The Opposite of Loneliness Essays and Stories(46)
Despite the early hour, the cluttered kitchen of Larry’s Diner is somewhat dim. A stream of yellow light pours out of Tommy’s foot-long metallic flashlight as he jerks it between economy-size jars of mayonnaise to check the rest of his prelaid mousetraps. The floor is in desperate need of a mop. A sour marshy smell creeping in from the nearby lake hovers in the air and provides a fitting environment for Tommy’s somewhat nautical appearance. Tommy chooses to wear a Greek fisherman’s hat with a metal bonefish pinned to the front simply because it “feels right.” His gray curly hair crawls out from the edges of his hat, framing his face—a by-product of thousands of laugh lines. He’s tan, and he has deep-set eyes, bushy gray eyebrows, and a walrus mustache. A red, yellow, blue, and green striped sweater is visible under his black windbreaker jacket with the word BEEFEATER printed across the left breast.
Tommy’s been in the exterminating business for about forty years. “Bugs, mice, rats, squirrels, birds; you name it, I’ll kill it.” Tommy beams. “Why stop?” He shrugs. “I just love it.” Although he used to work for a pest control company in Evanston, when the building was seized by the Internal Revenue Service, he decided to start his own business with one of his coworkers, Chris O’Leary. “We split up our accounts and took everything fifty-fifty. Real nice guy, O’Leary. Starting that up was the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Tommy’s face sags out of his smile as he adds, “My partner died a few years ago, though.” Less comfortable in a serious atmosphere, Tommy quickly changes the mood. “He died of hemorrhagic pneumonia. It’s a virus, you know, so a bug finally got him back.” He grins broadly, but the smile doesn’t quite make it into his eyes.
“Hey, Tommy, I’m going to go shovel the walkway,” yells Larry from the customer section of the restaurant. “Call me if you need the key to the maintenance closet.”
“Si, se?or,” Tommy shouts back, opening up his dark green toolbox, where he keeps supplies. Holding the flashlight in his teeth, Tommy takes out a series of new Victor mousetraps and sticky paper-baiting sheets. He hums unmelodiously to himself as his rough hands open and set a mousetrap with one swift and fearless motion. “Here’s my card,” he jokes, holding out the rectangular trap and speaking in a sleazy car-salesman voice. “I run a real snappy business.” Tommy cracks up again as he opens a different compartment of the toolbox and retrieves his secret mouse bait: Slim Jims. He explains that the pungent odor and sticky texture are perfect for the traps; he laughs, “Hell, why not give those suckers high cholesterol while we’re at it?” Crawling on his hands and knees, Tommy checks under shelves and behind the giant ovens, peering wide-eyed for any signs of “black rice,” his euphemism for mouse and rat poop.
The pest control industry has changed a lot since Tommy started into it some forty years ago. “A lot of the chemicals and equipment and stuff that we use and the way we approach pest control is completely different now.” Tommy squints, peers under the giant refrigerator, and bends closer to the concrete floor. “Another little guy, Jesus! They must love Larry’s cooking,” he proclaims, leaning down to unclasp the dead gray mouse. With his purple latex surgeon’s gloves (which he finds more exciting than clear ones), Tommy examines the body of his victim with glowing eyes before plopping him into his bag. “Anyway,” he continues, “the buzzword now is IPM: Integrated Pest Management. IPM is basically a way of approaching pest control which utilizes chemical treatment as a last resort; in other words, educating people on how to seal things”—he pauses for a moment as he wipes the dried blood off the used trap—“how to do things in a more environmentally friendly manner, how to use sanitation and block holes. It’s all about not creating situations conducive to animals and insects entering into homes.”
Tommy, however, probably wouldn’t mind rodents or beetles wandering into his house. His interest in extermination harks back to a childhood fascination with bugs and the natural world. “That stuff doesn’t scare me at all. I was introduced to the outdoors at an early age and was very interested by everything. I used to collect bugs and put them in little jars.” Tommy wrinkles his mustache up and down and widens his eyes. “At summer camp my friends and I used to play with snakes. We used to catch frogs in the pond and watch the snakes eat them alive headfirst.”
Actually dealing with the creatures and doing the real grungy physical work is what Tommy loves most about his job. “When I started in the business, I worked as an exterminator for about six months and then they promoted me inside the office to do paperwork and other things. I mean, I got more money for it, but I just couldn’t take it. Some people are money driven; some aren’t.” Tommy pauses and resets the trap. “I like the satisfaction of solving people’s problems. That’s the most rewarding thing by far.”
Tommy pushes himself up onto his feet. He breathes in deeply, then exhales in a quick burst as he straightens his sailor’s hat and brings his left hand up to salute. “On to My Lai!” Tommy orders. “The enemy lies ahead!” He marches over to the maintenance closet door and sets his green toolbox down with a clank. “Hmm, hmm, hmm,” he hums, tilting his head back and forth, “door key, shmore key.” With a swift motion he flicks open the blade of a rusted Swiss Army Knife and slides it through the crack between the door and wall. “Voilà,” Tommy beams, and the door clicks open instantly.