You all know my love of bees right? How even the mention of a bee in the area has me scurrying for the nearest exit….yah me loves them. Or not.
Well, karma has once again stepped in. In an attempt to, I’m sure, teach me a valuable lesson about the furry little creatures (yes some have fur – I’ve seen it) and how not dangerous they are. I get they have a vital role to play…yadda yadda yadda. What I don’t get is what part in the role my apartment plays?
My story begins with a quiet evening at Chez Jenn’s. I’m resting from a training walk and minding my own business in my own apt, when suddenly I hear that familiar buzzing sound. Immediately I’m on point – absolutely sure that I’ll be stung by whatever is making that buzzing sound. A quick scan of the apt and I see the yellow and black culprit. He’s lounging on my lamp! The nerve. Just sitting there, taunting me. Daring me to come near him. Oh I’ll come near you alright…with this magazine. SWAT! The bee goes down, as does the lamp. A small sacrifice one must make to rid the surrounding area of the pest. To ensure its dead, I step on it with my pink flipflop. It’s not moving so it’s dead.
Still a bundle of nerves I sit back down and get back into the zoning out position I was previously in. Bored with what the TV is offering I decide to turn it off. As I reach for the remote, I see the movement on the remote. A bloody bee again. Instead of squishing it like the bug that it is, I do a quick scan to the garbage can to see if its brother is in the can…dead. Yep. At the bottom lays the corpse of once was a working bee. I find this curious that TWO bees in two minutes would be….wait a minute…that means there could be more.
With that thought I spring from the chair, squirming as if I have a thousand bugs crawling all over me. The heeby jeebies have set in. With my trusty magazine I swat, and miss, the second intruder. He merely falls off the remote and lands on the table. Picking up a nearby book and plunking it on top of the little bugger ensures instant death. But just so I’m sure, I lift the book. Dead. Smashed. Finally.
I got no rest that night.
The following evening, Seattle Sister-in-law (Seattle SIL) is over for a much needed scrapbooking evening. (I got nothing done, but thanks for asking). As I’m sitting there chatting a way I see, out of the corner of my eye, the movement. What the…? Another one? Bloody bees. Kicking screaming and swatting I managed to kill the third one without pulling any muscles or screaming like a two year old who’s not getting any ice cream from the nice music making truck. As I walk away to get something to pick up the corpse, I’m explaining to the scrapbooking crowd the bee events of the last two days. Causally, Blueberry mentions there’s one crawling across the floor – did I mention she said that “casually”? With no understanding of the war I’ve been waging over the last two days, she makes no movement to kill the beast whose wing span matches that of an eagle (okay well maybe not…but it seemed like it). I stomp out that intruder and add him to the growing pile of bee corpse I have in my garbage can. The heeby jeebies set in.
The scrapbooking crew leaves and I’m cleaning up for the night. To unwind I turn on the TV to catch the news. As I’m staring blankly at the images of the night, it crosses my site. Flying slow and low, like a hovering jet it passes between me and tomorrow's weather. I jump up shouting incoherent words about bees and bugs and how could they possibly be … and where are they coming from…and am I in the third level of hell. Jumping up like a deranged person only serves to lose site of the pterodactyl size demon. Great. The heeby jeebies set in.
I step slowing throughout the apt, stalking a prey I cannot see, yet know that it’s there. My eyes dart at any movement – or perceived movement. Then I see it. Lounging on my cup. Great. How am I going to kill it without spilling the contents of the glass. Maybe if I just move the glass a bit it’ll fall in. Except that would mean I’d have to get close enough to it to move the glass. And what if it should dart in my direction? No, that’s not a good plan. Can I wait it out? And with that thought it was up and buzzing. It makes a vital mistake though and lands on the flat surface of the TV screen. Now I not only get the weather, but added bee guts to the view. Dead.
It’s 10:30pm. I’m tired. And the heeby jeebies are a permanent residence. Monday was a holiday so how was I going to make it through an entire day before I could call the apt complex to have them spray the neighborhood? Oh the drama. Should I go to a hotel? Blueberrie’s? Or do I assume the position of authority of the apt and try to sleep in my own room?
