Save Karyn

by Karyn Bosnak

  “Did you hear that?” Scott asked me while turning down the volume.

  “Yeah,” I said. A few seconds later, we heard it again.

  Scratch Scratch Scratch!

  Scott looked at me.

  “It sounds like it’s coming from inside the wall,” he said. He got up and walked over to it to listen.

  Scratch Scratch Scratch!

  “It sounds like a mouse,” he said. Huh? A mouse?

  “Oh, please don’t say that,” I said.

  New York may be famous for having a rodent problem, but so far I hadn’t had any. In fact, I’ve never had a mouse in any of my apartments. But my friend Tracy once had one that fell out of an air vent by the ceiling and got tangled in her hair while she was sleeping. Seriously. Just then we heard what sounded like little feet running across the ceiling above us.

  Trot Trot Trot!

  We immediately looked up and then looked at each other.

  “That didn’t sound like a mouse,” I said. “That sounded more like a bear or something.” I got goose bumps all over my body.

  “Maybe it’s a rat,” he said. “Seriously, I just saw a news special where there was a rat so big in a house in the Bronx that it actually took down a two-year-old and wrestled it to the floor,” Scott said.

  “Oh my gosh!” I said. “I saw one about a rat that was so big it ate a baby! It swallowed him whole, I swear!”

  “I believe you,” Scott said.

  As we continued to listen, we again heard noises in the wall….

  Scratch Scratch Scratch.

  …and again heard something run across the ceiling….

  Trot Trot Trot!

  “I’ll call the landlord tomorrow,” Scott said. And with that, we went back to watching QVC.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, as I lay in bed unable to sleep, I started to worry about my finances. I had only been unemployed now for all of one day, but I had never been in this situation in my whole life. I’ve always had a job or had a job lined up, and had never been out of work. And after all the calls I made in the past few weeks, it looked more and more like this situation was probably going to last through the month of December. Because no one, especially at television shows, seemed to be hiring in New York at that time. Before I knew it, it was 2:30 in the morning and I was still lying in bed wide awake. Just then I heard a noise come from inside my closet.

  Scratch Scratch Scratch!

  Oh no. I hoped it was just coming from inside the walls again, but then it got louder.

  Scratch Scratch Scratch!

  I quickly jumped up and stood on my bed. But since my bed was a “low bed” it only stood about six inches off the ground. So I imagined if there was in fact a mouse or a rat in my closet and he did come out to play, he’d run right out and into the bed. I needed to act quickly.

  As I stood there wondering what to do, I again heard more noises. By now I was pretty sure they weren’t coming from inside the walls. Which meant that whatever was making the noises was on the loose. And of all the places to be! My closet! Near some of my most prized possessions! As thoughts of a rodent climbing all over my clothes filled my head, I decided that I needed to do something, but since I was too afraid to do anything alone I decided to wake up Scott. With one big leap, I jumped off my bed and into the living room, thinking that if my feet touched my bedroom floor, the rodent would jump out and attack me. I then ran down the stairs and opened the door to Scott’s bedroom. It was dark and he was sleeping.

  “Scott,” I said loudly enough to wake him.

  “Uhhh,” said a groggy voice. “What?”

  “I think there’s a mouse in my closet,” I said, terrified.

  “So what? Just close the door and go to sleep,” he said.

  “I can’t. I’m afraid,” I said. “I’m not a rodent kind of girl.”

  “Well, I’m not a rodent kind of guy either, but it’s not gonna come out and get you. Go to sleep.” Go to sleep? Who was he kidding? How was I going to go to sleep on a low bed with a rodent in my closet? Aggravated and realizing that he was not going to come help me, I went back upstairs and decided to arm myself with a broom for protection.

  When I got back in my room, I saw that by now Elvis was staring intently inside the closet toward where the noise was coming from. Feeling brave, I decided to use the end of the broom to poke around by my shoes to see what would happen. Maybe I’d scare him enough to make him go back in the hole that he came out of.

