Tales from the Bug Guy

By Dr. German Roach

The phone rings. On the other end, a frantic plea for help: “You were out here yesterday to treat for bugs, but I’m still seeing them. Hundreds!”
“Okay, ma’am. Like you said, we were there just one day ago. Give the treatment time to work.”
“No, you have to come today. I’m freaking out!”
“Okay, ma’am. Don’t freak out. We’ll get someone over there this afternoon.”
You get there. You find three dead roaches in the kitchen. Not hundreds.
“Ah, ma’am. Is this what you are referring to?”
“Yes.”
“They’re all dead, and I don’t see anything else moving. You realize that I can only kill them once, right?”
“I know, but you know what they say. If there’s one, there’s hundreds!”

That was an interaction with a calm person. Now magnify that by ten, twenty, even one hundred. Those are the stories you will read about in this book. The crazies we dealt with on a daily basis. I know people hate bugs—some even have serious phobias over them—but the hyperbole that comes with it is beyond anything you can imagine. People are a hoot, and this book will prove it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669842996

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 by Dr. German Roach.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/06/2022

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Preface

Chapter 1   Failure Is Not an Option

Chapter 2   War Is Hell

Chapter 3   Hi, I’m from Corporate, and I’m Here to Help

Chapter 4   This Shit Ain’t Rocket Science

Chapter 5   Apartment Communities: They Just Don’t Care

Chapter 6   You Have the Right to Remain Silent

Chapter 7   Grown Men Don’t Throw Up

Chapter 8   Bedbugs Suck. No, Really, That’s What They Do.

Chapter 9   Mean People Suck Too

Chapter 10   Property Managers: Worst Businesspeople on the Planet

Chapter 11   How the Other Half Lives

Chapter 12   Health Care Facilities: You’re Not a Name, Only a Number

Chapter 13   Do You Promise to Tell the Truth, the Whole Truth, Even If It’s Bullshit?

Chapter 14   The Food Industry: Eat at Your Own Risk

Chapter 15   Termites: Insurance Companies Won’t Even Touch Them

Chapter 16   Fleet Management: What a Pain in the Asset

Chapter 17   COVID Schomid

Chapter 18   Game, Set, and Match

Chapter 19   The Beginning of the End

Chapter 20   Postclose

Epilogue

Dedication

T o my wife. Thank you for believing in me. You have more faith in me than I have in myself. You always have. Without your blessing, none of this would have been possible. I love you with all my heart.

To my kids. You two are the reason why I work my ass off. If not for the both of you, my life would be so empty. Thanks for making me so proud. You guys are the best.

To Mom and Dad. Thanks for bringing me into the world and giving me a chance to piss people off. They deserve it, and I’m very good at it.

Acknowledgments

T o my business partner. Thanks for everything. The company wouldn’t be the same without you, and I could never have done it with someone else. I think it’s safe to say we kicked some ass.

To my good friend MP. Thanks for the idea for a book cover. It’s so much better than mine.

To our broker RH. Thanks for all the hard work. You are a true professional and damn good at what you do. I hope we stay in touch.

To our contact at DACS, Mr. DG. Thanks for your leadership and friendship. You were always tough, but fair and a true professional. Few people know their craft like you do, and we were better for having known you. Best of luck in your retirement.

To the employees that gave us your best every day. You know who you are, and we thank you for all your hard work. It will never be forgotten.

To the customers that treated us with kindness and respect. Thank you for being good, decent people. You are the reason why we were able to last as long as we did.

To the company that purchased us. Thank you for giving our guys a shot. Please take good care of the customer base we worked so hard to build. Although you won’t be using our name, there is a legacy I’d like to see live on.

To my publisher. Thank you all for making this book a reality. Your hard work and guidance were second to none, and I look forward to working with all of you again in the near future.

Preface

Y ou would think that pest control is boring work. And for the most part, it is. Or at least, should be. I mean, after all, we’re dealing with tiny little bugs. What’s all the fuss about? Sure, you get those instances where you’re thrown a challenge that may require a bit of research or thinking outside the box. But those are fun. Something different than the garden-variety pest complaint. But what makes pest control difficult, and certainly not boring, are the people. And it’s not all people. Only certain people. You know who I’m talking about. They’re called jerks.

