…for over 4 hours!
Yes, it was alive.
Here’s the story, my dad works outdoors with heavy equipment (phone company) and wears the expected wardrobe which includes steel toed boots, heavy denim carpenters pants and stuff. He gets home from work on Thursday of last week, does his usual routine of plopping down in his recliner with a snack once he gets home to watch a little TV. My mom and aunt are there visiting, and they all begin making idle chit-chat. The topic turns to dad’s day at work (guys don’t you hate when women ask that?) and he says it was fine except for the fact that he got bit by something on the leg. No big deal really, he’s a tough guy, but it made for conversation and got the discussion off him. My aunt starts prattling on about one of her neighbors who got bit by a Brown Recluse spider earlier that month and narrowly averted dire consequences. An anecdote which I’m sure was comforting to ole pops. Anyways, they pop on some Seinfled, going about their dull suburban lifestyle.
Suddenly my dad pops up with a confused (or would it be concerned?, tough to say really) look on his face. He quickly begins dancing around like a fool. Ok, back up a sec, note that dad’s a very big guy, about 6’7" and 300 lbs if he’s an ounce. Not particularly spry at his age either. So you can imagine what a sight that must have been, this big lumbering dude, bouncing around on one foot and shaking the leg to his dirty work denims. Low and behold, whats should come fluttering out the bootom of the cuffs but a huge wasp. Probably over an inch long, and fluttering across the room. The ladies scatter amid shrieks, US Magazines and Marshall Fields circulars tossed into the air. Dad yelling to mom to fetch the Fly Swatter. After a bit of chaos, the little beastie was dispatched off to the great hive in the sky.
Anyways, so he was “bitten” sometime around 2 in the afternoon that day. He continued his workday, which would have consisted of digging, driving trenchers, loading equipment onto trailers, a considerable amount of scratching, driving the rigs back to the garage, telling dirty jokes to the guys, having some snacks, driving about 10 miles home in his personal vehicle over the next 2 or 3 hours. Then he would get home, park the truck, saunter inside, rustle up some chow in the kitchen, plop down in the La-Z-Boy, make some awful puns, demand the remote and begin the chain of events detailed above.
All told the sucker must have been hanging out in dad’s drawers for close to 4 hours or more. Shockingly he was only stung that one time. My mom’s theory involves some kind of “gas warfare” which must have stunned and incapacitated the winged menace during that time. Certainly plausible if you know my dad…but still.
Needless to say he’s gotten his fair share of teasing over the whole thing. Only wish I had it on video…