  Just then, something happened. A scuffle of some sort. But I’m not sure what because I immediately closed my eyes and started jumping up and down on my bed screaming. A few seconds later, I opened them up and saw that Elvis was now by my bathroom door looking as if he was ready to pounce on something.

  “Elvis, come here,” I said frantically, trying to get him away from whatever creature happened to now be in my bathroom. He wouldn’t listen and didn’t even flinch. He just kept staring.

  “Elvis,” I yelled louder. Tears started streaming down my face because I was terrified and I didn’t want Elvis to get whatever it was. He’s my baby. He’s not a rodent eater. He sleeps with me and cuddles and stuff.

  “Elvis,” I said for a third time. Just then, another scuffle occurred and I saw something gray run from one side of the bathroom to the other. With the broom, I jumped off the bed, ran into the living room and started to scream at the top of my lungs. A few seconds later Scott walked upstairs with Veda in his arms. Both of their eyes were half closed.

  “He’s in there!” I said frantically. “In my bathroom! He’s in there!”

  “Okay. Shh, shh, shh. Settle. Just settle. It’s just a mouse. There’s no need for all the ruckus,” he said.

  “But it’s a big one. I saw it,” I continued. “Just get Elvis, please. I don’t want Elvis to get it. I don’t want him to touch it. He sleeps with me!”

  “He’s a cat, just let him get it,” Scott said.

  “No!” I screamed back. “Rodents are dirty and I don’t want him to get a disease.”

  “Okay.” He handed Veda over to me. “Hold her and give me the broom.”

  “He’s big. You’re gonna need a pistol,” I said.

  “A broom will do,” he replied.

  While Scott made his way to the bathroom to rescue the cat, I held Veda tightly in my arms. Before I knew it, he grabbed Elvis by the scruff of the neck and handed him over to me. Unable to hold both pets, I put Elvis in the front hall closet and closed the door. Scott then made his way back to the bathroom and looked inside.

  “Eww,” said Scott.

  “Eww, what?” I asked.

  “Eww, he’s big,” he answered.

  “I told you,” I said. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s hanging out in the corner kind of staring at me. Maybe I should let Veda down to get it,” he said, laughing.

  “No! That’s gross,” I said.

  “I’m kidding,” he replied.

  “Is he a mouse or a rat?” I asked.

  “Um, either a super-big mouse or a baby rat. I can’t tell.”

  “Yuck!” I yelled.

  “Okay, here goes,” he said.

  A few second later I heard the bang of the broom and a squeak, squeak, squeak noise come from the bathroom. I then heard the clatter that sounded like my $50 metal bathroom garbage can hitting the floor.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Did you get him?”

  “Umm, yeah,” said Scott from inside the bathroom. “But he’s not dead. He’s just sort of stunned. I covered him with your garbage can. I’m going to need something flat to slide underneath it so I can trap him and run him outside.”

  I opened the front closet to find something and saw that Elvis was sitting right by the door dying to get back out, not understanding why he had to be in there. “It’s for your own good,” I told him as I grabbed a large flat mirror that was leaning against the wall. I closed the door and gave it to Scott.

  Still waiting in the living room, I heard him sli
de the mirror under the garbage can. He then walked out of the bathroom, through my bedroom, holding his “trap” in between his two hands. As he made his way into the living room, he realized that he didn’t have any shoes on.

  “Oh crap,” he said. “Can I borrow your slippers?” They were white and fluffy.

  “Sure,” I said, taking them off. I put them in front of where he was standing, and he tried to wiggle his feet inside. Just then, the rodent seemed to get a burst of energy and started to move around underneath the can. Scott lost his balance a bit. Just then, I saw a big fat tail sneak out of the side of the can and for a moment I was afraid that he was going to get away. He started making noises.

  Squeak Squeak Squeak!

  “Hurry, open the front door!” Scott yelled.

