Weeks ago I asked if I could borrow said Jeep and was told that I could, so it came as a wee bit of a surprise to helpful friend Steve and me when half-way to
“Hi Punkin, are you on your way yet?”
“Yep, be there in maybe half an hour.”
“Oh, Ok. I thought I should mention that the Jeep isn’t always starting.”
“Yes, you may have to switch between park and neutral and try a few times.”
“Uhm. Right. Ok, well, see you in a bit.”
“Should I make extra bacon?”
I was a tad bit nervous; but the car pickup went quite smoothly and all was well until I get to Safeway wherein I receive a phone call from Grammy letting me know that the tabs on the Jeep have expired. Cursed, I say, cursed.
The day before yesterday I was at the library (because I am studying to become a spinster) and I opened the driver side door to get out and there is a wasp nest between the door and the car’s frame. And in the nest, were the resident wasps.
How I had the car for four days and how prior to that nobody noticed the terrifying-stinging-insect infestation is beyond me.
I sat frozen watching the wasps buzzing about angrily for about 5 seconds before slamming the door with a squeak (mine, not the door’s). For some reason I thought that I could call Megan and she would tell me what to do. Her advice was limited to what came up on Google when she typed “wasp nest destroy.” You know what Megan? I hope law school works out for you because your terrifying-stinging-pest removal skills are piss poor.
Finally I called my uncle who told me to get back into the stinging/potential allergy attack inducing/death Jeep and drive over to his house. The drive was harrowing- though mostly for other drivers.
After crawling out the passenger side door I equipped myself in a makeshift beekeeper’s suit of a raincoat with the hood closed down to a tiny peephole.
My uncle went to the back porch, grabbed the wasp spray, extinguished his cigarette and in bare feet and plaid shorts walked up to the Jeep, opened the door and sprayed the nest.
The four wasps (I swear to God some must have sensed danger and escaped) promptly flopped to the ground. Then he asked me for a pen, which he used to pry the nest off the Jeep. Finally he threw the nest and corpses into the bushes and tried to give me the pen back. I told him to just keep the pen.
Now I don’t want to alarm my houseguest, but I’m pretty sure that someone from Bryn Mawr will be by to take my diploma back because they think I’m some sort squeaking, bug-fearing sissy girl who needs men to solve my problems.
They would be right.
The diploma fell behind the TV months ago and I’ve been too lazy to pick it up, so just reach back there and grab it. But if you jack up my NES, we’re going to have some words.