My favorite cartoon in the funny pages of the newspaper was the eighties classic, The Far Side, by Gary Larson. He made the best single-panel cartoons ever. There was one I particularly liked. It was God, working in his laboratory. Behind him on a shelf were jars that were labeled with their contents. One said trees, another said animals, another said people, etc. Well, the caption underneath the cartoon read, And just to keep things interesting . . . In God’s hands was a jar labeled jerks, and he was shaking the jar over the planet he was making—Earth. I still laugh my ass off with that one. How true. And that is what this book is about. All the stories about all the jerks I’ve had to deal with. All true stories, all real-world dealings. I find it upsetting that nice, decent, and considerate are all boring. You can’t write a book about that. No one would read it. But jerks are captivating. Jerks are interesting. Jerks make great stories. And that is what this book focuses on—the jerks. We had hundreds and hundreds of customers come and go over the years, and the overwhelming majority of them were great. And I truly appreciated them all. But it’s those bastards you have to deal with every day that gave me the idea to write this book.

In all honesty, I couldn’t see myself writing a book about my experiences in, well, anything really. You are about to hopefully read an entire book written by someone who has never read a novel. Or any book cover to cover for that matter. But I suppose it’s no big deal. After all, the person who invented the stop sign never drove a car. It is what it is. A lot of people wonder how I got through school without reading the required texts and book assignments. Well, in high school, if there was a book-reading assignment, I would rent the movie or get the CliffsNotes. Now there was no way in hell that I could ace the exam that would follow, but I picked up enough from the movie or the notes to get a solid C on the test. Fine by me. I just cannot sit down and read. It bores the shit out of me. Besides, there is no way in hell I can be idle for a long period of time. Most likely, I’ve had some form of ADHD since I was a child. Even writing this, right now, I need to get up and walk around after I finish typing this sentence. I tend to get antsy (no pun intended) when I stay idle for too long. And by too long, I mean just a few minutes.

OK, I’m back. So glad I grew up in the seventies when ADHD wasn’t the buzzword it is today. It didn’t exist per se. At least not in the mainstream. No diagnosis, no drugs, nada. A good smack on the back of the head by my dad was the only prescription needed. That and maybe more cowbell. I could only imagine how much crap the medical field would have given me to handle my condition. I would have definitely been the poster child for ADHD. I could only imagine how being on meds would have changed my personality. I’d be a completely different person today. My wife certainly wouldn’t recognize me. I drive her nuts with my constant movement. She’ll tell you. I can’t sit still for two seconds. But as I’ve aged, the H part has subsided to a degree. However, I still can’t stay in one place for too long, so writing this book will take me a bit of time. But I’m in no rush. I’m officially retired. I have nothing to do and the rest of my life to do it. I’m not really sure why I decided to write a book. I guess I just got a dill up my ass to tackle a project like this. It started out as a journal, or a diary if you will. I guess I just needed to vent about the crap I had to deal with while running my own business. It just made me feel better. Then it just kind of morphed into a book project.

During the eighteen-plus years of operation, I sometimes felt like I was selling out just to make a buck. I never in my life had tolerated such nonsense from people. Believe me, if I thought you were an asshole, I wouldn’t have anything to do with you. I’d ignore you. I certainly wouldn’t be trying to kiss your asshole. I had to constantly remind myself that I was doing this for my family. I promised my wife a good life, and I wanted to deliver. I have two awesome kids, and I wanted to be a good provider. So just like everybody else, I had to suck it up and handle things as professionally as possible. That wasn’t always the case, as you will soon see; but hopefully, you’ll also agree with the way it was handled. And if not, oh well. Don’t get me wrong; I loved the vast majority of what I did, but Christ, you’ll see what I’m talking about. People are nuts, and the world is on fire. I can look back at it now and laugh, but man, was I on the verge of a breakdown toward the end! But it’s all good now. Nothing a little Xanax couldn’t help me out with.

Just a few caveats regarding this book. If you haven’t figured out by now, I am using a fake name. Duh. The reason being is that I am under a five-year noncompete agreement with the company that bought us, and I do not want them to suffer any repercussions due to this memoir. That’s how petty I think some of these people I’ve dealt with are. Also, I just want to remain as incognito as possible. There will be no names, no places cited. Only true stories of my experiences. Also, I want to point out that everything you read is the absolute truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I swear to God. I don’t even need to embellish in the slightest bit. That’s how fucked up some of these stories are. Also, I promise to not bore you with the exact names, terms, Latin references, etc. that are a part of the pest industry. Just layman’s terms. I’m not going to be calling things insects, arachnids, arthropods, anthropoids, and so on. They will be called simply bugs. Quite honestly, no customer ever cared about the correct terms used in the field. They all just wanted one thing: dead, or even better, NO bugs around.

