Nonsensical Buzzing

Yesterday a bee harassed me for my ham sandwich.

I tried to tell him that life — his especially — is short, and that he shouldn’t fill up on bread. My counsel went unheard. That afternoon I saw him gunned down by a rival gang of bees for wearing the wrong colors (black and yellow) on their turf. I imagine many young bees have lost their lives in the same, tragical ironic manner. What I’m trying to say is that bee violence is a serious issue and you should talk to your kids about it.

This summer I thought a lot about life and to a lesser extent, bees. Having little else to do than stare aimlessly into the sun — or less desirably, a blank computer screen — observing the buzzing winged insects became an unofficial hobby of mine. Working as a file clerk stagnated any and all creative thought, resulting in levels of boredom even the “Breakfast Club” could not groan off. Devoid of intellectual stimulation, my only option was to befriend the bees I passively monitored by the park bench.

It proved fruitless. Despite repeated attempts at slathering honey on my face and wearing sunflowers in my hair, I could not win the affection of the Park Bench Buzzer Boys. Once again I came to the sad realization that cartoons had lied to me. I still want to taste a Scooby-Snack.

The bee-jection stings for the rest of the day. This is probably what my Tomogachi pet felt like when I stopped feeding it, left to starve and poop itself to death. A fitting death for an animal that lacked a survival instinct. Darwin would have agreed, I thought.

I returned home, stopping to smell the roses. They reeked of the life I was denied. My face is still sticky and I’m afraid it won’t wash off. Alone again on the couch I find comfort in a bucket of KFC Original Recipe. The Colonel leaves no man left behind. With silence comes solace, and I begin to drift to sleep. Tomorrow the bees will be replaced with another delusion to fill the space summer has drilled into my mind.

The sun rises and I know a revelation awaits me. One that encapsulates the boredom, lonesomeness and empty feelings of summer into a grand theory. Any moment, my thoughts will be realized.

Hang on. There’s a bee outside my window.