When I was eleven, I used to sit outside the primary school library because it was in the sun, and after I’d eaten I could easily dash inside and pretend to be engrossed in a book because I had no friends. The unfortunate aspect of the library, however, was that it was where the wasps also liked to hang out. Gah.
Raspberry and pear jelly, libraries, wasps, and me. You can already see where this is going, can’t you?
I was stung on the face. Twice. Thus began my utter phobia of wasps.
In Year 11 (when I was around 15 or 16, for our international readers) my maths class was the place where all the wasps wanted to be in the summer months. The teacher very kindly sat me by the window, which, unbeknownst to her, did not help the matter at all. Anyway, the bloody things insisted on flying around my head. And yeah. Yeah I screamed. Loudly. And everyone laughed at me and made buzzing noises for the next two weeks. Yeah. Thanks guys.
Just yesterday, when trying to put a plastic bag in an “alfresco waste receptacle” (rubbish bin) a bloody wasp came out and chased me for a solid five minutes. This incident, naturally, got me wondering.
Well, I’d like to start off by saying I take biology at school. Actually, I do so by correspondence now, because it clashed with Drama, and I didn’t want to drop either subject. But, due to my biology background (ha!) I figured I could provide a decent investigation.
My Second (Non) Scientific Investigation: Are Wasps Useful?
No. No they are not. That is all.
No, that was not scientific, but damnit, do we really need science to tell us those bastards are evil and after our soul?
