Tragedy struck the broad side of my head yesterday afternoon, wasp-shaped and highly agitated. I make note of it here, only because it was the most memorable of several insults heaped upon the injurious temperature that climbed earlier that morning to 105 degrees and hovered there until well after sunset, when it dropped a blissful two degrees. And, because it’s possibly the most excitement I’ve experienced in a nearly a month.
Everything being more susceptible to malfunction in heat of this extreme, I wasn’t all too surprised when the dust collection system servicing the shop I’ve been working at on the side, a miserable place no third-world sweat-shopper would set foot in, much less abide, went on the fritz.
As I’m the only one concerned enough about the health of his lungs to make sure the dust collector is operable and switched on, I took it upon myself to go out to the little detached metal shed housing the unit and attempt to right whatever the heat had wronged.
The shed is about five by ten, small enough I suppose I should be grateful that the entire brood didn’t swarm my gourd the moment I opened the door. I saw it, a child's paper fist hanging by a thread of spittle in the eaves just above the plate, near a hole in the wall opposite from where I stood. The wasps were of a brown and smallish variety I generally don’t worry about. They seemed complacent enough. So I ventured in.
The wasps (waspers as the Southerners say) showed me little concern as I fooled with wires, breakers and reset buttons. Little concern, that is, until finally when the machine grudgingly kicked on.
Again, I suppose I should be grateful only one lone gun was sent out to reprimand me. And I suppose too, I should be grateful that my eyeglasses thwarted the little bastard’s preferred attack on the soft and hairless tissue immediately surrounding the beast’s eyeball, forcing a strike upon my right temple instead.
I have no idea why the sound of the dust collector that these silly insects reside with daily kicking on would piss them off. But it did. And no, I’m not grateful in the least that only one wasp stung me. One is too many. It hurt like hell. My eyeball is swollen and itchy, despite the deflected sting. And damn is it ever hot.