COLUMN: Wasp Nest

Help me if you can, Quad Cities. I'm feeling down.

I'm working on this column Tuesday night. As I type these words, those lucky and/or wealthy enough to have tickets are presently at the TaxSlayer Center breathing rarified Beatle air. Sir Paul's in town while the biggest music geek I know -- namely, ME -- sits on my couch making a pouty face.

I shouldn't complain. I've seen my fair share of amazing concerts. Plus my couch is comfier than the seats at the TaxSlayer, and I should be grateful just to have a roof over my head and a place to call my own.

There's just one problem. My place is under siege.

I had no idea until last week. I was in the yard checking on the evergreen tree I've been babying since I moved in. But then something caught my eye, I looked up, and that's when things got fuzzy.

I've never fainted before in my life, but I'm pretty sure this was close. I may have forgotten to breathe for a bit. After thirty seconds of paralyzing fear, I blinked, ran full bore inside the house, and commenced freaking out.

There, hanging on the side of my house, was a wasp nest. No, I'm underselling it. This was a wasp metropolis, larger than a basketball, attached to MY safe space. At least I thought it was my safe space. It turns out my confines are no longer friendly.

Nothing makes an afternoon fly by quite like crippling irrational fear, and nothing turns me into a cowardly idiot faster than insects that fly and sting. If a bee gets near me, all rational thought ceases. I will run and scream like an idiot. I have tried to jump from moving vehicles. I once had a fast food employee think I was having a stroke in the drive-thru lane because a bee landed on my shirt and the only noise I could make was "Gfffraak!"

There is reason to my apiphobia. When I was little, I stepped on the wrong barn board and some angry bumblebees sent me to the emergency room when I puffed out with hives and my throat almost closed. Honey used to do the same, but nowadays I can eat it without problem, so there's a fair chance I've outgrown my allergy -- but I'm in no hurry to find out.

Wikipedia says that "unreasonable fear of bees in humans may have a detrimental effect on ecology," to which I say, "Sorry, ecology." I still want all bees to die. Look, I get it. Bees pollinate flowers and make honey. They're nature's little helpers who also occasionally inject us with venomous poison. But as far as I can see, there's no good argument for wasps. Wasps are just mean little attitude problems whose sole purpose is to make me act like a ninny and lose bladder control. Wasps are the worst.

I sent two texts. The first was to my friend Jason:

"Giant wasp nest on house. Will never sleep again. Their house now. Its been a good run. Goodbye forever."

The other was to my mommy.

"Wasps now own my house. Prepare bedroom, moving home. Buy cat litter."

Thankfully, Jason showed up before I could pack a suitcase. "Let me see this huuuuge nest," he said with an eyeroll until I pointed at it from the safety of my living room.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed. "You weren't kidding. That thing's huge!"

"I KNOW," I said, because, well, I knew.

"It's also vacant."

I crept around the house and steeled myself for another glimpse into my worst nightmare. Sure enough, the nest was empty. In fact, the bottom half of it was gone. All that was left were the desolate ruins of Wasptopia. I wasn't sure whether I felt relief or anger. The imminent threat was gone, but did I really spend 2018 as the unknowing landlord to hordes of my mortal enemy?

One thing was certain - this nest was getting evicted. The only thing I owned capable of reaching the nest was a feather duster with a telescoping handle, so if you happened to be driving through Rock Island and witnessed two weirdos playing the least manly game of aerial croquet imaginable, my sincere apologies. After a few misguided whacks, we brought it down.

And by "we" I mean Jason. I was cowering a half block away. Jason grabbed the nest and brought it over.

"See how cool it is? Look how much work they put into the creation of these things."

"Yes," I replied. "Behold this majestic and wondrous creation of nature. NOW BURN IT WITH FIRE."

I've had my fill of insects this season and it's only June. I've fought bagworms, gnats, wasps, and now tardy mayflies are coming around. Maybe it's a good thing I skipped the concert. I'm tired enough of bugs. The last thing I need are Beatles.