The Orkin Man
 

The Orkin man arrived, 
knocked loud (we have no doorbell). 

I answered the door in my pajamas, (that’s how I work) 
fully expecting it to be the bible people or the magazine people
who I bought from last time to help give ex-cons, 
(like the guy who stood on my front steps for an hour telling me his life story) 
a second chance and then never got my Veranda or National Geographic for Kids.

But it was the (unscheduled by me) Orkin man
come to help us follow up with what… 
the African worm problem we’d had in the kitchen from the infested bird seed
or the mouse problem we’d had from the improperly insulated kitchen cabinets
or there is always the possibility
(and one should never underestimate this possibility) 
that he is an overweight, balding jewel thief posing as a rodent control worker. 

And due to the economic downturn, he has
lowered his standard for ‘houses to hit’, 
which has resulted in mediocre ‘loot’, 
which (being a perfectionist at heart) 
has made him clinically depressed, 
which (lacking peer empathy) 
has left him unable to properly ‘case the joint’. 

Consequently, he didn’t realize I’d be home. 
Didn’t know I work next to the bedroom with the ‘loot’. 
But, he also didn’t know we have had Orkin-related issues
making his disguise… perfect. 

I think to myself (as I continue to stand before him in my j. crew dog-covered navy
blue flannel pajama bottoms and long-sleeved Nantucket t-shirt) you know, 
sometimes I am not the most detailed-oriented person either
(and I hate to be punished for it). 

So, if the Orkin man tells me he needs to see the bedroom for possible mouse
droppings, I will offer him the small diamond studs my first husband gave me
(that I have not been able to figure out what to do with) 

And maybe I’ll give him one or two of my leftover anti-anxiety pills
and wish him luck. 

And maybe, depending on his level of gratitude, 
I’ll offer him my phone number in case he ever gets really down
and needs a little pep talk about what it means to follow a dream.