Thud. I hear something in my window. I look at my clock. 2:17am. I’m in St. Paul, MN in bed in my cute apartment in a questionable neighborhood, alone. I start to panic. Burglar? Thud…I get out of bed and go to the window, cause clearly if it’s an intruder, the safest thing to do is to go towards him. Thud! I’m still half asleep. As I shut the window, something jumps out and hits my arm. I scream. It screams.
AHAHHAHHAHHHHHHHH EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
It’s a bat. I don’t know who’s more scared—me or him. I run out of my bedroom into the living room, shutting the door behind me. I try to catch my breath. I can still hear the dirty bat…stard in the other room
EEEEEEEEEEEE. Thud thud thud.
And I decide to do the only thing I can do right now. I call my mom. Now, if you’re a mom and you get a 2am call from your daughter screaming, clearly she’s being raped or murdered, which is what my mom naturally assumes when I call her saying,
“Mom! Oh my God, MOM!”
Eventually, she manages to calm me down and I notice it has gotten quiet in the other room. I stand in front of the door, waiting, watching. Then suddenly he comes flying UNDER the door! He beelines for my head. I hit the deck.
We both start to scream again. I don’t know who’s more upset. Him? Because he had a taste of the sweet Kim, wants more and is thwarted. Or me…BECAUSE I JUST HAD A BAT BEELINE FOR MY HEAD!? Now of course, my mom is still on the phone
“Honey! You’ve got to call the police!”
I hang up and call 911.
“Ma’am, this is not an emergency.”
“Not an emergency?!?!?
So I call animal services.
“We can send someone in the morning but if you suspect you’ve been bitten, we recommend you seek immediate medical attention.”
Bitten? Was I bitten? Holy crap. Medical attention. Medical attention.
“Nurse hotline, what is your question?”
“Hello. I had a bat break in and I don’t know if I was bitten, or if…”
“All right, ma’am, calm down. Bat bites are VERY rare. I doubt you’ve been bitten.”
“How would I know though?”
“You would know by 2 fang marks where you suspect the bite”
I look down at my arm . There’s a lump the size of a golf ball and 2 ….little …fang marks.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Into the emergency room comes some on call doctor carrying the hugest, dustiest old tomb of medical knowledge, trying to figure out how to treat a bat bite, to avoid, well, death.
“Are you sure you were bitten by a bat?”
“Yes”
“You’re sure it wasn’t a dog?
“Yes. Fairly certain”
“Are you? Dog bites are far more common.”
“Yes! I’m sure it was a bat. I saw it. It flew. It was a bat!”
“Well…if you’re certain…it‘s just we get a lot of dog bites…”
So, he gives me every shot known to man, including rabies. But, you see, rabies shots are given in a series. And the next week, I’m off to rural France for a vacation.
“You need your second shot in the series in 7-10 days. That’s your window. It’s very important you get this shot then.”
I am in rural France. And I have been practicing my French—especially the sentence which will save my life. I call the French hospital.
“Bonjour! Je M’appelle Kim. Je voudrais une fusil pour je me suis bouche de le bateau”
“Comment?”
“Parlez-Vous Anglais?”
“Nooon”
Next day, I try again. Foam building in the corner of my lips
“Bonjour! Je M’appelle Kim. Je voudrais une fusil pour je me suis bouche de le bateau”
Giggle, giggle.
“Parlez vous anglais??? C’est Tres important. Window.”
So Wednesday comes…last day in my “need to get my rabies shot so I don’t die” window. And I’m at what appears to be the nurse station
“Bonjour! Je M’appelle …” More giggling. Finally…
“Helllloooooo! Kim??? Welcome! Please tell me how we can help you.”
Hello. My name is Kim. I need to get a rabies shot because I have been bitten by a bat.
“Ahhh! Of course we can help. You have given us quite a laugh these last days.”
“What exactly is so funny??”
“You have been calling every day and saying you need to be shot because you have the mouth of a baseball bat.”
…Stupid French people.