If we’ve ever zoomed during the day, perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m rocking back and forth on a swing chair on my front porch. I might have even shown you my view, which consists of mellow palm trees with leaves that dance gently in a warm summer breeze. I bet most people see where I am and think, She’s living in a southern paradise. It really could be a paradise -- if only my porch swing was not hiding a wasps’ nest.
If you’re really lucky, you would have seen a wasp trying to enter the pipe of my porch swing. Let me emphasize trying. The wasp, carrying a small leaf, like a peculiar, green gift, readies to return home after a hard day’s work. Unfortunately, the wingspan of the wasp is greater than the diameter of the pipe, so the wasp must, in a leap of faith, close its wings and stop flying for a moment to catch inside the pipe and climb upwards.
The wasp fails to do this multiple times: it flies full-speed into the pipe, bounces back from the impact, flies full-speed into the pipe, etc ad nauseum. It’s like watching a person ram into a glass door, over and over.
Some people have questioned why I sit on my porch swing despite knowing that there are wasps inside. I am not particularly brave, but seeing these wasps fail again and again at trying to enter the pipe opening, I can’t help but pity them and think they are pathetic. I could ignore them, until the day that I finished my final exam at MIT and ended my student career.
I had submitted my last assignment that morning for 14.03 Microeconomic Theory and Public Policy, and I thought that I would reward myself by swinging on my front porch, enjoying the nice weather, and listening to Bill Bryson’s The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. Just as I had settled on the swing porch, however, a black bullet zoomed past me, and I froze.
You see, the day before I had asked my father to destroy the wasp nest after deciding that I could risk terrible, stinging pain each time I sat outside, or I could just not. He, with an infinite courage and nonchalant attitude, drove his screwdriver into the pipe, turned it around, and withdrew, letting scraps of dried, brown paper that made up the homes of the wasps flutter down. He was fortunate that no wasps were home. Then, he sprayed the pipe with bug disinfectant, and for good measure, stuffed the pipe with newspaper so that the wasps could never hope to rebuild.
And so I knew that the wasp that I had just dodged was no ordinary drone wasp, but the wasp QUEEN. While the ordinary wasp was one inch in length, the queen was thrice its size. She had spiny legs and a yellow-striped skirt. Unlike the regular wasp, she flew with purpose, and she was fast, like an arrow that couldn’t miss its target.
I saw the wasp QUEEN, and I heard her. There is a reason that hornets are associated with fury, and wasps are the close cousins (at least in my mind) to hornets. She was practically buzzing curses, and her anger radiated in supersonic waves around her.
I don’t care what people think about the intelligence of insects, she knew that I was the reason her home was destroyed and her eggs and subjects were poisoned with chemicals. She also knew that the door she buzzed in front of was the door to my home, and I was certain that she was plotting her revenge. She wanted to wreak havoc unto me like I did unto her, which meant that she was planning to attack me and my family and destroy our house.
Don’t ask me how a single wasp could destroy a house - just watch this video.
After what seemed like an eternal stare down - me vs. the QUEEN - I held my breath, sprinted forwards, opened and closed the handle in a whirlwind, and exhaled. Not hearing any buzzing, I hurried towards the front window to see the wasp QUEEN ram her body into the door, over and over. It was terrifying, but my family and I were safe. For now.
That was how I spent the last day of class: at home, with my parents, mostly inside. When the spring semester started, I hadn’t imagined that was how I would spend my last day as an MIT student. I remember, after returning from China in January, that my father had suggested I stay home rather than go to school, to save myself from future Covid-19 complications. I laughed. Miss school? My senior spring? Back then, the idea seemed absurd. I thought we had escaped the virus when we left China, specifically when we passed security and everyone in the US airport peeled off their face masks. Rather ironic now, really.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not thankful for my health, my family’s health, and all the essential workers risking their lives everyday. I don’t know when quarantine will end, or what the world will look like after, but until then, I will zoom with friends and swing on my front porch, now that most of the wasps are gone.
Of course, there is still the wasp QUEEN.
And the wasp saga continues...
*After some online research, what I thought was a wasp appears to be a leafcutter bee. However, I maintain my misclassification to be true to the living moment.
