / baitnnswitch