The cruelest way to kill a bug…

It might be because I’m catholic, but every now and then I have a near crippling attack of guilt.

Feeling guilty about things that I’ve done, things that I didn’t do, mistakes I made when I was quite small, mistakes I made when I as not so small, etc.

To keep myself in check, I definitely toss out my old diaries after a couple of years. No need to delve too far in the past, as I’m fairly sure that any mistake I’ve made will stay in my consciousness FAR longer than anything I managed to do right.

Take, for example, this episode from my college days, brought back to the forefront of my mind by simply glancing at the cover of the novel I’m reading (The Secret Life of Bees).

As a junior, I moved into the residence halls early because, as an RA, I had training to attend for nearly a month before classes. I decided I would unpack everything before I went to bed, no matter how late I had to stay up to do so.

Now, I was living in Seattle, and I had the window open. I had very few reservations about open windows at that time, because I lived on the seventh floor of the building, and ours was the tallest building around.

Apparently, however, bees can fly rather high.

Even seven stories high.

So, as I was folding and putting away clothes at 2 a.m., I was quite suprised to see a large bee wriggle his way into my dorm room. Bad suprised.

I’m a wee bit afraid of the bees. Not for any good reason, as I have never been stung by a bee, wasp, yellowjacket, or any other yellow-and-black-stinger-clad insect. Maybe if I had been stung, I would have realized that it’s really not as bad as I’d feared, and I would have been a little more reasonable about the whole thing.

But instead, I quietly freaked out. Luckily for me, the bee stayed up towards the ceiling, and I was able to finish unpacking the room. However, at 4 a.m., I still had a problem. While I might have been able to deal with the fellow (“deal” defined as spastically twitching my eyes up to follow the beast’s progress every fifteen seconds or so while folding) while I was awake and working, I was most certainly not going to be able to SLEEP with him around.

So, I had to come up with a plan. The ceiling was too high to pull a “smash with a small object” routine, plus, if I missed, then I was confined in a small, locked room with an ANGRY bee. Hardly a win-win situation.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I remember being told that hairspray will freeze a bee’s wings, and it will fall to the ground. Now, hairspray I had.

So, I grabbed my hairspray and *squirt* *squirt*, the sucker came down. Sure enough, it worked. It froze his wings.

However, it did nothing for the stinger.

So, now there was a crabby insect on the floor, desperately trying to punish something for knocking it out of flight, settling for obsessively stabbing the carpeting.

This did not make me feel much better. Angry bee still in the room.

So, since I had it largely confined to one area (the area being the floor) I did the whole glass-and-index card trick, trapping the bee inside a plastic cup with one of those “Yes! I’d like to subscribe to US Weekly” cards that comes out of a magazine.

So, with the angry critter attempting to sting me through the piece of paper, I tried to solve the new problem I’d created.

I needed two hands to hang on to the cup and the card…

And I was in a locked room.

I needed to get the bug out…Out…OUT!

And then, in a moment I will torture myself about forever, my eyes fell upon the open window.


I quickly put both hands out the window, separated the card from the glass, and let the bee go.

Then, I shut the window, put on my pajamas, and climbed into bed.

And then, curses, I thought about what I had done.

I took a flying insect, a big round bumblebee, paralyzed it with a chemical attack,

And threw it off a building.

Can you imagine what the fall would be like? Knowing that you should be able to fly, trying to move your wings, entirely conscious, and still falling to your death.

Despite the fact that it was 4 a.m., I didn’t sleep particularly well that day.

Mr. Bee, though it has been four and a half years, I would like to apologize.

If I had it to do over again, I would have swatted you with the magazine.


1 Comment

  1. coffee said,

    March 12, 2009 at 12:05 am

    your post makes me miss college (some things at least)

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