Part 1: Bee-havioral Issues

Yesterday was a beautiful day, so I set up my work station on the front porch to enjoy the weather.

As I sipped my coffee, the soft spring sunlight kissed my skin, the birds chirped in the trees, and a gentle breeze rolled by. I was at peace.

But then I heard it. A threatening buzz sound, 4 inches from my right ear.

Instinctually, I leapt to the left, spilling coffee all over the porch.

I cursed at myself as I regrouped, wiped up the spill, and returned to my seat. 

But the bee, apparently, was not just passing through. He lingered there, trying to take over my prime position on the front porch. This was a coup.

“Maybe I should just go inside,” I thought to myself, “It’s a little chilly out here anyways.”

But I stopped myself. Because what kind of man would I be if I allowed a tiny little insect to disrupt my entire way of life?

“A real man would swat this thing down, and protect his turf,” I thought to myself, “Who the hell does this bee think he is?”

This bee picked the wrong guy to mess with.

The Bachelorette, Hannah Bee, also picked the wrong guy.

I grabbed my notebook and took a step towards the bee. But as I wound up my swing, I realized that this was a bad idea. Swatting at a bee is a lose-lose situation. 

If I miss, I’ve just angered him, making a stinging murder-suicide scenario far more likely.

And if I hit him, then I have to cope with the fact that I’ve destroyed an organism who is essential to the well-being of the ecosystem. And that is not a weight I was prepared to carry on my shoulders.

So I decided to play it cool, and let it bee, and attempt to peacefully coexist.

Part 2: Son of a Bee

A minute or two passed. The bee had been working its way closer and closer to me, really testing the waters of this relationship that I was trying so hard to keep professional. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” I mumbled under my breath while the bee hovered around the top corner of the porch.

But he already knows that- bees supposedly can smell fear.

I’ve smelled fear before, on an airplane when a toddler, so scared of the turbulence, shit his pants. Everyone on that plane smelled fear.

To me, the ability to smell fear is by far the scariest part of a bee. What if he smells something else, like my stress or anxiety and mistakes it for fear?

“Relax” I think to myself, “Who cares what this bee thinks of you. You’re not afraid of him.”

And my brain is right, I’m not afraid of the bee.

But if bees truly can smell fear, then it does matter what the bee thinks of me. If the bee catches a whiff of fear from me, he’s more likely to sting or signal to the rest of the hive that I’m a threat.

Now that I’ve thought about this, I maybe am a little scared. Not of the bee, but of the possibility of a misdiagnosis of my scent.

And then I start to fear that this nervousness about a possible scent misdiagnosis could have it’s own smell.

My heart rate rises as my brain continues to add layers to this positive feedback loop, each one raising my fear level. Each time my fear level rises, the bee becomes more likely to sense the fear. And each time the bee becomes more likely to sense the fear, my fear level rises.

I take a deep breath. I’m fine. This is all in my head.

But then the bee swoops down to be in line with my face and hovers there for a minute. We make direct eye contact.

I squint at him. What does he know?

Do I reek of fear? I take a quick sniff of my armpits. Nothing.

But then I have an idea that can turn the tables on him completely. 

Shouldn’t the bee be scared of me? Maybe I need to be the scare-er in this scenario and he the scare-ee.

So I attempt to scare him in the only way I can think of:

“Boo Bee!” I yell and wave my arms, “Boo Bee! Boo Bee! Boo Bee!”

And it worked. 

The bee flew away in a haste on the third Boo Bee.

I sat back in my chair and sighed, finally able to relax and enjoy the weather.

Part 3: Return of the Bee

A few minutes later, my neighbor, Mrs. Langston, who was finishing up a run around the neighborhood, appeared at the top of the driveway.

Mrs. Langston lived across the street with her husband, 3 children, and a new Golden Retriever puppy, who I have been dying to meet.

“Hey Mrs. Langston, how’s it going?” I said amiably.

“Oh it’s great, finally spring, it’s nice to be able to enjoy this weather!”

“Yes agreed,” I said, “Hey, Mrs. Langston, I’ll have to come by some time, I really want to see your – ”

But before I could finish the sentence with “new puppy,” something else caught my attention. The bee had returned, with his friends this time, and they looked angry.

They hovered about 10 feet behind Mrs. Langston’s left shoulder.

“Max?” Said Mrs. Langston, puzzled, “You were saying?”

“Yes, sorry,” I said. My eyes stayed fixed on the swarm of bees behind Mrs. Langston, carefully observing their every movement.

“I said, I’ll have to come over some time, because I’ve been dying to play with your-”

And then the bees mobilized.

My eyes widened.

“BOO BEES!” I yelled as I flailed my arms and ran back towards the house, “BOO BEES! BOO BEES! BOO BEES!”

And I slammed the door behind me just in time.

Phew.