All night I tossed and turned – sure that a bee was landing on me or around me or on me…
The morning came and I somehow managed to rest. But, what now? How was I to make it through an entire day with the bee infestation? What if I was stung and couldn’t get to the phone to call 911? I’d die right here - in my not so clean apt. The CSI team would paw through my things and make comments about the murderous plot the bees were on. They’d find the pile of corpses and say, “she fought a good fight”. Hmmm, if CSI or any other person is going to be in my apt, perhaps I should clean.
After an entire day of cleaning and being on bee watch, I rest my weary bones. Suddenly I realize I’ve not seen a bee all day. Do they come out at night? Are they gathering in numbers to attend the funerals of all their little buddies? Are they plotting my slow painful death? Or, did I imagine all this? A quick look at the garbage can and I’m assured this was no imagination.
Tuesday dawns with a quick call to the apt complex. Thankfully the person answering the phone is a kindred spirit and hates bees as much as I do. She promises to get someone over right away. Once I get home I see the familiar pink slip from the apt crew. Writing in blue ink are the instructions of what the issue is “Jenn has killed a number of bees in the last few days and can’t find where they’re coming from.” Short and to the point, but not as urgent sounding as I would have made it. Anyhow… below is lists the action taken by the crew. “Sprayed bee nest situated under the master bedroom outside window.” Erm….the heeby jeebies set in.
Well, karma has once again stepped in. In an attempt to, I’m sure, teach me a valuable lesson about the furry little creatures (yes some have fur – I’ve seen it) and how not dangerous they are. I get they have a vital role to play…yadda yadda yadda. What I don’t get is what part in the role my apartment plays?
My story begins with a quiet evening at Chez Jenn’s. I’m resting from a training walk and minding my own business in my own apt, when suddenly I hear that familiar buzzing sound. Immediately I’m on point – absolutely sure that I’ll be stung by whatever is making that buzzing sound. A quick scan of the apt and I see the yellow and black culprit. He’s lounging on my lamp! The nerve. Just sitting there, taunting me. Daring me to come near him. Oh I’ll come near you alright…with this magazine. SWAT! The bee goes down, as does the lamp. A small sacrifice one must make to rid the surrounding area of the pest. To ensure its dead, I step on it with my pink flipflop. It’s not moving so it’s dead.
Still a bundle of nerves I sit back down and get back into the zoning out position I was previously in. Bored with what the TV is offering I decide to turn it off. As I reach for the remote, I see the movement on the remote. A bloody bee again. Instead of squishing it like the bug that it is, I do a quick scan to the garbage can to see if its brother is in the can…dead. Yep. At the bottom lays the corpse of once was a working bee. I find this curious that TWO bees in two minutes would be….wait a minute…that means there could be more.
With that thought I spring from the chair, squirming as if I have a thousand bugs crawling all over me. The heeby jeebies have set in. With my trusty magazine I swat, and miss, the second intruder. He merely falls off the remote and lands on the table. Picking up a nearby book and plunking it on top of the little bugger ensures instant death. But just so I’m sure, I lift the book. Dead. Smashed. Finally.
I got no rest that night.
The following evening, Seattle Sister-in-law (Seattle SIL) is over for a much needed scrapbooking evening. (I got nothing done, but thanks for asking). As I’m sitting there chatting a way I see, out of the corner of my eye, the movement. What the…? Another one? Bloody bees. Kicking screaming and swatting I managed to kill the third one without pulling any muscles or screaming like a two year old who’s not getting any ice cream from the nice music making truck. As I walk away to get something to pick up the corpse, I’m explaining to the scrapbooking crowd the bee events of the last two days. Causally, Blueberry mentions there’s one crawling across the floor – did I mention she said that “casually”? With no understanding of the war I’ve been waging over the last two days, she makes no movement to kill the beast whose wing span matches that of an eagle (okay well maybe not…but it seemed like it). I stomp out that intruder and add him to the growing pile of bee corpse I have in my garbage can. The heeby jeebies set in.
