Mice Mice go away…

16 05 2011

or you will get your tail cut off. And your head.

So what if it doesn’t rhyme. I have another problem on my plate. A little more on the “impending doom” side of the house this time.

So I come home from a long day of school, and change into some comfy clothes. As I was putting my dirties in the hamper, I looked up (I keep my food in the closet of my hotel room….so it would be safe from rodents) and for some reason I was compelled to pick up the loaf of bread that was staring me in the face at eye-level. Maybe in the back of my mind I was questioning the expiration, or needing a little pb n j sammy before my afternoon nap, I don’t remember exactly. I open the bag and there’s a hole in the end. Like, through the bag, and parts of the heel, and parts of the first three pieces. As in eaten. As in missing & eaten, courtesy of a rude little house mouse. So, immediately I sprung into action. A retaliation was in order. This is not the type of thing I would like to hear rustling in the middle of the night. Nor do I want the little heifer oinking up any more of my food. I had just gone grocery shopping two days prior. Seriously, the gall. SO, I was off to the store to get some containers for my food, and some mouse traps. While I was there I figured I’d pick up some roach and ant traps, I hear they’ve been running this land along with the mice. It’s never a bad thing to be prepared.

So anyhow, I came home with rubbermaids in hand, traps for my new friends, and some bread that hadn’t been taken advantage of. The front desk folks finally sent over the “maintenance guys”, who showed up at my door with nothing to offer. They didn’t even come inside. All they had to say was that they were out of traps. Okay, excuse me? You are OUT of TRAPS? WTF. That can only mean one thing. This place must have been so overcome with mice that they literally were waiting for the next shipment of mice traps to come in. Jesus. Seriously. Well, thanks for coming by and helping me with nothing.

I guess it didn’t come as such a surprise considering the conversation I overheard from a fellow resident at the front desk last week. She has the same problem. Although they had ruined some of her clothes and such. Naturally, I assumed that she must be one of those individuals that lived in filth and open pizza boxes with dirty laundry strewn about. This was probably not the case, but when I hear that someone has a rodent problem, my mind goes into judgement mode. So, this is my formal apology lady, you are not a hot mess, and neither am I. These ratmice have taken us hostage. Not any longer.






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