When I’m at work, we sometimes get the hardship of dealing with flies and bugs entering through our open doors. They whiz around trying to, God knows what, shit on the fish, lay eggs on our plates, and in general be the absolute bane of our existence.
When the greatest sense of achievement of your day stems from the sound of flies sizzling on an electric swatter, you know it’s a problem.
Lately, there have been the occasional bee coming in, “so fucking sporadic”, as my co-worker put it. In mid air, it’ll change directions, cutting sharply and seemingly aimless, like the bee won’t make up it’s mind over the “simple” decision of direction and goal and motive. Where is it going? What is it doing? We don’t know, and I’m not sure if the bee does either.
That’s when I realized I’m a stupid sporadic bee.