There were nights when I felt like I was in a roach version of Dawn Of The Dead, sniping at hordes of my undead six legged adversaries. Or maybe a World War II movie. The legions of sappers (German roaches) and infantry (American roaches) assaulting my battle lines of bug bombs, chemicals, flyswatters, shoe soles, and rolled up newpapers was bad enough, but when those merciless buggers called in air support, things got ugly....
True anecdote: A co-worker and his dad used to eat at the same Chinese restaurant as my family. One day they sat down at the establishment for their usual weekly meal together. In the middle of the meal, my friend felt something crawling up his leg. It was not something small. He jumped up from the booth, encircled his knee with both hands to prevent the intruder from climbing higher up his leg, and started performing a sort of a weird one-legged stomping dance in an effort to shake the thing out of his pants leg. The other patrons of the restaurant were dumfounded until, finally, an enormous cockroach fell out of his pants leg and scurried away.
When I managed to get my roaring, honking torrents of laughter under control, I suggested he cinch up dog collars around his ankles before dining there again.
