Shane (58:13)
Today, to my horror, a yellowjacket got in my apartment. I got insanely lucky in that. When I saw it, it was sitting on a magazine at an easy height to trap. I thought fast, grabbed an empty glass and slammed it on top of the thing. Screaming internally and praying not to trigger its rage. I looked around very carefully, but thankfully didn't see any others. Meanwhile, it had started going berserk in the glass. So I worried the second I took the top off, it would fly out and exact revenge on me. However, just leaving it under the glass made me incredibly squeamish. I hate bugs. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to hear the staticky sound it was making. I just wanted it to be gone from my life and to pretend none of this had ever happened to me. I considered moving it to another room where I wouldn't have to look at it, but I kept catastrophizing situations where it got out. I could forget it was in there and pick the glass up, or someone could knock it over or any number of things. So finally, I very carefully picked up the glass and the magazine underneath it. I kicked my toilet open with my foot and bam. I dropped the whole thing in there, magazine cup, all of it, and slammed the lid down as fast As I could. I didn't want to risk lifting the cup and letting the yellow jacket escape. Before I got in the toilet, I had considered trying to shake up the cup until it died or became disoriented enough to be docile. But I couldn't escape the feeling that my dumb ass would lose hold of the magazine and then the motherfucker would be loose and extremely agitated. I didn't flush, of course, not with a whole ass magazine and a cup in the toilet. But my logic was eventually the yellow jacket would fall into the water and drown. So I'd open the toilet. In a day or two, I've got a bathroom in my room and a guest bathroom to fish out the items and flush the bug corpse. So I recovered from the heart attack for the most part and settled down to watch some tv. A while later, a friend texted that he was in the neighborhood and asked if he could come over. I said sure. We had a beer, watched some Olympics. This is a good friend, a close friend, not the kind who asks if they can use the bathroom when they're visiting. So a while into the night, he gets up. I don't think anything of it because we'd both been getting up periodically to grab snacks, plug our phones in, whatever else. Before I realized it, it was too late. I heard the door close and I started to call out, oh, hey, you should actually use the other one. But he didn't hear me. All I heard was a strangled, then a crash. And then the door flies open. My buddy falls out, naked from the waist down, crawling backwards, screaming, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? And clutching his testicles, I had to control myself and tap into my more humane urges because with the knowledge that thing was now loose in my not very large apartment, all I wanted to do was leave, but I had to help my friend up. He was in serious pain. Then we had a real dilemma because he didn't want to put his balls away, but we also wanted to get out of the apartment and go into the hall or outside, safe from the yellow jacket, which at that point was out for blood and could have been anywhere. My ability to remain calm in the crisis was not helped by the fact that he was attacking me the whole time. He thought whatever had just happened was some kind of fucked up prank because there was random garbage floating in my toilet and he felt like he just had an electroshock to the dick. He was hitting me with his free hand and going, why was there a book in there? Seriously, what did you do? That really Fucking hurts. And so on and on and on. I told him there was a bee in there, there was a yellow jacket in there. And his twisted mind jumped right to my having done it deliberately. So, half naked and I'm assuming still in searing pain, he tackles me. He's yelling, you sick fuck. Why would you put a bee in there? And all this other stuff. I was too horrified by trying to keep my friend's dick from touching me while simultaneously trying to locate the yellow jacket again. Finally, we realized we'd seen it fly out of the bathroom, so it must not be in there. And we locked ourselves in and calmer heads prevailed enough for me to explain the whole pathetic situation. The yellow menace managed to get him in the neck as well, so he was subjected to an overwhelming amount of pain, head to toe. But he wasn't allergic to anything, so he was able to get home just fine. An added awful fucking bonus to this fuck up of mine is that while I do know how to tell yellowjackets from hornets and hornets from honeybees and so forth, I didn't know they don't all leave stingers behind. And I was taught that if you're stung, the first thing to do is remove the stinger by any means necessary to stop the transmission of venom. So I spent a good 10 to 15 minutes massaging my buddy's ball sack until we thought to Google what happens if I can't find remove Yellowjacket stinger and learned that they rarely leave anything in the skin. So it was a painful and awkward night all around. The yellow jacket is still in my apartment somewhere. I fucked up the moment I didn't just kill the thing when I had the chance. Stay safe out there. Reddit, Can I. Okay, yeah, primary, what's up? What's everyone's primary question? My primary question, I think we have the same.
