Wasps Nests

Working as a groundskeeper at an apartment complex isn’t exactly the most exciting job in the world. I pick up dog shit all day mostly. I just started a few weeks ago and the days are pretty much all the same. I get there thirty minutes early, clean the office, pick up trash (again mostly dog shit and cigarette butts), change a few light bulbs here and there, and ride around in a golf cart as much as I can.

Today I was checking the lights on a building by the south west corner of the complex. I was sweeping up against the walls cleaning the spider webs and dust, I reached higher and higher, reaching as far as my arms could until a swarm of wasps came falling down like a small waterfall onto the ground. Instantly I dropped my broom and sprinted down the stairs and started feeling itchy everywhere. I reached my cart and gathered myself. I checked for stings and saw nothing yet but I felt like something was crawling on my arms or I’d feel a small little bug on the side of my head or the back of my neck. You know that little itch I’m talking about. I couldn’t help but swat at it or rub my hands around it waiting to feel a wasp stuck to my skin.

I went back to my golf cart and took it to the shop and found the can of wasp killer. I drove as fast as my dinky little golf cart could take me until I was back at the spot of death full of wasps but I came back to nothing. All the wasps were gone along with their nest. I still felt a little paranoid but I kept on cleaning the walls of the breeze ways again.

I went on to the next building, this time a little more vigilant than before and saw it. Another wasps nest up in the corner of the wall. I was ready this time. I stood back aimed my little wasp killer can and sprayed right at it for a few seconds while the white foam covered the yellow jackets and for a second nothing happened. Then they fell. Some were stuck to the white foam slowly dripping down the wall along with the foam. I felt accomplished, only for a moment, and put the lid on the spray can. I began walking down the stairs when I saw the little wasps on the ground and suddenly they didn’t seem so frightening anymore. I remember them writhing on the ground, grasping with their legs at something, anything. None of them were lucky enough to die instantly and I just stood there saddened by what I had just done. They were aggressive yellow jacket wasps after all and I couldn’t just leave them there to grow and make a bigger nest. It was my job to get rid of them but seeing thsee tiny little beautiful creatures, drag themselves across the floor, squirming, covered in foam, kicking its legs out, grasping onto its last moments of life, I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by its tragic death. I know it’s stupid but I felt like a monster. I sat down on one of the cement steps and sat there, wishing I could do something to make it end its needless suffering. I couldn’t just step on them all, there were too many and would stomping them really be more dignified than this cruel torture I was putting them through? Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Still these poor winged things were writhing excruciatingly in pain. Finally I decided I’d put myself through enough and moved on to the next breezeway and climbed up the stairs once again only to find another wasps nest, and another, and another.