As far as offending anybody, I really don’t give a shit. If something hits home and pisses you off while reading this, just deal with it because I really don’t care. If you think I’m talking about you, then maybe I am. I’m just not using your name, address, or place of work. You’re welcome.

CHAPTER 1

Failure Is Not an Option

N ever in my life did I ever imagine I’d be in the pest-control industry. Truthfully, besides people who went to school for entomology, no one who is in pest control ever imagined they’d be killing bugs for a living. A lot of technicians are retirees looking to stay busy. There are a lot of ex-military, and of course, in your larger companies, there is your college-educated corporate staff that need to fill the positions for human resources, accounting/payroll, finance, etc. They are not the people in the field. They can bounce from industry to industry without missing a beat. As far as this book goes, I will be referring to the guys and gals on the front line, the ones that deal with the bugs and get face-to-face with the customers. Those are the people I have dealt with most frequently. Well, like I said, I never thought I would be working in the pest-control industry. But just like that, life throws you a wicked curve ball, and you have to make adjustments.

My curve ball hit me in the late nineties. My wife and I had our first child in February 1997. I was twenty-nine at the time, my wife, thirty-one. When our daughter was around sixteen months old, I had noticed that something was different about her. We had signed her up for a gym-type tumbling class, which was broken up by age groups. One day, we arrived early and were therefore able to watch the earlier class that had younger kids, all under twelve months. And these babies were amazing! They were doing things that seemed so advanced for our little girl. I mean, she couldn’t sit up on her own for very long if the ground wasn’t perfectly level. One of the moms heard me talking to my wife about my concerns and kindly interjected with a few questions. She surmised that because our daughter had no older siblings to mimic, she was just a little behind. She assured me that the classes would be a great place for her to see how her peers performed and that she’d take off in no time. It never happened. After a couple weeks of thirty-minute sessions, there was no improvement. I mean, there were nine-month-olds running circles around her. I left there in tears that day knowing something was wrong with our baby.

Literally that week, my wife started making appointments to get our daughter looked at. First was her pediatrician, followed by a specialist, followed by a Dr. House-type individual. Long story short, she was diagnosed with Turner’s syndrome, which is a chromosome disorder, among numerous other developmental delays. When they say having a baby changes everything, try having a baby with special needs. It rocks your world to its fucking core. Not that being thirty years old made me joe grown-up, father of the year, or anything; but I am so glad I wasn’t a young twenty-two-year-old shithead with the attitude and stupidity that comes with that age. When getting that type of news, man, you need to be levelheaded as all hell! Anyway, roughly some twelve years later, they placed her on the autism spectrum, which helped us greatly in getting her a lot more in the way of services that she needed. But what a struggle it was. The bullshit issues we came across were never-ending.

A few months later, my wife and I came to the realization that she would have to become a stay-at-home mom (her parents were watching her prior to this decision). We knew that financial challenges loomed, but the kid came first, obviously. So we buckled the belts a little tighter and forged ahead. Good thing we did, as we quickly realized how much time and effort it took to get the answers we needed, the services required, and to just deal with all the bullshit the state and county governments hand you. Let me tell you something; if you are not your child’s best advocate, then you and the kid are screwed! Seriously, you would not believe the roadblocks we faced. When she was elementary school age, I remember we had asked if there were summer school programs that we could enroll our daughter in so that she would not keep digressing like she would normally do over the summer. We were told—for at least two consecutive years—that they had no program like that. But guess what? They did. However, it was called extended school year. Those bastards knew exactly what we meant but decided to play word games instead. It is sad but true—children with special needs are the forgotten ones. There is very little budgeted to this segment of the community, and it is frustrating. There just isn’t any room in the system for them, and very few people care. You need to keep pushing for the child.

Anyway, things really weren’t so bad from a financial standpoint for us at the outset. We stayed within our means; my wife loved staying home with our daughter, and she was diligent as hell in getting in all the required paperwork filed. We were placed on three- to four-year waiting lists for assistance with Medicaid/Medicare, among other things. And they never follow up with you, you must follow up with them. And my wife became the consummate pain in the ass. One of her favorite lines to these people was, I’m a stay-at-home mom. I have nothing to do, and all day to do it. I’m NOT going away. It was pretty damn effective too. Quite a few issues were sped up using this tactic. And this was when there was no internet. We did all this the old-fashioned way, researching through the library. Remember the card catalogue and the Dewey Decimal System? Old school, for sure!

