Hatred and Disgust

My hotel room has cockroaches.  I detest cockroaches.  I tattled to the manager, informing him of my extra room guests.  He insisted there "are no cockroaches in our facility".

I was like, "DUDE THERE ARE."

So did the only healthy thing a person in my situation can do: I trapped one under a cup and left it labeled (with pictures in case housekeeping doesn't read English. How clever of me) to prove that there are roaches:

Needless to say, when I returned that night, my heart jumped for joy when I noticed the cup had been moved. And then it dropped when I lifted it up and saw the roach still there.

Clearly my drawing of a roach and a frowny face was not as internationally understood as I had hoped.

And then I sealed all foodstuffs up and hung it from the ceiling. Ha, of course I didn't.  But I did think about it. I just didn't have any rope.  Or tape to fashion a rope out of.  Or enough socks to fashion a rope out of.  Or a enough hand towels to fashion a rope out of.  Yes, I thought about it this much.