Chris Cameron
Ventilation systems have been following me around this year. I was on a month-long business trip through New York City, Mexico City, the Southern United States and Washington DC in October and due to my Canadian tendencies, I wasn’t aware that the temperature would vary massively between these places or that a ventilation system would always be present and having my back so to say.
It started in New York or Nu Yawk as my roommate, Match, would say. It was a balmy 20 degrees when I arrived and I was sure that this would be de rigueur (French for “my life”) for the rest of my time here. The first night’s temperature however dropped 10 fold and I was freezing but since I was in Brooklyn with friends who lived in Brooklyn, it meant we were lost in the freezing cold trying to find an after hours for many hours. You know when you’re so cold that you decide smoking cigarettes might actually make you warmer, it was that action for all of us for the rest of the night. I was then shocked because when I got home to my friend’s apartment (his name is actually Match too, which is weird I know), I relished the heat without realizing there was absolutely no wooden stove or space heater in the vicinity. It turns out it was a system called “central heating”, something I was used to experiencing from my days in the Arctic tundra of Montreal, QC. Central heating was a brilliant invention and basically the higher you go in an apartment complex, the more heat you feel because heat rises (thank you Einstein). After this experience in New York, I was excited to leave but also because I think I hate New York. If you ask anyone who has lived or currently lives in New York, they will agree with me. True story. Anyway, so I left New York and flew to Mexico City.
I exited Benito Juárez International Airport and immediately was hit with the humidity I knew I deserved. I was back baby and it was heady weather. I threw off my H&M insulated teen-style punk puffer and relished feeling the warmth on my bare arms. I was headed to an apartment that I knew wouldn’t have any ventilation systems and I was comforted by this. Reader, to be completely honest with you, I hate air conditioning. There’s something about the artificial air circling around me that makes me believe that I will get sick immediately. It reminds me of being a child and walking around Las Vegas in the dry heat then entering a smoke filled, dusty casino blasting air at my tiny young face while the sounds of slot machines and celine dion (this was her residency years) blasted into my tiny skull. Little did I know, Reader, that I would soon be in this exact air conditioned feeling due to some circumstances that were out of my control. I was meant to be staying with an old “friend” in Mexico City (you can read into this if you wish) who we will call Match but due to some external happenings and the moon, he had a full house and my best option was to find a hotel for a couple nights while he sorted out his home. It was then that I was to face air con. At this point I didn’t even recognize or realize there was air on me because I was so damn sick from food poisoning. The air con provided a gentle almost healing breeze in this 1 bed hotel room that cleansed the air and kept me conscious while I was violently sick from a chicken soup that I decided to eat at 3am two nights in a row. While this was all going on I was also working in my office in Centro. The office was peaceful, a beautiful art deco building with an internal smoking courtyard. It is one of my favorite places in the world, Reader. After my breezy hotel stay I got in touch with Match who had told me I could stay in his apartment for the rest of my time in the city because it would be vacant. The only thing was that I had to go pick up the keys from his sister who had been staying at the apartment she or her friend had or something (I forget that detail, Reader, but most of this is accurate so trust me on that). Anyway I get to the apartment which also has no ventilation system to be seen (making my heart bloom like a rose a thousand times over) and I open the door to see both his sister and mom in the front room. At this point in this movement between places, I am still very ill and while his sister is explaining the keys to me I can only think of entering the bathroom after they both leave. But Reader, no one leaves and I realize a very crucial element that Match has not included, it was only revealed to me as I watch his mom enter the second bedroom and start to unpack a suitcase. Since my food poisoning was so violent and I was so weak at this moment, I felt that all energy that may have been directed to my brain was actually just directed to my stomach muscles to keep its contents within me. So I still was confused after it was confirmed to me that I would be rooming with Match’s mom for the rest of my stay, my “old friend’s” mom who has no idea what mine and her son’s relationship involves. I nodded as if I had known this information the whole time and that this situation was not weird at all to me. So I just said goodbye quickly and ran/walked to my office for the peaceful relief. At midnight, I returned so ill again to Match’s apartment but had planned this late timing in order to make sure I wouldn’t bother Match’s mom. My plan was to sleep and leave early in the morning so that Match’s mom could enjoy the apartment to herself. As I opened the door, I saw a figure in the darkness at the end of the hall, it was Match’s mom! Why was she awake! This triggered me back to high school when I would arrive home late from partying and my mom would be standing in the kitchen and asking me if I was ok/drunk. Match’s mom said hello and then said I looked really pale and asked if I was ok (but not drunk). At this point, I really wasn’t ok - food poisoning was bringing me down and it was the second time in a month that I had gotten it. She immediately went into mom mode and brought out all of these cures including gut pills, mint doTERRA essential oil and rehydration salts. She then started peeling and chopping ginger to make homemade tea for me in the dark (it was midnight, Reader). I was so incredibly grateful and thanked her profusely until she went to bed. Unfortunately because the toilet squeaked every time you flushed it, I had surely woken her up many times throughout the night. The next morning I was so happy to see her and thanked her again, I wasn’t sure if I would have made it through the night without her and I think of her as an angel that came into my life at the time I needed her the most. She said that Match had told her of the mix up and she would leave immediately out of politeness. I protested and she agreed to us both staying there and I was so elated by this decision, something that a week ago while standing outside of the airport I would never have thought would be a decision that I would be elated by in my life.
