Some things just don't mix. Toothpaste and orange juice. Cats and dogs. Kanye West and Taylor Swift. Flying cockroaches and SUVs.
More specifically, my SUV.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
How did I end up writing a blog about a car full of cockroaches, you're probably asking. It all started with my last post. I don't TECHNICALLY compost myself, which means every time I flip the garden for a new season, I am in need of actual finished compost, despite not adding my compostables to a landfill for the last 4 years.
Go to the Charleston County Landfill, they said. You can buy bags of compost for $3, they said. You can even bring your own bucket and it's only $0.25, they said.
Ok, cool. I borrowed a bunch of buckets and headed out to the dump, feeling like a legit hippie. The woman at the gate informed me they only had the bags of compost available today. Not ideal, but ok.
I pulled around and began loading up the back of the car with sopping wet bags of compost. Bleah. The third bag I loaded into the car had several black ants creeping around on it, which was starting to push my limits of earthiness. Foreshadowing is the damnedest thing, y'all.
But I made a commitment to do better, so locally generated compost it was versus heavy bags of commercially produced compost shipped in via diesel trucks to Lowe's. Deep breath, next bag. I was doing it for the good of the planet.
The next bag landed in my trunk with an unceremonious PLOP. And then, like evil compost fairies, a swarm of tiny flying cockroaches swelled up from the depths of the bag and fluttered deep into the interior of my car.
My screams reverberated through the dump, echoed all the way to Daniel Island, and probably deafened some dolphins.
I'm trying not to swear on the blog for the sake of my parents, BUT @$*& THAT!!
No. Nope. Nein. Absolutely not. I was DONE.
Except that a car full of cockroaches - FLYING COCKROACHES - was my only way out of the dump. Oh my God, how do I end up in situations like this?
So if you happened to be driving on Saturday and saw a brunette shrieking and swatting her way down 61, you'll now understand why. Once I got home, I sucked it up and unloaded the bags of compost in the backyard (more cockroaches and some sort of insane looking black beetle thing, a lot more screaming and flailing) before grimly heading back to the trunk, flip flop brandished with determination.
Bracing for the morning drive like...
I killed four cockroaches in my car.
I have no idea where the rest of those little shit heads got off to, but driving has been an exercise in courage since then. Every tickle, every strand of hair brushing against my neck... you get the idea.