  As quickly as I opened it, Scott ran outside, slippers barely on. He then put the garbage can and mirror down on the sidewalk. He’d made it! He then turned back around toward me.

  “What should I do with it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Should I just leave it here for someone to find?” he said.

  “No, you can’t do that.”

  “How about over there?” I said, pointing to a Dumpster across the street.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “good idea.” He picked up the garbage can and mirror and walked them both across the street still wearing my fluffy white slippers. He lifted up the can and dumped the rodent into the Dumpster. He then brought both back with him.

  “I don’t want those,” I said as he was walking back into the apartment with them.

  “Oh just clean them,” he said. “We might need them again.” He did have a point. I did however dispose of the slippers. With that, Scott took Veda and went back downstairs to go to sleep.

  “Now don’t wake me if you see another one,” he said on his way down. Another one? What if there was another? They always say where there’s one there’s more. And come to think of it, how did that little bugger get in? Was there a big hole in my closet? And if so, were there more living in there right now?

  I decided to seal off my bedroom and set up camp on the sofa. I got Elvis out of the closet and placed him next to me for protection and tried to go to sleep. Tried, but was unsuccessful. The next morning around 8:30, Scott came upstairs and found me sitting upward still wide awake.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I haven’t gone to sleep yet,” I said. “I’m afraid that there’s more in there.” I pointed to my room.

  “Oh, you need help,” he said. “There aren’t more in there.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because I doubt there are,” he said.

  “I’m going to mouse-proof the house today. I looked under the radiators that are against the walls, and there’s a huge gap where the floor just drops off. I’m going to go buy cement and fill them up.”

  “Do not pour cement into those holes,” he said. “Just wait until I call the landlord to see what he says.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I am going to disinfect my mouse-ridden room though and look for holes.”

  “That’s a good plan,” he replied. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  LATER THAT DAY, after I disinfected my room, Scott called to tell me that he had talked to the landlord and had told him about the rodent.

  “He asked me if we saved the body,” Scott said.

  “No he didn’t,” I said.

  “Seriously, he did,” he replied. “I just wanted to say, ‘Yeah, dude, we caught him, killed him, and then wrapped him in a bread bag and put him in the freezer.’”

  “What a weirdo,” I said.

  “When I told him that we didn’t, he tried to convince me that it was a figment of our imagination, and said that the noises we heard were probably just coming from the dishwasher. I was like, ‘We didn’t just hear it, we caught it. Let it loose. Remember?’”

  “Anyway, what’s he going to do?” I asked.

  “He’s going to hire an exterminator or something,” he answered.

  “Well, that’s good,” I said.

  That evening Scott came home, and we both continued to hear Scratch Scratch Scratch! from inside the walls and Trot Trot Trot! from inside the ceiling. I imagined that a small army of rodents lived inside the walls and were kicking back on sofas, just hanging out.

  Toward the end of the week, our landlord did show up with a guy who put poison in the walls and in the ceiling. And by the following week, a rotting corpse smell filled the apartment, signaling that the poison had indeed worked.

  How could it be that was now my life? A couple of months ago I had a job that paid six figures and was living alone in a nice apartment in Manhattan. And now I was unemployed and was living with a roommate and dead rodents in the walls in Brooklyn.

  By the time Christmas rolled around, the smell had gone away, but I still hadn’t found a job. I did however find a cheap ticket home for just $140. I had never seen a fare that low in my life. But it was still right after September 11, so I guess people weren’t too eager to fly.

  Instead of taking a cab to the airport, which would have cost me around $25 each way, I decided to take the subway to Harlem, and then transfer to a bus to the airport. It would only cost me $1.50. Before this, the closest I had ever been to Harlem was the northern part of the Central Park bike path on the day that Scott and I bought our bikes. So I didn’t really know what to expect.

  But despite my fear, Harlem wasn’t that bad. The worst thing that happened to me was that I had to wait an hour for the bus—in stiletto boots. And that was hardly Harlem’s fault. I got angry and wanted to kick some ass, but seriously whose ass was I gonna kick? No one’s.

