This is an installment of Suzette Andujar’s column series, “As I Was Saying.”
I was just casually walking down the street, minding my own beeswax, heading for the library when something big and round caught my peripherals: a mob boss posing as a bumble bee. I tried to turn away, but it was too late. It gave me the kiss of death on my right cheek. I had been marked. I was all, “Hey, I was minding my beeswax, not yours,” and it was all, “Say hello to my little friend.” There were people all around, so I tried to play it cool. After all, maybe it would buzz off, but no, it followed me, landing in my hair.
I had no choice but to lean my head to the right and shake my hair. I smiled, a nervous chuckle spilled out of my mouth, because remaining calm was crucial.
The bee kept buzzing by my ear saying, “Do I amuse you? How am I funny? Funny how? You mean funny like I’m a clown?”
I walked even faster, shouting back, “No, you got it all wrong”.
In a moment of panic, I wondered if I should look for a pond to jump in, but this was just one bee and not a swarm, so I took a chill pill and walked aggressively until I reached the library. I didn’t stop until I closed the door to the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief; ordeal over.
Nope. I heard buzzing! The bee had trapped himself in my hair. I shrieked, flipped my hair over and shook for dear life.
It continued its harassment and I didn’t care if anyone walked in and pulled out their camera for a viral moment. I needed the bee gone. I wanted it dead. I wanted to give it an offer it couldn’t refuse. Suddenly I felt like the gangster.
I started murmuring, “As far back as I could remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.”
I was going to stop running and fight back.
The buzzing noise abruptly ended. I looked around the floor, scanning for its lifeless corpse and didn’t find it anywhere. I looked up, and it was nowhere in sight. The only thing left to do was run for my life. I looked like a wild woman: hair out of place, clothes disheveled, face contorted in unconcealed rage. I was just happy that I didn’t get a dose of “vitamin-bee.”
For days afterwards however, I wondered why I didn’t see anyone else having a similar moment. There were no people running toward ponds. No one swatting their heads. No one making violent threats to insects. I’ve concluded that this kind of stuff only happens to me.
Ever have that feeling? That out of everyone in the world, the one thing has to happen to you? I think about that mob boss bee often and know it’s still out there ready to serve its revenge. I’ll be waiting with my cold dish. Till then, fuhgeddaboudit.
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