An Encounter with a Wasp

Note: My wife had the baby (more to come on that later) and I’m working overtime on the home front so there isn’t a fresh Daddy Days this week. Instead, please enjoy this piece from my pre-Daddy Days life. 

I want to make sure this is perfectly clear: the wasp in the tale you’re about to read was no normal pest. It was a bona-fide winged demon about the size of a helicopter with a stinger that could have pierced tank armor. Fine. Maybe not quite. But it was huge and gave me the fight of my life.

It was a typical Texas summer afternoon (i.e., you can actually hear the grass screaming for water and the roof shingles bubbling on your house) and I was inside my living room in the air conditioning. I lived on the third floor of an apartment complex (**whispers** foreshadowing).

I realize that there’s another noise, not bubbling tar or screaming lawn greens, finding its way into my ear drum. A buzzing of sorts. It sounds like it’s coming from the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony/patio, so I decide to investigate. And then I see him. Flying just outside the door in 105 degree heat (further evidence it was from the devil) looking for a place to build a nest. Not on MY porch.

I ran to the closet and arm myself with wasp spray (30 ft range, baby!), and since there weren’t any bee keeper uniforms handy (note to self, get a beekeeper suit) I put on my ball cap and begin to plan my attack. (For the cynical reader who scoffs at my planning the attack I assure you, when Beelzebub has taken wasp form and is hovering outside your door you don’t just storm in like it’s Normandy or something. For this, you need a well thought out plan.) My plan: I’ll open the door a crack and see if he flies away, then I’ll go out and see if he’ll land or maybe even spray him in flight. Then he will die. Break!

I go to the door and open it a crack – and, holy cow, HE FLIES INSIDE! Abort! Abort! Plan backfire! Not having planned for this, I immediately take up plan B; I scream like a little girl and run and lock myself in the bathroom.

After hiding in the bathroom for a couple, er, minutes... I decide to fight again. Normandy style.

I burst out of the bathroom screaming and waving one wasp spray wielding hand in the air, while holding the top of my head with the other (I don’t know why…). But he’s not there. I look to the balcony door. He’d taken advantage of the time he’d bought after my graceful retreat and was back outside working on his future army’s breeding ground.

This further enrages me, and with a Braveheart-esque cry I charge onto the porch. Bedlam ensues. As I run out the door the demon wasp sees me and attacks. I fire a stream of wasp killer, but he dodges it and the forceful blast hits the wall and rains down over me. I roll, pop up into a crouch, and squeeze off another shot – and wing him! He spirals out of the air and lands on the ground between me and the balcony railing.

I move in for the kill, but just as I’m about to stomp on him with the combat boot I’d put on he flaps his near sailboat sized wings and sends a gale force wind at me. On one foot, I lose my balance and spin to one side, lurch back, and leap – right over the balcony railing.

As I’m soaring over the railing I reach out and grab it with one hand, and now I'm dangling cliff-hanger style off the railing. By this point the sky has turned black and thunder is crashing nearby. I look three floors down and a fiery chasm has opened up where the ground used to be. I can smell the sulfur and feel the intense heat rising from below. I realize I’m doomed.

But then I also realize that I’m still holding the wasp spray in my other hand. I glance at the porch and see my enemy struggling to move on the ground. I know I only have one shot at this. I throw the wasp spray into the chasm and it explodes (from the heat, you see). The explosion launches me up over the railing in a front flip. I land feet first (held together so perfectly an Olympic gymnast would cry) on top of the wasp with a satisfying crunch. Victory.

I lived to tell the tale and I hope to pass on a piece of wisdom you should have learned from reading this: the Texas heat will play tricks on your mind.