Monday, May 24, 2010

The Sting

Last Summer, I fought a pitched battle against a nest of wasps that had taken up residence somewhere on my lawn. A swam of them attacked the guy who mows my lawn, so he gleefully doused the nest with a generous amount of poison. I had thought that was the last I'd seen of the little buggers.

The First Attempt At Colonizing My Porch
This Spring, the conflict has gotten personal. No less than three times over the course of two weeks, I have had to destroy wasp nests that were in the process of being built right on my own porch. In two of those cases, the nests were being built right over my doorstep. Each time I caught them in the mist of their unauthorized building project, I took a pic to post to my Facebook account and then proceeded to flood the nest out of existence by using the garden hose to create my own mini-Hurricane Katrina. . I half expected to see a bunch of wasps running for higher ground carrying mini plasma TVs and tiny carts full of miniature malt liquor.

By the third time, the conflict escalated. Once again, I discovered a nest being built over my doorstep, and once again, I whipped out my trusty Droid to capture a picture and post it to Facebook. I snapped the pic, and in the midst of sending the picture, I felt a pinch on my neck. I slapped blindly at the source. And then I felt another pinch. This could mean only one thing: The wasps were defending themselves somehow! Faster than Mexican water through a first time tourist, I ran to the garden hose, turned it on, and waterlogged the wasp into oblivion. Then, I dashed into the house, retrieved the industrial strength insect repellent and strayed it all over the porch and doorway. I left no surface untouched. I left no crevice un-filled. I unleashed the chemical fury upon the wasps and effectively napalmed my porch with Bug Stop. Victory. Or, so I thought.

Attempt #2: Right in the doorway
I sat on the couch to reflect upon the skirmish and started to feel like my neck was bursting into flames. I began to get itchy dizzy and nauseous. Had I accidentally inhaled some of the insecticide? Were the volcano nachos I had for lunch coming back to haunt me? It didn't take long for me to realize that I was having an allergic reaction to the stings. And here I thought that I was the only one who was capable of conducting chemical warfare.

Soon, my guts began to rebel against the lunch that was being slowly digested inside of me. I ran to the bathroom and horqued up part of my nachos, most of my gordita and all of my chili cheese burrito. Sadly, it almost tasted better coming up than it did going down. Still, I knew that I was in dire straights, so I did what any lovesick man in my predicament would do: I txted my girlfriend. What little pride I had left that hadn't just been flushed with the re-fried beans prevented me from calling her directly. I thought it wise to spare her the sounds of my body rebelling against the wasp toxin.

As my body temperature began kicking up into the triple digits, I laid on the bathroom floor. The cold tile felt good against my hot skin and helped to work me through the nausea. I felt like a recovering heroin addict with my skin itching and the contents of my guts wanting to spew through every orifice. I eventually recovered enough to crawl to my bed and pass out for a little bit. Nice try, little buggers, but I've bested you again.

Attempt #3: They didn't get very far
In all seriousness, the latest round in this arms race between me and the wasps could have turned very bad. A few more stings and I could have very well ended up in the hospital or worse. And a large part of this is my fault because I had suspected that I might have a bad reaction to wasp stings and I hadn't taken the opportunity to take precautionary measures. That changes today. From this point forward, I'm carrying an eppi pen in the car and my girlfriend has graciously agreed to carry one in her purse for me. I'm also bowing out of direct conflict in this wasp war. I'm employing mercenaries instead. Time to put in a call to Terminix.

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