Let me preface this by saying I am not generally afraid of bees. Large swarms of them will tend to make me nervous, but the odd honeybee is no more interested in killing me than I am in killing it. Wasps, I regard as more menacing. Where bees are cute and helpful, busily producing honey for my cereal, wasps are cold and pointy, and have nothing productive to contribute to society. Still, wasps and I have an uneasy truce. They stay over there, I stay over here and lives are spared. If the boundary is crossed, though, all bets are off.
But these new creatures are not bees, nor are they wasps. They are something else. Something insidious. Something evil. Imagine, if you will, a bee. Except not hairy and cute. And about two and a half inches long, with red on them. Heavy enough that when one lands on a bush, the branch sways under its weight. Imagine you can hear the flapping of its evil wings as it flies by, see its stinger from meters away. Now, stay with me here, imagine a whole swarm of them have taken up residence in the bushes outside your job. And they are blocking the only convenient entrance into your building.
Everyone at work tells me they are harmless. They tell me the college biology department actually did a study on the little monsters and they say they will not attack unless provoked. They also say they are only supposed to come around every seven years, like cicadas. Obviously since these damn bees come every year someone is mistaken about that little “fact.” Which means they could be mistaken about them being harmless. Or perhaps these are a strain of mutant super-bees just waiting to take over. Waiting to lull the whole college into a sense of calm and security until one day they rise up and KILL. They have a plan, I’m sure of it.
But for now, they wait. And watch. And learn our culture and social patterns. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, you will know why. Beware the bees.