...Or not two bee?

 


      Just me over here, trying to normalize bee trauma. 

      A jovial 4 months after my unreasonable encounter with the demon wasp in Oregon, I found myself located far, far away. New state, new job - new me. 

       One evening after work, I decided to do a good deed (and get paid for it!). While I was minding my own business, filling out paperwork that would qualify my to donate platelets, I felt like there was something in my shirt. My initial reaction (so that I wouldn't look like a crazy person - because who wants an infusion of a crazy person's blood?!?) was to kindly ask my dear husband to check the back of my shirt... because maybe I do have a bit of an insect paranoia. 

       My outfit consisted of a nice, black, Hawaiian flower style shirt for our “Aloha Friday” theme, and a black tank.  After a quick (and unthorough check), he determined that everything was fine and I was just imagining it.  As I continued signing things, I suspiciously thought that I felt something again. I took off my Hawaiian shirt as a precaution, inspected it, and put it back on. I really needed to get my life together, or these nice folks surely would not let me donate this day. 

        After my paperwork was approved and I was being checked in, my husband left and the orientation process for me proceeded. While I was standing in line at the front desk, I felt something on my back again, so I just took the Hawaiian shirt off because it was probably just the tag touching me. After I folded my shirt and placed it on my clipboard, a fuzzy, white and black bumblebee appeared. 

        Now that my anxiety had been validated, I brought everyone's awareness to the situation by loudly letting them know there was a bee on my clothing (you know - the shirt that I wasn't currently wearing). This adult then asked a bystander what to do - Do I squish it? Let it outside? Life had not given me a point of reference on what to do in this type of scenario, except panic and run.

         Thankfully, the kind gentleman (okay, he seemed really grumpy - and may have also pulled something in his calf when he bent down to get the insect that had now been tossed to the floor) behind the counter rescued the bee and placed it safely outside. Then I insisted on a container for my now contaminated shirt that would be burned the minute I got home. 

        Long story short, even though I was approved to donate my platelets that day, I was not invited back.  Was it this incident that banned me? Or the fact that I may have passed out towards the end of my donation period?  I have no idea because they stopped answering my calls.

      One question that plagues me is, where does this semi-irrational fear stem from? I have no adequate answers. While I've never talked to a therapist about it, I have dwelled upon this truth many times, and I often do feel that bees have been "out to get me" ever since I was a child - they seemed to be attracted to my blonde hair. 

      Another unexpected encounter occurred during our time in Alaska. One lovely summer day, I had just finished a lovely latte from a favorite coffee shop, and when I took the very last swig, expectant that it would touch the bottom of my soul, I immediately spat it back out onto the lid of my coffee. Because it was abnormally chunky (not that their coffee was ever chunky - but this chunk just did not sit right in my mouth). When I looked down, I saw a (dead) fat yellow jacket. Now, I am all for natural solutions like consuming bee pollen and raw honey. I've even heard of the fringe treatment of bee venom when properly administered. But ingesting an entire insect is beyond my mental capacity. 

    I spent the rest of that summer consuming my beverages through straws. 

    Now that the warmer weather is here, I do have hopes of a peaceful agreement with these rude creatures, but we shall see.


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