Fall of the Yellow Jackets by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

Agent 32, aka Monique (the Asian Zing), and I, Parkaar, nebulous Agent 33, found ourselves on the back patio on a splendid late October afternoon in east Charlotte, feeling as if we were inside one of those plastic-wrapped, pricy, gift-shop postcards.

What follows is the largely unedited audio track set to typographic characters, as it’s so hard to read sounds on a blank white screen. Though, I’ve tried on many an occasion.

Agent 32: “It sure is a nice day, hon. It’s not too hot and not so cold yet.”

Agent 33: “It really is, mahal. [love in Tagalog]  It’s simply sublime today.”

32: “Autumn splendor in America, Parkaar.”

33: “No doubt, Monique. And, the summer mosquitoes seem to be gone now. We can finally enjoy this patio without being gooped in a pint of bug spray.”

32: “Yeah, that stuff is gross. And, you know how I hate mosquitoes. In the Philippines, we see them as dangerous disease carriers. They are no-good airborne transporters of dengue, yellow fever, and the dreaded malaria.”

33: “Well, our American mosquitoes don’t carry those unpleasantries, at least not at last check. However, some do transmit the West Nile Virus, which can be deadly.”

From out of who knows where, a yellow jacket began to check out Monique’s plastic cup on the frosted glass table. It crawled around on the rim with its antennae twitching all about.

32: “Woah! What kind of bee is that, bana?” [husband in Cebuano]

33: “Oh, it’s just a yellow jacket, dear. They get very active this time of year.”

32: “Can it sting me?”

33: “Only if it is a female.”

32: “Do female yellow jackets only sting female humans?” She then laughed for a few seconds.

33: “The males don’t have stingers.”

32: “So, you’re safe? Lucky you!” Monique laughed again.

33: “And, no, I could just as likely be stung.”

32: “Have you ever been stung by a yellow jacket, Parkaar?”

33: “Yes, many times. Way too many to count. Most of the stings occurred when I was mowing the lawn or hiking.”

32: “Oh.”

33: “They like to make their nests in the ground. Once you step on one, the aerial cavalry is dispatched.”

32: “Really?”

33: “Yep. It’s then full assault.”

32: “Well then, can you tell if this one is a female?”

33: “Not from here, Agent 32. I’d have to examine that little wasp in my office.”

32: “That’s so funny.” Monique giggles for a couple of seconds. “Like the yellow jacket is your patient.” She laughs some more.

33: “Bee still under the microscope. Get it? Bee spelled with two e’s.”

32: “Of and on course, Parkaar. These yellow jackets sure seem to be buzzing around today.”

33: “They do get very ornery this time of year, Monique.”

32: “Why is that, 33?”

33: “I think that they know that their time is about up. Maybe they think: Might as well annoy some humans before we become crunchy corpses.”

32: “That’s crazy, bana! Look, there’s one by your left shoe. Stomp it! C’mon, get it, Parkaar!”

33: “No, I’ll let it go. If I squish one, a call-to-arms chemical will be released, and then we’ll be battling 50 of them, 32.”

32: “Are you sure about that, 33?”

33: “Well, maybe just a squadron of 49 in a 7 x 7 formation.”

32: “You are so silly.”

Now a pair of yellow jackets circle Monique’s cup of hard cider. She swats at them with her small, bronze-colored, cupped hands. She then pulls her legs up on the chair and starts wailing away, only to fan the air.

33: “No, don’t swat at them, hon. They are spoiling for a fight. They are perfectly willing to trade a stinger in your finger for their own death. Just ignore them. Cover your cup with the coaster. It’s the sugar in your drink that is attracting them. And wipe your lips. Keep your pants leg openings closed.”

32: “What?”

33: “I remember this one guy who was hiking with us at Crowders Mountain on an October day – just like this one – and had a yellow jacket fly up his jeans to the back of his knee.”

32: “Oh, dear … what happened then?”

33: “The yellow jacket freaked out when it couldn’t get back out of his pants leg, and promptly stung him.”

32: “What a drag. That sucks!”

33: “And, he was not in the best state of mind to deal with it, either.”

32: “What do you mean, 33?”

33: “He was flying high on magic mushrooms at the time.”

32: “Oh, my God! When was this, hon?”

33: “Back in 1988. Millions of yellow jackets ago.” I chuckled.

32: “Gosh, did he need medical attention?”

