I Really Didn't Think It'd Bee a Problem - Part 5

The story nears it's conclusion... if you're new here, read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4...

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The hot summer sun shines down, like a heat lamp on an aquarium, and I sweat. Oh, I sweat.

I'm standing on the driveway, deflated, defeated. Staring at the bees crawling through the small holes in the window.


Another nest, I sigh. I slowly walk back inside, downstairs to the den like a dog with his tail between his legs, shoulders sagging. I near the window and put my ear to the wall. I can hear them. I can hear them in there! Oh man...

I consider ripping the trim and window ledge out to find them. As I stand and stare at the window, I take a minute to remember putting this room together. It was just a few short months ago that we finished this room. My father-in-law and I carefully crafted it, from the bare walls out. We put in a new sub-floor, picked out carpet, re-routed a drain pipe, installed custom home theater wire hidden in the walls, hung ceiling tiles and painted it all up.

It's so empty now. No carpet or sub-floor, missing pieces of drywall, and now, I might have to pull apart the window. It's time for a break; this is just too frustrating, all these bees.

We drive to Burlington to take a swim. My mother-in-law suggests using her wasp catcher - a jar with a special lid. The idea is to put some pop in it, let the bees fly in, and ... they're trapped. End of story. My mother-in-law drops by the next day while I'm at work and leaves the trap. Now we wait.

I return home 8 hours later, eager to check on the trap. I'm disappointed; no wasps in the jar. 30 on the window.

Mother-in-Law = 0
Bees = Too Smart

Now I'm just plain ticked off. The bee hunter will not be defeated! I take up my bug zapper and swat at the bees as they circle my head. In a moment of pure adrenaline and wasp-killing aggression, the bug zapper caresses the wall. By caress, I mean... smashes. The plastic bug zapper breaks. Nooooo!

Kristin wonders what's going on, and comes to the top of the basement stairs. I caution her to stay up there - there are still 60 or so wasps actively flying around. I swat at the wasps, trying desperately to avoid being stung. I show Kristin the zapper, expecting much disappointment - after all, she looooves zapping bugs. I'm surprised, she's hopeful; "Does it still work?" I hold it up to my ear and press the small square button. I hear the faint noise. "Yep!" I exclaim, suddenly possessed with optimism. My wife... she inspires me.

With a bounce in my step, I hurry to the workshop, carefully holding my broken racket. My eyes dart to one of the hooks on the wall. I know exactly what I'm looking for, and I know just where it is. Every guy knows where his duct tape is. It's a guy thing.

(As an aside, for most of her life, Kristin thought it was called Duck Tape. Sooooo cute. So cute.)

I quickly mend my broken zapper, and I'm back in the saddle, full of grit and determination. I go on the attack and quickly hunt and kill every wasp in sight.

I take up a new can of Raid wasp spray and spray the first nest again, just to be sure. I watch as the wasps die in the wall, several making it out of the hole, but no further. By the time I return to the den, the window is full of wasps. I'm not kidding, there were hundreds of wasps in the basement.

In frustration, I spray the wasps on the window in the den. They die instantly, dotting the cold, concrete floor. Take that, I say. I go back outside, the can almost empty. I use what's left to spray at the holes. The holes are too small to get a good spray inside, so I have to settle.

The light dims. I survey the wreckage in the basement; there are dead wasps everywhere. I'm proud of my killing-spree.

I'm certain that I've taken care of nest #1, but I'm less sure of #2. There's no activity at the holes, but that's not surprising, it's coated in Raid. Time will tell.

As I lay in bed, I consider hiring an exterminator. I dread the bill - I dread having to call for help. I was doing so well, I think to myself, but a man needs to know his limits. Have I reached mine?

Wednesday - the end of the road - the adventure reaches it's end.