![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsThis morning I called Progressive Pest Control and spoke to Johann, a man who sounded an awful lot like Stuart McLean at The Vinyl Cafe, "The world's smallest record store": wry, easygoing, funny, and competent. He had that slow, sure way of speaking that seems to come with all the Scandanavians around northern Seattle, and sure enough he was pale and blond and weatherbeaten.
He listened for fifteen seconds and say, "Oh, yeah, those are yellowjackets. I love a good yellowjacket season, it's what pays the bills. I'll get the bee suit on." I watched him suit up and prep the poison. "Kids love the bee suit. They think I have the coolest job in the world. Like being an astronaut." He glanced over at the hole in the wall that housed the nest. "If I move slow, they won't even notice me."
Omaha and I watched from a respectful distance. The yellowjackets noticed him, but none of them got into his suit, and with a thin, rigid hose attached to a rubber canister, he injected a dusty extract of peppermint that smelled just like a pest control chemical but is apparently the very thing that all flying insects can't stand-- it blinds, clogs, and kills them.
Anyway, Johann charged me a hundred bucks for the service, which seems eminently reasonable given the hazards. He said, "Well, if they come back, yell at me. Or just ask nicely. I'll come back either way and make sure it gets done." I just wanted to give him a good review because he deserved it-- he's an independent who lives in the area and does what it takes, not the stock "whatever the big boys do" approach, so he knows what to do. When I paid him, he gave me an invoice and said, "I've got the world's smallest business-- one man. That's as small as it can get, right?" Maybe he knows he sounds like McLean.
He listened for fifteen seconds and say, "Oh, yeah, those are yellowjackets. I love a good yellowjacket season, it's what pays the bills. I'll get the bee suit on." I watched him suit up and prep the poison. "Kids love the bee suit. They think I have the coolest job in the world. Like being an astronaut." He glanced over at the hole in the wall that housed the nest. "If I move slow, they won't even notice me."
Omaha and I watched from a respectful distance. The yellowjackets noticed him, but none of them got into his suit, and with a thin, rigid hose attached to a rubber canister, he injected a dusty extract of peppermint that smelled just like a pest control chemical but is apparently the very thing that all flying insects can't stand-- it blinds, clogs, and kills them.
Anyway, Johann charged me a hundred bucks for the service, which seems eminently reasonable given the hazards. He said, "Well, if they come back, yell at me. Or just ask nicely. I'll come back either way and make sure it gets done." I just wanted to give him a good review because he deserved it-- he's an independent who lives in the area and does what it takes, not the stock "whatever the big boys do" approach, so he knows what to do. When I paid him, he gave me an invoice and said, "I've got the world's smallest business-- one man. That's as small as it can get, right?" Maybe he knows he sounds like McLean.