  Just to make sure I was at the right stop, I asked a man standing next to me.

  “Excuse me?” I asked. “But am I at the right bus stop? I’m looking for the bus to the airport.”

  “Yeah, duh,” he said rudely, motioning down to the bags lying next to him. The plastic bags lying next to him.

  I wanted to say, “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize that the garbage bags at your feet were your suitcases.” But I didn’t, because he might have beat me up.

  Shortly after, the bus finally arrived and took me to the airport. With a half hour left, I got the plane and my flight took off and landed safely. When I arrived in Chicago, I put on a happy face for everyone to see. That year, my sister bought all the presents and, knowing that I didn’t have a job, didn’t even ask me to pay her back. Big sisters are good like that. I tried to remain hopeful that the job market would pick back up in January, but things weren’t looking so good. It was a different economy out there. Things weren’t the same as they used to be. I had always thought that I was okay, but now I was beginning to think that that wouldn’t be the case.

  I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR…

  Even though I didn’t exactly ring in the New Year in 2002, I was determined to start it with a bang. On Monday, January 7, I started my job search. The previous weekend, I used some of my $1,500 to buy a five-in-one fax machine/laser printer/copier/scanner and…well, I couldn’t figure out what the fifth thing was. I didn’t have much money, but in the long run it was better to invest in one of these and save myself the time and hassle of going to a Kinko’s. There wasn’t a Kinko’s anywhere near my apartment anyway. Anywho, it was an investment in my future.

  Since my big purchase, I realized that I was a bit low on funds, so I decided to stop my morning trips to Starbucks, and instead bought a pound of their coffee for $10 and made it at home. It would save me some money. And I needed to conserve as best I could.

  For a few days I worked hard on updating my resume on my trusty laptop computer, which I’d named Claire. Of all the things that I regretted charging, the laptop wasn’t one of them. It was actually one of the few smart purchases I made. I gave it the name Claire because every time I went online to find a job, a woman’s voice from MSN Internet Access said “Good mornin
g” or “Good evening” or “Good-bye.” She sounded so nice and was always so courteous, so I decided that she deserved a name. So with my updated resume, Claire and my new five-in-one, I was off to the races.

  The first thing I did every morning was play Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” for inspiration.

  I am woman, hear me roar, in numbers la ta da da da…

  Damn! How did it go?

  ’Cause I’ve heard it all before…

  Yes! That’s it!

  No one’s ever gonna keep me doo doo doo!

  Despite me not knowing the words, that Helen sure knew how to motivate.

  I started by calling everyone I knew for a job. Again. And again they all told me that their shows weren’t hiring anyone. Damn! I then called Live! with Regis & Kelly and faxed my resume to Gellman. But neither Gellman nor Reege called me back. I also called Martha Stewart Living and not only faxed my resume but also sent a hard copy on special handmade paper. I’m not kidding. I really did that. But I didn’t hear back from the Martha either. I then gave good ole Babs and the ladies at The View a ring—even after they’d snubbed me once before. When I was still in Chicago and was looking for a job in New York, I’d sent them my resume and a frozen Lou Malnati’s pizza (my favorite Chicago pizza) with a note that said, “A little slice of Chicago is coming to New York.” Yes, maybe it was a little “cheesy” (’scuze the pun) but I thought it would at least get me a return phone call. But I got nothing. Not even a thank-you note. And I didn’t get anything back this time either. Day after day I didn’t get anywhere, but I didn’t let it get me down. Every day I played it…

  You can bend blah blah blah break me…

  ’cuz it only doo doo make me

  She motivated, that Helen. Yes she did.

  I then moved on to the nighttime talk shows and sent my resume to David Letterman, Conan O’Brien and Last Call with Carson Daly. I knew they were probably a long shot, but what did I have to lose? I was funny. I was creative. I’d be an asset to any one of their staffs. But again, I got nothing. Nothing, I tell ya!