I left Mexico City slightly mentally stronger than I had entered it (I believe due to the spiritual rebirth and change of perception on your health that food poisoning gives you). I was headed to New Orleans and ready for an increase in temperature, yes Reader, the South is no joke. After landing, I jumped into the Uber and felt the artificial car breeze on my skin but instead of rejecting it, it was welcoming to me here. The South is swampy, yes there are swamps but there is also a daily occurrence of swamp ass and any movement you make regardless of your body type will get you swampy and it will collect in your ass. Ventilation systems here are king and so I must bow to them. The Uber driver dropped me off and told me to be careful here and take a car from door to door as “New Orleans has changed”. That did freak me out since I had been there several times that year and had not felt unsafe to walk around at night. I entered the place I was staying which was a yellow shot-gun style duplex with a bust of a deer hanging beside the front door. The door itself looked like it would hang on a quiet cabin in the woods in BC, a place I had spent a lot of time in. This was not comforting, in fact, understanding the warning of the Uber driver, this was really terrifying - the door was thin wood with lots of window panels and a very simple lock that seemed loose upon opening. I got in and saw the rest of the place which was decorated in what me and my sister would call, 90’s California America; lots of wood accents, giant couches, vintage lamps and huge vintage wooden ceiling fans. I was very excited for the low-tech air movement when all of a sudden a noise from the back of the house erupted. I was startled, was there another entrance? Was there someone in the house? I checked it out and low and behold, the ventilation system had been discovered! The double air movement was pretty normal in the South so I turned both on since it was 10pm and still 30 degrees celsius outside. I was meeting my friend D (no not another Match) at a bar a couple blocks from this place and although the Uber driver’s words echoed in my brain, I decided to ignore them and walked out into the night. I was scared, Reader, but using blind confidence and also the darkness surrounding me I pretended everything was alright. I got to the bar and had a great night with D. We were on our last drink sitting outside on the patio smoking cigs when suddenly we noticed a man running from across the street directly at us. He was yelling “there’s a man with a hatchet down the street! Run, Run!” - me and D got up and started running. Reader, I was drunk and in fight or flight mode, I don’t even think I understood the gravity of the situation. D called an Uber as we ran and we jumped in. I slowly realized as the car was dropping me off that I was being placed back in the area where the man with the hatchet was. This was not a great feeling, Reader, and as I opened my thin door and waved back to D, I had no idea this would be the start to a really weird week.
