There Is a Cricket Under My Bed and I Don't Know What to Do

Welcome back, fellow students. Hope you all had a fun summer break. There’s a cricket in my room that won’t stop chirping. I had fun this summer, went cool places and met chill people. Took a road trip to see my friend Mark, the cricket is making a really loud sound as I write this, and I went to Coachella. The cricket is brown and as long as my pinky finger. Mark decided not to go to Coachella.

It’s underneath my bed, which is bolted to the ground. My housing situation is sweet this year — two-room double in the Hewitts with a nice view of Andrus Field. Where are you living? I already tried chasing it away with my arm and then a book and a broom and a shoe I threw at it but the cricket is pretty far under my bed, it’s not going anywhere. At this point my plan is to ignore the cricket and try not to let it bother me. My first day of classes went alright, now I’m just doing some work at my desk while this cricket rubs its wings together just to spite me because it’s pure fucking evil.

It’s been two days. People play loud music in dorms all the time, so this shouldn’t be any different. My roommate has been blasting Hootie & The Blowfish ever since he moved in. I guess they’re okay. The lead singer has a pretty low voice so the cricket’s piercing upper register really cuts through the acoustic guitar. The chirping keeps a steady beat and sometimes I think I can hear my heart pulsing in time with the cricket’s song. I’m personally more of a Dave Matthews fan.

This isn’t really a Physical Plant problem, I don’t think, because crickets aren’t really their specialty, even though I kind of want to call them and ask what insect poisons they keep on hand for this sort of thing or maybe some painkillers or even barbiturates I could use to go to sleep because when I lie on my bed all I can hear is the cricket which has considerable stamina and only paused once for a minute and a half when I was so happy that I lay my head down on the desk and almost started to cry, which I hardly ever do, the last time being when my dog died two years ago. Turns out Olin closes also SciLi and they don’t like people sleeping outside on benches, so I’ll wait it out and lie here with the cricket whom I’ve named Mephistopheles and maybe he’ll die or I’ll die or something will happen to stop Mephistopheles from making the cricket sound he makes. Sometimes I sing along with him on the pitch. I’m pretty good at it now. Anyway, see you in class tomorrow.