I Was Just There to Kill Bugs…Not Dodge Bullets

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I don’t know if I’ve ever shared this here, but back when I did a short stint in pest control, I handled commercial accounts—including a few halfway houses. One afternoon, I was at one on 10th and Chambers in Milwaukee, just standing outside my truck waiting for my contact, when out of nowhere, I heard gunfire. At first, I couldn’t see anything. No people, no movement—just the pop-pop-pop echoing off the buildings. Then out of nowhere, a guy came running from 11th Street, sprinted across Chambers, and took cover behind a red Dodge pickup. He was one of the people shooting—and he started firing from behind the truck. More shots followed from somewhere else I couldn’t see. I wasn’t sticking around to figure out who was shooting at who. I was already moving fast toward my truck. Before I could get in, the guy behind the red pickup jumped into it and sped off. Right as I reached for my door, another guy came running up, saw me, and yelled, “Call the police! The (add expletive here) is dead!” Turns out he wasn’t. Later I found out the guy had been hit, ran into someone’s house, and survived. Still, it was one of the scariest days of my life. I never expected to be that close to a shootout, and I’m glad it wasn’t any closer. That could’ve gone bad in a hurry. Yeesh. Man, I was just there to kill rats and bugs, and that was as close to any killing as I ever wanted to be.