Cockroach races

The Great Insect Fair was last weekend. As I do every year, I stood at the starting gate of the cockroach races and prayed that the cockroaches wouldn't escape as small children, their hands barely grasping the roach tubs, tried to pour their cockroaches into pvc-pipe tracks. Cockroaches, being non-liquid, typically do not pour well. And if you take your eyes off of them for a second, they will happily scurry out of the container and onto the child, causing shrieks and severe trauma. Then I would set out running after the fugitive, who, realizing I was behind him, would tuck himself under some child's foot or run between some mother's legs, sending a ripple of excitement out from the cockroach racing table. Executing a graceful volleyball dive, I would smack my hand on the cockroach's greasy forewings and pinch up the cockroach with a ferocity that startled cockroach-lovers. Captured again, the cockroaches looked sullen, but unharmed.

When mindful children and volunteers managed to dump the cockroaches into the race-track successfully, roach performance was mixed at best. At times the roaches performed like trained greyhounds, streaking through the pvc tunnel in 2 seconds or less. Other times, the roaches found the tunnel an ideal space for grooming or contemplation. As you might expect, they all run pretty fast when they get a whiff of freedom.

The cockroach races have a profound effect on the psyche of observers. People who would find themselves standing on a chair if a cockroach walked across their kitchen floor are picking their favorites to win, cheering like they had money riding on it. They feel kinship with the roach, like it is their own pet. Perhaps there is something delightful about watching any animal run. But as soon as the roach is running outside of the track, people instantaneously revert to their natural human hate reflex and cannot understand why people like me are willing to touch roaches with my bare hands.

By the end of the day my hands smell strongly of cockroaches, my voice is hoarse, and my feet are sore from standing. I go home and take a long shower and breathe in deeply the lack of anxiety as I throw my own cockroaches a few bits of fruit.