I was in New Orleans for a workshop that I was co-facilitating and since this was the first year of the project, I was Virgo rising hyper focused on my presentation. Due to this, I probably was ignoring the red flags of the house. I woke up the first morning and discovered some small cockroaches in the bathroom corner but they were no bigger than a large spider (mind you, still big but on the scale of Southern cockroaches these were tiny). I couldn’t find any Raid in the bathroom so I sprayed carpet cleaner on them (I just realized now that there were no carpets in the house) and they died. I sent a message to the house owner asking where they might sell Raid nearby and he said he had some and he would drop it off. It didn’t come till the next day and it wasn’t Raid, it was Borax which is a powder substance containing small grains of sodium borate that cut up insect bodies when they walk across it. It’s a natural substance but it’s very toxic if inhaled or ingested. In general, I don’t like using it so I kept it in the house but didn’t put it down immediately. Other red flags included a thumping noise in the ceiling and knowing New Orleans history with spirits and haunted houses, I didn't want to think too hard on this one. There was also a knock on my door the second night around midnight. I was terrified because I was alone in the kitchen with a single lamp on, going over my presentation for the next morning. I was thinking of the hatchet man as I approached the door (apparently I have no fear, Reader) and as I looked out the door panel windows, I saw two young women standing on the patio looking at me in fear as well. They were lost and looking for their housing and the host was not replying to their messages. I stayed with them on the patio as we all waited and got to know them. They were best friends visiting from Baton Rouge and were there for a Birthday party. Finally the host arrived and he led them to their apartment on the backside of the house, he then asked me if I heard the sounds in the attic. I confirmed I had and he mentioned a raccoon that was most likely in there. I laughed and shrugged as if to say, that’s life!, but later I cursed my chill girl mentality. Why the fuck was I living with cockroaches and an attic raccoon. When I returned inside the place I could tell how thin the walls were, I could hear the two women complain about the safety of this place and I wanted to yell out “me too!!” but thought that might be weird and maybe they would think that I was a ghost. Instead I turned on the precious ventilation system to drown out their TikTok sounds and laughter. The next day after my presentation, I returned home with a bag of congratulatory shrimp for myself and discovered the horrors that forced me to vacate this home. Knowing that hatchet man and raccoon didn’t even cause me to leave, Reader, this must have been a huge deal and it was. It was dark when I entered the apartment and I could see two massive items on the counter that I didn’t recognize. When I turned on the lights, I froze. Two cockroaches as big as my hands were on the counter, their antennae were as long as chopsticks and I was mentally gone, I couldn’t make a noise. My brain was in survival mode and had entered a different dimension. The only thing I kept remembering was that cockroaches can survive a nuclear blast but what did they mean for me? Would I be able to kill them successfully or would I have to share this apartment with these grotesque creatures and the raccoon? Who would be dominant in this situation? Would I be the submissive tenant? I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, a coffee canister, and I banged the shit out of the first one while the second escaped into the cupboard below the sink. Reader, as I am writing this I am almost retching, it has been a month since this encounter but that moment was so horrific for me I still feel the dread of these actions. I kept hitting and hitting the cockroach until half of its body had disengaged from the back and it stopped moving. I was out of a breath but cautious and went to find a paper towel to clean up its body and then continue on the second murder I had to commit. As I touched it, the roach sprang up and ran into the sink. I screamed out loud and in response the raccoon upstairs started banging around. What kind of fucked up zoo was I living in?? Thank god the two women in the back of the house had gone out or they would have assumed their house was haunted too. I continued hitting the roach in the sink with the canister while also waterboarding its body with the tap, where was the nuclear blast when I needed it most? The first roach finally succumbed to death and I focused on the second roach that was in the cupboard under the sink. I cautiously opened the cupboard door and saw it, its antennae moving as if to say “so we meet again”. I grabbed a frying pan for this one because I needed the length plus the endurance of a metal pan and I didn’t hold back, I went absolutely mental on it. It was dead. They both were and I became very aware of the silence that happens post death. I had no idea what to do with myself, I was too afraid to leave since it was dark out and I assumed the hatchet man was outside again so I sat down and opened the bag of boiled shrimp. I sat a mere 2 meters away from the scene of the crime and chomped down on one of my favorite things to eat, a Louisiana seafood boil. It was then that I started acknowledging the sensations of crunching exoskeletons and antennae that was happening in my mouth, oh my fucking god I was eating the cockroaches of the sea!
