kgk
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The wasp nest
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Nov 3 21:01 UTC 1991 |
- The Wasp Nest -
Years ago, when I was a kid, I once got stung by a wasp. It hurt
like hell. After a couple of days, when the swelling went down, I
decided I was going to get those wasps who had made a nest
underneath the eaves of our house.
My little brother Todd and I, armed with the highest technology
we possessed -- water hoses, a ladder, a blow-torch, cans of Raid
and a tennis racquet -- decided to eradicate those nasty wasps once
and for all. There were about five nests in various corners.
We decided to go for the biggest one first. We carefully planned
our strategy. I, outfitted in a raincoat, would bravely climb the
ladder and shoot the Raid (specially designed for wasps) into
the nest. Then Todd would blast the nest with water while I
scrambled down the ladder to avoid getting stung. When the nest fell
to the ground, I would rush to get the blow-torch which was lit and
waiting, to incinerate the nest. If Todd encountered any stragglers,
he'd whack them with the tennis racquet. We had superior fire-
power. How could we lose?
Our first sortie against the wasps was quite successful. The
unsuspecting wasps loitering around the entrance of the nest were taken
by surprise. Only three or four managed to escape unscathed. Those
who tried to flee were doused by our chemical weapons and spiralled
helplessly to the ground in convulsions.
After a few minutes of relentless pounding with water, the nest
succumbed and fell into a bush below. Todd scored two dead wasps
with the tennis raquet. I rushed to the nest with the torch and
turned it to ashes, along with the better part of the rose bush into
which it had fallen.
No stings, a few dollars worth of Raid, a smouldering rose bush, two
boys pumped up with the adrenaline of warfare, we were ready to take
on the second nest with a vengance.
The second nest, almost as large as the first, alerted by the alarm
pheremones of our previous attack, was abuzz and angry. We cautiously
approached. Our strategy would have to change. This time the
ladder was too risky. They wouldn't let us get near. We
decided to start with our secondary weapon from afar -- the water
cannon.
Standing about thirty feet away we poised the spray nozzle. Then,
after a moment of breathless anticipation, I pulled the trigger
and let a stream of water blast through the air at the nest. A
number of the wasps dispersed in a cloud. Before we could get the
nest knocked down, they were angrily swarming around our heads.
We ran like the devil to avoid getting stung.
After catching our breath, we decided to launch another brave
offensive. We waited a few minutes for the wasps to calm down. Then,
I picked up the hose again, and Todd grabbed the can of Raid. Our
strategy was to create a Raid cloud in front of us and shoot the water
through the cloud at the nest. Then, when the wasps charged they'd
be soaked with Raid.
We readied ourselves once again. At the signal, I let loose a blast
of water and Todd pressed the spray button. Unfortunately, in his
excitement, Todd had forgotten to aim the Raid nozzle before firing.
Instead of going toward the nest, a stream of chemical poison backfired
into his face. Luckily the brunt of the Raid jet was deflected by
his finger.
Todd went running into the house crying. I dropped the hose and
followed him, guiding him into the bathroom. We washed off most of
the poison with soap and water, but Todd was still very upset. His
right eye was bloodshot and swollen slightly. We were too afraid,
ashamed and embarassed to call for assistance. Todd was convinced
that the chemical poison would have fatal consequences.
I looked in the first-aid kit under poison. It said drink milk,
eat toast, and induce vomiting. I got Todd a big glass of milk, but
we couldn't figure out how to induce vomiting. Todd ran to our
room and buried his head in the pillow sobbing, for sure he would
soon succumb to the poison.
I felt terribly guilty. I suspected that Todd would not die
from the poison, since we washed off most of it quickly. I went
outside, carefully collected our weapons, and returned them to their
respective storage places in the cupboards of Dad's workshop. I
twisted the valve of the water spigot closed, coiled up the hose
against the side of the house and went inside in a pensive mood.
I tried to console Todd with words of reason: "We washed most
of it off. It's only designed to kill wasps, not people." He
stopped sobbing, although he still said that his eye stung a little.
By the time Mom returned from her shopping expedition, Todd's face
was only a little red and bloated. We were over the shock and pretty
sure that Todd would survive. We decided to play out in the back
yard and act normal so that Mom would not suspect anything. That
would give Todd's face extra time to return to normal.
The afternoon advanced into evening. Todd and I were engaged
in a boistrous game of kick-the-can with some neighbor kids. By the
time Mom called us in to dinner, we were just two normal, guileless
kids.
At the dinner table, Mom, with her usual attention to detail
looked at Todd. She noticed his slightly reddened eye. Todd's
lower lip dropped as if he was a criminal pinned down in a corner by
the police.
"What's wrong with your eye?" She enquired in a soft solicitious
tone.
"Nothing," Todd replied, like he had something big and bad to hide.
She leaned forward and looked at him more closely. He squirmed a
little under her gaze and put his head down slightly.
"Bill," she said to our dad, "I heard that pinkeye has been going
around. If he doesn't get better by tomorrow, we'll take him to get
it checked out."
We finished our dinner in an odd silence. Mom looked suspiciously
at Todd from time to time. I tried to hide any signs of guilt beneath
a calm poker face.
Todd's eye recovered completely by the next morning. We were
relieved that no permanent damage was done. We returned to the
battleground cautiously to reconnoiter our previous day's
warfare.
There was no evidence of the first nest. We had committed a
small genocide, destroying nest one civilization and all of its works.
Nest two workers were buzzing about calmly as if we had never existed.
A few wasps made furtive threatening dashes in our
direction, but then returned to hover around the nest.
Summers passed and wasp nests came and went with the passing
seasons. Two boys grew to adulthood and the reminiscence of
the wasps faded into the dim recesses of memory.
When I look back on youth with its mysteries and lessons, and then
see the world as it is, with all of its grown-up mysteries and lessons,
I can only shake my head and wonder.
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