I have a history with bats. Not like the baseball bats that you can Babe Ruth the neighbors bad little kid with but flying, living, breathing, nocturnal bats. I once dated a pizza delivery guy that had a small apartment in a fairly quiet area. After a day of day drinking with my friend I went to my boyfriends apartment to crash out. He was working that night so I figured I would just relax, drink a couple beers and watch some shitty Netflix horror movies but that night was not never meant to be a peaceful one. As I was walking through the dining room in my pajama onesie all the sudden, WHAM! Right in the side of my face I got bitch slapped by a creature of the night. I knew it was a bat, like a really vicious bat. I then watched the bat fly into the coat closet while I was screaming like a damn banshee. So picture this, I am wailing like someone kicked my dog and the bat is now caught in the closet squawking and and trying on a plethora of synthetic fiber coats. At this point I have now done what any logical person would do. I ran into the bedroom and dove under the comforter with the "if I can't see it then it can't see me mentality" and called the pizza boy to come get the bat. My boyfriend came back to his apartment and looked around but there was no bat in sight. I tried numerous times to tell him that it was in the closet but he had to get back to work slinging pizzas so my cries for help had been ignored. We broke up shortly after and I literally have ZERO regrets.
The second time I had a bat run in was in my current house while Darren was at work. One night I had gotten off work a little later than usual and I headed straight home to hang out with my little pups. I got home, stripped off my clothes, got a snack and crawled in bed. As I was reading a book I kept hearing this strange thumping noise. Ok, no biggie because it was probably just the dickhead neighbors thumping their shitty music again. I pretty much ignored most of the noise until the dogs started growling and their hair started standing up. I am now concerned and slightly terrified. Not totally scared out of my mind but unsettled enough to let out little kindergarten farts. As I smoothly glide my way to the hallway I see a brown winged demon fluttering through the air. It flew into Darren's bedroom across the hallway and I took off running back into my bedroom and once again I dove under the comforter but this time with two chihuahuas in tow. I had to call Darren and demand that he come home to get the bat out of the house. His response was typical, "Chelsea, there is not a bat in the house. Seriously, you have got to be making this shit up." Well, I was not making it up and I meant business. My response was not to be taken lightly and it sounded like this, "Shit, balls, fuck, dammit, OMG, help me please........!!!!" He came home and walked around the house pretending to be a man while I was gearing up for war. We prowled the house together like Pinky and the Brain. At this point Darren is loudly proclaiming, "There is no bat!!!" All while giggling and trying to hide his shit eating grin. Then out of nowhere this psychotic bat came zooming right in front of our faces. Darren starts screaming, I start screaming and the dogs are going ape shit. Darren is yelling at me to "get the bat" and I am searching for my weapon of choice. I can't find any swords or medieval torture devices as I must have misplaced them so instead I grabbed a plastic dustpan. I know, smart move, classy move but most definitely a classy move. That bat is zipping through the air and I am swinging the dustpan all over the place trying to save my soul. BOOM! I nailed that sucker mid air but I didn't knock him out, I just stunned him. I was able to pin him between the broom and pan. I moved him outside to the deck and he was PISSED. He was hissing and showing his tiny little fangs of danger. Eventually he flew off and was never to be seen again. As I drug my exhausted self back in the house Darren is just standing there with a dumbfounded ape like look on his face and all he had to say was, "damn, there really was a bat in the house, you were right." Like, duh I knew I was right and he had the balls to just stand there and judge me. Well, jokes on you buddy because I was the warrior that took him done. A couple days later I asked him why it was that I had to get the bat and he stated that he "just wanted to see if I could do it." Ugh, men, right? So I guess that the moral of this story is that men are only as useful as bats in stressful situations and if you leave them on the porch long enough then they eventually go away.