How come no one ever taught me the proper level of fear a man should have for wasps?
I was doing pull-ups on the swing set in the backyard when I saw, not three inches from my nose, a wasp crawl out of a hole in the swing set. I dropped from the bar and watched curiously as three more wasps crawled out. A sudden searing pain in my right index finger ripped me from my contemplative mood. “Ow, ow, ow!” One of them had dive-bombed me, and it really hurt! I glared at the offending wasp and, pay attention here, took three quick steps away from the swingset. Three.
Now that I was an obviously safe five feet away all sense of urgency faded. I looked at my swollen finger and then glanced back at the swing set to see what those crazy wasps were up to now. What they were up to was swarming and plotting my death. Glancing at my throbbing finger I decided it was time to jog away. Jog.
Pow! Pow! It felt like someone was shooting BBs at my calf. Two more stings, and wasps everywhere. I was wearing my iPod, and the fact that the wasp attack was choreographed to “Arms and Danger” by The Promise Ring made the whole thing incredibly surreal. “We’re all arms and dangerous, we’re almost famous for it…” Sting! Sting! I was laughing hysterically now, but I began to run in ernest, shouting, “I will be back wasps! I will be back!”
They did not show the proper level of fear wasps should have for man.
I jumped in the car and went straight to the store, where I bought wasp killer. The stuff sprays twenty feet, but that is a feature for wimps. I do my wasp killing face to ugly wasp-face.
I ran back into the yard armed with the wasp killer and the garden hose (I don’t know, the hose seemed like a good thing to have). I charged, and emptied the bottle into the nest. Intrigued by the spray’s claim to “kill on contact”, I kicked the swing set and as the last surviving wasps flew out, I shot them right out of the air.
The wasp rebellion has been put down. The yard is mine again.
I have to admit the stings were strangely invigorating. They tore me out of my suburban complacency like some sort of backyard insect fight club.
Update: My father claims he did teach me to fear wasps.