Somehow I fell asleep that night, I had no idea how I did but I assume I was lulled asleep by the gentle rustling of the raccoon upstairs or due to the exhaustion from committing a double homicide. I woke up to texts from the host saying he will spray the apartment today after I sent a few thousand messages the previous night of my roach encounters. There was no mention of removal of the raccoon so I assumed he was also a paying tenant. I left the house that day, a shell of a person. I was scared by the spraying because I didn’t want to die in my sleep from inhaling a bug bomb and called my colleagues in the city for advice, they were confused by the length of time that I had spent there and told me they would have left the first day. I booked a hotel for that night and decided to pack my shit and go. So I did just that, I ran in, grabbed my shit, said goodbye to the raccoon and got to the hotel. The hotel staff saw my exhaustion and immediately offered me a nice room at the top of the building, the 16th floor. I was elated by this and went to sleep peacefully to the hum of the ventilation system that I was realizing would be a returning comfort on this trip. The next morning, after I went to the hotel gym, I returned to my room and went over to the coffee station by the tv where I had placed a banana the night before. The banana was covered in ants, and I had not realized this before taking a bite. You might be thinking, Reader, that I'm truly not an observant person but I was so mentally gone by this point in the month that even “waking up in the morning” was not a change in mental state for me so no I did not notice the ants. I thought it was an isolated incident, maybe some ants from the wall behind it so I thought I would get changed first then deal with the ants. I moved towards my luggage to pick out my clothes for the day and as I did I noticed what looked like squiggly black lines on top of my clothes. What was that? I thought. Oh god it was a sea of ants, ants all over my clothes, all over my suitcase and running up and down the velvet chair that I had placed my stuff on. Oh my god, what the hell was going on?? Why was this city trying to break me down! I didn’t even scream at this point because the ants were tiny compared to the visitors the previous night. I sent my boss an erratic text about the ants (this was post-cockroach calling her too) and she replied “ DAMN what is your luck” and I couldn’t even reply. I spent the next few hours getting moved to a new room, shaking ants from every piece of clothing I had, watching a man hose down my suitcase with a stinky anti-ant liquid and then begging the hotel to let me use their washing machine to clean my clothes because I was leaving the next day to drive to Alabama for a meeting. Maybe it was the desperation in my eyes but this beautiful hotel manager dry-cleaned my clothes for free. As each city tried to break me down in its unique way, I kept discovering the generosity and kindness of angels cosplaying as strangers. So I left the next day with a plastic bag of dry cleaned clothes and a plastic bag covering my suitcase that I threw into the back of my rental. The drive to Alabama was hellish and I drove through fog, sleet, hail and sun as if I was exiting one dimension and entering another. The meeting was incredible and worth it with my collaborator so I said goodbye to Alabama and continued on to the next destination of Small Town, Florida, where I was sleeping that night. Reader, as you might imagine I had very low expectations based on my initial impressions of the drive-in motel as I arrived and of housing arrangements in general. When I checked in I was given a solo cup of grocery store Chardonnay and told to come back for a second glass with a wink by the front desk employee. I laughed and said maybe but as I exited the lobby hut, I realized that I was probably the only woman that was staying at the Sole Motel tonight. I looked around and saw a man on each balcony staring down at me in the parking lot. This felt like a theatrical performance of Chicago with an all male cast. I also remembered the exchange that I had with the front desk guy when he tried to give me a ground floor room and I said as a woman traveling alone, I would feel safer on a higher floor and he said defensively that all floors are safe but then kept asking and confirming if I was traveling alone. Reader, I had been driving for 8 hours that day - this was post ants and post cockroaches, at this point I had nothing left. So I go to sleep and double lock all the doors and blast that ventilation system on full because it was a balmy 30 degrees in Florida and I needed the hum to put me to sleep. I woke to screams coming from the parking lot below at 4am. I yet again was unfazed by anything weird happening to me especially since this was Florida I almost expected it and I was curious. I had gone to sleep naked due to the extreme heat and the grocery store chardonnay that had lit up my body like a firework. So there I was crouching nude in front of my window, overtop of the air con blasting across my body and slowly lifted the blind. The scene below me was tremendous, there were multiple men outside and they were running in circles in the lot, whooping and screaming at each other. Some men were young and some were old and I was unsure if I was witnessing a fight club or a gathering of the Juggalos. There was absolutely no music too. They were just running to the sounds of their own yells. I wanted them to stop yelling of course so that I could sleep but I wasn’t fucking stupid, I did not engage and instead I found one ear plug in my suitcase and rolled over onto the other ear to block out the noise. In the morning I got the fuck out of Florida.