On the other hand, I was chugging along in my job, clawing my way up middle management for a retail-type chain and making decent money. But all good things seem to have a bump in the road. My daughter was a sickly young thing—an illness such as strep throat could last her two to three weeks, with multiple rounds of antibiotics. She required a few minor surgeries along the way, but we just basically needed to wait for her immune system to reach full scale, but that was delayed just like a lot of her development. You see, part of the developmental delay is internal. It’s not just what can be seen and observed. It’s more complicated than you think. And amazingly, one doctor predicted that by the time she was eight or nine years old, things would turn around. He was right, but it was a long eight years. Unfortunately, during that time, the co-pays and out-of-pocket expenses kept adding up.

Although things were still going well at the job, the walls were closing in, and fast. A promotion opportunity came up, and I put in for it. One of the biggest mistakes of my life. The money was awesome, and the walls were moved backward a bit. We had another child, a boy, and all seemed to be going well. My wife was able to continue staying home; we made timely payments on all our bills, and we were paying down debt. Life seemed to be going smoothly. Then my two immediate supervisors decided to become huge dicks. My son was born in April—on his mother’s thirty-fifth birthday no less. I had given a monthlong notice to the company that the birth would be in April and I would be taking a week off, but it was open-ended, obviously. The specific dates would be up to the kid, whenever he decided to show up.

Well, that day finally comes. The baby’s born, I start my vacation, we’re getting adjusted to dealing with two kids now, and what happens? They call me and tell me I HAVE to come back to work early because they are not happy with the scheduling. They want more coverage over the weekend. I was like what the hell, are you kidding me? It was as if they knew the struggles I faced and just wanted to exploit them. I told my two immediate supervisors that they should be the ones to step it up and let me have my approved time off. The response I got left me speechless. I was told that the first supervisor had a golf tournament to play in over the weekend, and the other had company coming in from out of town. Neither one could change their schedules because the plans were made a couple of months ago. My response: "That’s nice, but my wife and I have had these plans for nine months. They didn’t give a shit. The unnecessary pressure placed on me, the ridiculous hours I had to work (what does it matter, your wife stays home with the kids"), and the lack of a family life was getting to me. My kids were growing up without me. It sucked. And as much as my wife hated it too, she never said a word. She didn’t want to pressure me any more than necessary. And it wasn’t like we were looking for sympathy or special privileges. We just wanted a little compassion and understanding. That’s all.

But you won’t get that in the corporate world. There are certain people in this world that will use your personal situations against you, and to their advantage. I call these people scumbags. To themselves, they think they’re being shrewd businesspeople, but in reality, they make it a personal nightmare for the employee. The person most responsible for you either enjoying or loathing your job is your immediate supervisor, make no mistake. And I unfortunately always had two pricks up my ass, and that was just a recipe for disaster. It wasn’t long after the birth/vacation issue, among a host of other bullshit, that I lost all respect for my immediate managers. I became disrespectful, uninspired, lost my energy and enthusiasm, and even worse, my work ethic. It was then that I made up my mind, knowing full well that a pay cut was imminent, to start looking for a new job. I guess all decent things must come to an end.

Once I told my wife what my intentions were, she couldn’t have been happier. She hated my job, the schedule, my bosses, everything. She was so excited she was helping me look for a new job. But we had overlooked one important thing: a new bill would be introduced. You see, my current job had a nice perk: a to-and-from work vehicle. And with my wife’s car paid off, we had no car payment. Do you know how sweet it is to not have a car payment? Those of you who don’t have one will agree. It rocks! So back to the budget board. Depending on the salary that comes with the new job, this may hurt a little. My wife suggested picking up a little shitbox to go back and forth, but that could wind up costing more in the end. I needed a car to service me, not for me to be always servicing the car. Well, after a few weeks of phone screening and Q&A sessions, my wife found an ad for general manager trainees for a local pest-control company. And guess what? It comes with a company vehicle. Problem solved. Two interviews later, I am hired. Yay. One big issue, though. This new job comes with a 40 percent pay cut. Ouch. Now being the forever optimist, I start looking at all the perks, potential bonuses, potential advancements, etc., and of course, I look at only the maxed-out version, which we all know will never happen, even in a perfect world, but you gotta press on. I figured I stick with a glass-is-half-full mentality. But in a nutshell, that is the reason I got into the pest business—a company car. Sounds pretty stupid, huh? Getting into a completely different line of work due to free transportation. Go figure.

OK, so in order to make things work, and once again take the financial pressure off, I cash out everything at my old job, pay down some more credit card debt, and start the savings train from square one. But who cares? I’m happier, stress-free, and I see