The following is a true story, about the first time I killed
a wasp’s nest a few nights ago. The story is true, but some of the details have
been tweaked to protect the identities and badass rankings of those involved.
July 2013: Exterior night. Two intrepid heroes make their
way through the dense underbrush of a suburban Canadian lawn. In the distance a
wild Chihuahua howls, indicating the truly perilous nature of the wilderness
surrounding them.
It was a dark night, darker than any I have other
experienced. My grandfather and I crept silently across the lawn, flashlight
and can of raid in hand. The grass whispered sweet nothings in the wind, as if
they would be the last sounds would ever here. The task at hand was one of life
and death, not a job to be taken lightly. Fifty meters ahead there was a wasp’s
nest, bigger than any I had ever seen (About 3 inches across).
If my grandfather was frightened at all, he did not show it.
No emotions penetrated his stony resolve, and so I was left alone with my
thoughts, worrying about the battle to come. Above our heads the last of the
wasps made their way back to the hive, no doubt to prepare for another day of
tyranny, harassing poor families at breakfast when all they want to do is eat
their damn bacon.
12 Hours Earlier:
 |
| An American wasp looking scumbaggy |
“DAMN YOU WASP!” a battle had been raging for over ten
minutes between me and a pair of aggressive wasps attempting to spirit away my
bacon. It was a bleak breakfast, filled with fear of losing fried pork products
and the potential of being stung by terrifying beasts of the air.
Breakfast ended all to early, and there was no time for the
post-bacon cup of coffee, throwing off my routine for the rest of the day, and
deeply saddening my poor grandparents. Something had to be done, but at the
time I did not know what.
“Someday wasps, someday…”
5 Hours Before Battle:
The store clerk looked at me as if she knew what I was about
to do. I set down the can of raid along with the dozen chocolate chip cookies
on the counter. The cookies were a ploy to distract her from my true
intentions.
“Got a wasp problem?”
She was a sharp one, seeing instantly through my thick veil
of mystery and misdirection.
“Yeah, they kept trying to take my ham.” I said nonchalantly
attempting to make the subject matter seem lighter than it truly was. It is a well-known
fact that ham is not worth revenge killing.
“Make sure you spray them at night, you run less of a risk
for getting stung.”
I shrugged off her comment, keeping up the façade that I had
no intention of killing these beasts. I paid and walked away, enjoying one of
the chocolaty distractions I had purchased.
Present Time:
Revenge was in the air, even the animals could smell it.
Lucky for us, wasps aren’t animals, as they lack a soul with which to feel
animal-like. Never again would I eat bacon in fear, never again would I have to
defend myself at the breakfast table, and never again would I cut my post-bacon
coffee. As we closed in on the wasp’s nest I could see hundreds (Seven) of them
working themselves into the deep honeycombs of the nest.
They had clearly taken a position of power for their stronghold.
Hanging directly beneath the coil hook of the garden hose, if it was so much as
jostled they would be on the offensive. It rested like a landmine, waiting for
unsuspecting humans to disturb its rest, and subsequently have their days/lives
ruined.
Sweat beaded down my forehead the closer we got. I swore I
could hear the buzzing of sentries close by, but I couldn’t see any to confirm my suspicions. It was pitch black,
and the wind had stopped, creating an eerie silence. I was sure the wasps would
hear our approach, but it appeared my stealthy choice of footwear (Socks) had
paid off. The wasps did not so much as stir.
I readied the can in my hand and motioned to my grandfather
for the flashlight. “Make sure you get right up underneath the nest, or they
might get a chance to attack.” He said, valiantly.
In a wildlife survival guide written by reputable source, it
states: “A wasp charge is akin to a herd of charging rhinos in both size and ferocity.
In the documentary Daffy Duck it has
been seen that these hostile relatives of the common honey bee will even take
the shape of larger, more threatening animals to intimidate their prey. In the
animal kingdom there is nothing as terrifying or deadly as an organized group
of angry wasps.” (See: The Bible Too, Section 9:1 Wasps, I hate them.)
I found myself with my hand directly below the wasp’s nest,
finger on the trigger, and can aimed directly at the sleeping wasp horde. My
grandfather nodded to me in a solemn gesture, letting me know both that it was
time, I was becoming a man, and that he was proud. Feeling confident, I pulled
the trigger and unleashed the white, foamy stream of death onto the bug-eyed menace.
The wasps didn’t see it coming. It was a blitzkrieg in the
night, a shot in the dark, a knife in the back. As they fell, I swore I could
hear one shouting: “Nooooooooo.” It was a massacre in five seconds flat. As
quickly as
it had begun, it was over…
While I can respect them as a species for their love of
bacon, I sleep well at night knowing it was the only option. While I know that
this was only one battle of many, it means that I get one day to rest, a day to
eat my bacon in piece, and if they should return I will be ready for them…
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