The scrapbooking crew leaves and I’m cleaning up for the night. To unwind I turn on the TV to catch the news. As I’m staring blankly at the images of the night, it crosses my site. Flying slow and low, like a hovering jet it passes between me and tomorrow's weather. I jump up shouting incoherent words about bees and bugs and how could they possibly be … and where are they coming from…and am I in the third level of hell. Jumping up like a deranged person only serves to lose site of the pterodactyl size demon. Great. The heeby jeebies set in.
I step slowing throughout the apt, stalking a prey I cannot see, yet know that it’s there. My eyes dart at any movement – or perceived movement. Then I see it. Lounging on my cup. Great. How am I going to kill it without spilling the contents of the glass. Maybe if I just move the glass a bit it’ll fall in. Except that would mean I’d have to get close enough to it to move the glass. And what if it should dart in my direction? No, that’s not a good plan. Can I wait it out? And with that thought it was up and buzzing. It makes a vital mistake though and lands on the flat surface of the TV screen. Now I not only get the weather, but added bee guts to the view. Dead.
It’s 10:30pm. I’m tired. And the heeby jeebies are a permanent residence. Monday was a holiday so how was I going to make it through an entire day before I could call the apt complex to have them spray the neighborhood? Oh the drama. Should I go to a hotel? Blueberrie’s? Or do I assume the position of authority of the apt and try to sleep in my own room?
All night I tossed and turned – sure that a bee was landing on me or around me or on me…
The morning came and I somehow managed to rest. But, what now? How was I to make it through an entire day with the bee infestation? What if I was stung and couldn’t get to the phone to call 911? I’d die right here - in my not so clean apt. The CSI team would paw through my things and make comments about the murderous plot the bees were on. They’d find the pile of corpses and say, “she fought a good fight”. Hmmm, if CSI or any other person is going to be in my apt, perhaps I should clean.
After an entire day of cleaning and being on bee watch, I rest my weary bones. Suddenly I realize I’ve not seen a bee all day. Do they come out at night? Are they gathering in numbers to attend the funerals of all their little buddies? Are they plotting my slow painful death? Or, did I imagine all this? A quick look at the garbage can and I’m assured this was no imagination.
Tuesday dawns with a quick call to the apt complex. Thankfully the person answering the phone is a kindred spirit and hates bees as much as I do. She promises to get someone over right away. Once I get home I see the familiar pink slip from the apt crew. Writing in blue ink are the instructions of what the issue is “Jenn has killed a number of bees in the last few days and can’t find where they’re coming from.” Short and to the point, but not as urgent sounding as I would have made it. Anyhow… below is lists the action taken by the crew. “Sprayed bee nest situated under the master bedroom outside window.” Erm….the heeby jeebies set in.
4 comments:
I don't like getting stung by bees, but it hasn't happened often. Generally, bees just go about their business. If you are lucky enough to find a hive, you should think about getting a bee-lover to come and move the hive. The bees are quite happy about this. They can lead productive lives producing HONEY. Yum.
I am not a green, an eco-warrior; far from it. But bees are in serious decline, and without them we have SERIOUS problems.
Unless you will die from a bee-sting, why not shoosh the little fellow out the window? It won't sting you - and if it does, it'll die, so it's a win-win.
A praying mantis is a different matter. Smash away with that flip flop.
BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! I see Rabitt has NO IDEA what you are like when a bee is within a mile of you!!!! I will never forget Billie's wedding and your battle with the bee while standing being a bridesmaid. I just knew you were going to bolt for the hills, but you were valiant and stayed!
I did get a good laugh out your description of the bee war...I can just see you doing exactly that. Kinda' like me and snakes! ewwwww
Ok I thing you should publish that. I giggled throught the whole thing. I wish I could have been a bee...........er........fly on your wall =)
Reminds me of the WSU weird bug fiasco (LOL)
The mental picture of you jumping around in your apartment, flailing your arms and screaming, made me giggle.
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