Me vs. The Bee
by Polish PowerhouseJuly 26, 2007
This is an old story, but it’s still one of my proudest moments:
So, I’m outside in the gazebo with my wife and oldest son one afternoon. She and the boy were down in the yard playing right outside the gazebo, while I did some work to the gazebo itself. Now, the gazebo was built by a former owner of the house and it’s made almost entirely from cedar which apparently is a favorite snack of carpenter bees.
Over the years, carpenter bees have become the Ace of Spades in my deck of terrorist playing cards, so to speak. They were all over my gazebo, just munching away as much as they pleased. You could sit out there trying to enjoy an nice outdoor lunch and hear them like a bowl of Rice Krispies eating wood.
I have been known to turn into Carl Spackler when it comes to carpenter bees, letting nothing (even common sense) come in between me and the destruction of their species.
As I’m piddling around in the gazebo, I see a carpenter bee go buzzing into one of the many holes lining the roof area. I drop my tools and jump to my feet. I grab a can of prescription strength insect killer given to me by my former Terminix guy (who is the only person I’ve met who shares a hatred of carpenter bees that runs on the same level as mine). I light into a frenzy of spraying the poison at anything that moved.
The bees are dropping from their burrows, some dead, some just pissed off and buzzing my head. I feel like King Kong atop the Empire State Building if only Kong had a can of liquid death instead of monkey paws. I’m seeing red, I only hear the sound of my own heart. I’m in the zone. It’s the way I imagine ultimate fighters feel while in the octagon. I’m like a ninja shrouded in a cloud of gaseous death! Then, I hear it…
“DAVID! STOP SPRAYING US WITH POISON!”
They talk?
No, it was my wife. In my blind rage, I was misting she and my son with poison. Rather than, picking my perfectly content son up and removing him from the sandbox and dealing with the crying while her idiot husband continued his deft attack on flying insects like a GOOD WIFE, she demanded that I stop spraying poison around like an idiot. Pffft…women…
So, I put down the can of poison and try to return to what I was doing. Moments later, I hear the distinct buzz of a carpenter bee directly behind me. I stand up slowly and turn around.
The air was thick, my friends… As I turned around I see a bee just hovering at eye level about three feet in front of my face. He staring at me. I’m staring at him. I feel like I’m in a Western. “Pick up the poison.” “I don’t wanna pick up the poison, Mister.” “Pick up the poison.” “If I do, you’ll sting me!” “Pick up the poison.” BAM! “He was gonna poison me and you all saw it.”
I look at the poison. I look at my wife. I look at the bee. He’s still just hovering there, calling me a pussy in bee speak. “Whatcha gonna do, pussy?” On the rail, I see the only thing in my reach that I can use to swat at it: my grill brush. It’s not a large grill brush, but it should do to wave him away at least.
I reach very slowly toward the brush and wrap my fingers around it. I pull it toward me…slowly…slooooowwwwwwly…
*SWAT*
I shoot a forehand at him the likes of which Nadal would have been proud of. I feel something as I swing. As I finish my follow through, I notice the bee is no longer hovering in front of me.
Did I knock it down? Really? With a grill brush?
I set out looking for it. But, it’s nowhere to be seen.
So, I flip over the brush in my hand…
Oh yeah…
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