The rest of the trip in New Orleans was a blur, I had to drive 4 hours on the freeway at night while exhausted and used the power of techno to get through it in order to reach my airport hotel. I flew out to DC the next day and was looking forward to the two days I had off to get some rest. I knew this leg of the trip would be weird due to the project I was working on here, but also extremely luxurious because I was staying at a 5 star hotel. No ants, no cockroaches, no gathering of juggalos; I entered my all-white hotel suite and saw the ventilation system acknowledge my existence with a gentle hum, hello my friend I am here. This day was more interesting (to say the least) because I was about to be joined by another “old friend” who we will call Match. He was a punk visiting from Philly and wanted to catch me while I was on this side of the world. We met at a pool bar and after a couple rounds of drinking and playing, we went back to the hotel suite. As one might imagine, we reacquainted ourselves and since he is a punk had brought with him a myriad of party favors, some natural and some chemical. At one point he stopped and said “Oh shit, you’re bleeding”. Reader, I was not dying, in fact I was in ecstasy however I was on my period and neglected to mention this to him. We laughed and then I slowly realized the white 1000 count egyptian cotton duvet and sheets were below us and as I looked down there was a sea of scarlet below me. Oh fuck! This was bad. I was here facilitating another workshop and representing a very prestigious GirlBoss client, they couldn’t know I was having a small sacrificial ritual upstairs on the 4th floor. We decided to lay a towel down which did absolutely nothing and continue for the rest of the night. In the morning with a clearer head, I surveyed the damage. It was bad, it was everywhere and even on the walls in some places, I should have written REDRUM. Instead I called the front desk and in a small girlish voice (don’t know why I thought this would work but it did) I told them I was embarrassed that I got my period. They assured me everything is ok and that they would send up fresh sheets. So I gathered Match and we got the fuck out of there. I told Match I had some work to do but really I just wanted a moment’s rest to gather myself mentally after all of these foils. He left but texted me after saying he left me the party favors back at the hotel btw :-) and to enjoy myself ;). My eyes grew big as I realized that meant they were still in the hotel room in the middle of the crime scene. I ran as fast as I could back to the hotel and shielded my face with my hands as I entered. I was trying to keep a low profile since I knew I would have to stay there for the next week and this was only Day 2. I ran up and thank god my crime scene was still there. I grabbed the favors from the table, cursing Match, and cleaned up the beer cans and condom wrappers that I had also left stupidly. I then leapt down the fire escape stairs so that I wouldn’t have to go past the lobby again. Match and I laughed about this later and luckily when I returned that night, the hotel room was back to its serene purity of white sheets and duvet. The REDRUM walls were cleaned and I was feeling the guilt and shame of putting someone through that cleaning. I vowed to never do this at a hotel again and to also tip generously when I left, anonymously of course. I thought I was safe until I glanced down at the small trash can beside the bed and saw the condom wrapper staring back at me, almost placed there to say “I know what you did”. I am not a conspiracist, Reader, but I felt the shame bestowed upon me by the hotel staff and I deserved it. To make matters worse, the 4-day workshop was held at the hotel and so day in and day out I had to enter the lobby and pass the hotel desk clerks who waved cheerfully to me not knowing what room I was inhabiting or so I hoped.
After a couple days of this, I started to feel confident and was comforted by the kind hellos from the front desk. I was on my last few days of bullshitting the GirlBosses and was almost done with this trip. The GirlBosses were tough to manage and they directed me around as if I was their personal assistant, which I guess in a way I was. Ironically, most of their complaints were about the hotel ventilation system so each morning when it was either too cold or too hot for them, I would go up to the front desk and report on which temperature was in favor that day. The front desk and I started having inside jokes about this and I was feeling great about the camaraderie. The final morning I woke up and went to the coffee area beside my pure white hotel couch and as I pulled off the water container of the fancy pod coffee maker I accidentally hit the two crystal wine glasses that were stupidly placed beside it. These glasses immediately shattered and, Reader, it was only 7am. I cursed myself for letting my guard down on this last day but after the month I had this was small potatoes. I got ready for the last day and went down to the front desk again to see my front desk friends. I was going to charm them with some funny stories from the day before and then reveal the wine glass issue but knew since we were great friends at this point that everything would be ok. It was my favorite front desk clerk who was working that morning. She looked about my age and always had a dramatic blush on to highlight her high cheekbones. As I was telling her about the wine glasses, she looked bemused but also assured me this happens a lot and I immediately felt a sense of relief knowing she had my back. She asked me for my room number and casually laughing about the whole situation, I gave it to her without thinking and as she stared back at me I saw a flicker of recognition go past her eyes. She repeated it back to me and I stared back and realized I recognized her voice. I recognized her voice, oh god I recognized her voice. It was the voice on the other end of the phone when I called about the sheets, the voice that assured me that my period was normal and that they would replace the sheets immediately. It felt as if a bomb went off in the lobby and she watched me carefully as I said thank you and ran back to my GirlBosses who were milling about in the basement conference room. The rest of the day when a GirlBoss complained about the ventilation system to me, I pretended I had already gone up to ask, there was no fucking way I was doing that again.