The wasps of the world are out to get me. Whey else build a nest up seventeen stories? The queen is totally playing the long game. On her own she can’t beat me. She’s been thwarted by my screen doors and cagy use of footwear when I walk on lawns (learned that lesson the hard way as a child). So to draw me out, she’s building a nest just out of reach, taunting me. It’s just far enough away that I have to lean over the balcony to smack it down. Then when I’m precariously dangling seventeen floors up she and her hive buddies will attack, tipping me over the edge to my doom. Well played your majesty, but I’m totally onto you. Wasp conspiracy…it’s the only logical answer.
A wasp queen is building her nest outside my dining room window.
That wouldn’t have been a problem a few years ago when we were suburban dwellers. I would have donned rain gear, waited until nightfall and smacked the sucker to the ground. (Then run away shrieking. Very dignified. I had it down to an art.)
But now we live seventeen stories in the sky. My windows don’t open and this week I watched in helpless horror as a wasp queen built a papery palace completely safe from my smacking and running skills.
Leaving it in place wasn’t an option. I don’t like wasps. Bees I can get behind. I mean honey, chubby fluffy bodies, that guy on the cereal box, that’s worth a little venom now and again. Wasps however are not welcome in my universe.
It could be their fearless, arrogant attack of creatures (me) hundreds of times their size.
It could be a childhood memory, hazy with venom and antihistamine, of furiously running from a swarm, leaping from a cliff and breaking my arm.
It could be the allergy that caused me to grow a third breast the last time I was stung. I may never know. But either way, the queen and her hive of death had to go.
No problem. That’s what professionals are for. Right? Apparently not.
Pest Guy: Pest control. How can I help you?
Me: I have a wasp nest in an inaccessible place and I need to get rid of it before they kill me.
Pest Guy: Where is it?
(Note the Pest Guy’s lack of surprise that the wasps plan on killing me. He made a good first impression.)
Me: Outside my dining room window, up seventeen floors.
Pest Guy: Ok.
Me: It’s around a corner from my balcony with nothing below it…
Pest Guy: How’s Thursday?
So I waited for the pest guy to arrive. The wasp nest grew slowly and I may or may not have had nightmares. But when the pest guy arrived, he didn’t bring salvation, he brought a stick and a can of spray.
Me: Ummm, the nest is kinda inaccessible.
Pest Guy: No problem.
(I show him where it is.)
Pest Guy: Problem.
To him credit he tried. Measured and leaned way further over my balcony than I would have before giving up and going home to get a hockey stick.
(Totally my idea…long enough to reach the nest from my balcony, hooked end to get around the corner to the window. I could have been a pest control professional… you know if it weren’t for the anaphylactic allergy and the terror.)
NB. I’m finally making some progress with the edits on Riveted. I hate hearing that I need to make changes but I’ve got to admit the changes are making Riveted a stronger piece of writing. Stupid personal growth.
Sharing: – Caution, fear and attempted regicide can lead to haiku.
A wasp built a nest,
Just within my fearful view,
I will kill you wasp.
You’re just out of reach,
Cleaver, cleaver insect queen,
I have a stick, ha.
You win this round, insect queen,
Tomorrow you die.
Plan the wasp attack. I’ve killed your kind for years. Now is the time for waspish revenge.
You are the wasp. Bee the wasp. (Cute right?)