The wasp infestation in my bedroom reached a sort of critical mass last evening. While I was on the phone with my roommate-to-be, I uncovered another dead wasp (that makes a handful found dead or alive this past week). At about 2am this morning, I was trying to edit some music and transfer files from my PC to my portable hard drive, when I heard that old familiar sound – the one that has come to be a symbol of terror in recent weeks – tiny wings smacking against a glass. Was Satan deploying more of his evil disciples? That sound was a harbinger of doom. My doom. Before I had time to react, a pair of what appeared to be paper wasps, about an inch in length, tumbled out of the light fixture above my computer desk and landed on my right shoulder.
“FUCK!” I screamed.
“FUCK! FUCK!” I yelled, as i rotated my shoulder to shake them off of me. The wasps flew up to the light bulb and began beating their bodies against it, probably in an attempt to get back to their (probably massive) nest in the attic above my room. I reached for the canister of RAID that has been by my side as I sleep and as I work for the past month, and began to spray upwards toward the light. The wasps swooped down in my general direction, so I raced out of my room and downstairs.
“FUCK!” I hollered, shaking out my t-shirt and waking up those who were unlucky enough to be fast asleep during the ordeal. “I’m leaving, I can’t stay here anymore!”
“Then go. Shut up, and go,” came the response.
It sounded easy enough, but unfortunately my car keys and my cell phone were still in the room. I had to enter the wasps lair and attempt to remove my personal items without being attacked and possibly killed. This was no easy task, as I had now officially declared war on their nest, both by deploying the RAID up into all the light fixtures and by yelling “Fuck!” repeatedly. “Fuck,” I believe, is a universally recognized war cry.
Silently, I crept upstairs to check the scene. I slowly turned the doorknob, anticipating an impenetrable black swarm and unruly cacophony. I pushed the door open and peeked inside. There was nothing. I looked up at the lights, but heard nothing. I started to creep towards my desk, and then I noticed the wasps resting on my keyboard – four of them – walking along the B, G, H, T and Y keys. I’m sure they could smell my fear. My car keys were just above the keyboard on a shelf, and my phone was right next to the monitor. Instead of going straight for them, I grabbed the RAID again and sprayed the keyboard. The wasps began flying towards me, but I slammed the door shut, cursed loudly several times, and raced back downstairs in a panic.
It was time to recruit an army of weapon-wielding anti-wasp soldiers. I assembled my two privates outside my bedroom door and spoke to them of our impending battle. I was like John Pershing at Fort Bliss, the lone difference being I probably would not see my family die in a fire.
The three of us stood outside the door – for some reason crouching, as if waiting in the underbrush – as I again slowly turned the doorknob. Expectations were high. I think I heard whispers of a ceiling cave-in and rapidly advancing wasp forces. When the door swung open, there was again silence. No thick swarm of wasps, no ceiling cave in. We momentarily sighed as I commanded one of my privates to obtain my car keys and phone.
“Above the keyboard! On the shelf!” I barked.
“What about the phone!?”
“Next to the monitor!” I responded.
“It’s not here!” A wave of panic washed over us. We were now behind enemy lines, and every extra moment we wasted was like flirting with disaster. An ambush could occur at any moment. I needed to think quickly.
“Check the floor on the left-hand side of the desk, maybe I knocked the phone off in a panic?” Suddenly…that sound. Wings against light bulb. An attack was being mounted.
We all looked up at the ceiling, except the brave private who reached down and retrieved my phone. As he made his way to the door, I raced in and covered him with the RAID, shooting upwards blindly. Once outside, the door slammed shut and locked, we all stood silently.
“Get out of here,” I was told. And without a word, I left. I think the exterminator is coming by today, so I have to stay around the house for a while, waiting. Waiting. I can’t wait to see what he finds. Could there be hundreds, or thousands of wasps in that attic? Are we sitting on a potential news story? Stay tuned.