33: “No, he was ok. Amazingly, he didn’t freak out; he stayed pretty calm. After 15 minutes of an ice compress, he was hiking again. But, as for his hiking pal, well, that was another story entirely.”

32: “Huh?”

33: “Even though his buddy never got stung, the guy started to hyper-hallucinate: He saw yellow jackets everywhere. This dude then took his flannel shirt off, wound it up, and started whipping it about everywhere, thinking he was swatting yellow jackets. Stop me, if you’ve heard this story before, Agent 32.”

32: “No, honey; I’ve never heard this one. Please continue, Mr. Agent 33.” Mister?

33: “Well, from what he told me, it was quite a scene on the trail. He was a whirling, whipping dervish. Other passing hikers had shocked looks on their faces.”

32: “Wow!”

33: “Luckily, the park ranger didn’t see him.”

32: “Yeah, I guess so. Darn, these yellow jackets will be back again next spring.”

33: “But, the yellow jackets are not like this in the spring and summer, mahal. They don’t display such bad behavior.”

32: “I know, Parkaar.”

33: “They are feisty now because many of the insects they feast upon are already dead. They are desperate to find food, especially sugars.”

32: “I see. If summer’s most annoying insects are mosquitoes, then autumn’s have got to be these darn yellow jackets.”

33: “But, I can deal with the yellow jackets, asawa. If you ignore mosquitoes, you still get bit and bit and bit. If you just ignore yellow jackets, you’re usually ok … unless you sit on one.”

32: “Yikes! Is there one on my chair?!” Monique then twists her head and body around.

33: “No, you’re fine, honey. Relax. Just let them have their final buzzathon.” [sic]

32: “I don’t trust these flying kano [Filipino slang for American] stinger-bugs.”

We then began to hear a song from inside the house. It was Waves by Mr. Probz. Kirk [Agent 666] must have turned on the radio.

33: “Do you hear that song, Monique?”

32: “I do, mahal; I surely do. Nice melody, but the story behind the lines is so sad.”

33: “Wave after wave. I’m slowly drifting. Drifting right out of Maria Bay.” [on the east side of Siquijor] I guffawed.

32: “I really miss my island, [Siquijor] hon, especially Lazi.”

33: “I know you do, mahal. So lovely in Lazi. You’ll be back there soon.”

32: It’s ok; I’m not homesick. I’ve adjusted to life in America.”

33: “I’m very happy to hear that, Monique. I know that it has been a big change.”

32: “Change is part of life. I accept it. Always another wave of change coming.” 

33: “Speaking of waves, have you seen that video for the song called Waves, mahal?”

32: “Yeah, I did. It’s kind of dark, hon, even tragic. The couple is not getting along at all. They are always arguing. I think that the man commits suicide at the end in the hot tub.”

33: “Yeah, it does look like he gets drunk and drowns himself. And, of course, it made me think of Frank von Peck.” [the late, great Agent 107]

32: “I know. I miss him, too.”

33: “What I like about the video is the cinematic feel; it’s like we’re seeing truncated scenes from a movie - an interesting movie - not just silly, random, meaningless images blasted at a rate of 400 per second.”

32: “Four hundred images per second? You’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you, 33?”

33: “Ok, maybe slightly, 32.” For some strange reason, I then wondered if there were any yellow jackets in the music video. “I think the video is free of yellow jackets, Monique.”

32: “Are you certain, Parkaarazzi?” What did she just say?

33: “Parkaarazzi? You sure come up with some clever coinages, Agent 32. Psecret Psociety grade all the way.”

32: “Maybe if we analyzed every single frame and zoomed way in …”

33: “That sounds like a very time-consuming assignment.”

32: “Well, we’ve got the time, this time.” Huh?

33: “Maybe some other time, sweetie. Say, do you notice any yellow jackets now, mahal?” 

Monique checks around her cup, hands, arms, torso and feet, and sees none. Then she looks at my cup.

32: “Yikes! There’s a yellow jacket floating in your cup, Parkaar! Yuck!”

I picked up my cup and gently jostled it. The dying, slowly sinking, ventral-side-up yellow jacket bobbed up and down with the ripples. Waves. Wave after wave. Heading for the grave.

33: “And it seems like, yeah, it seems like, its final fall day is fading, fading away.”

32: “Cut it out, Parkaar. You’re no singer.”

We both had a hearty laugh as the digital audio recorder chirped and cut off.