Land of Wasps and Glory

"They have no queen this time of year.  That's why they sting you," said one of two men working at the grocery store.  The English, like their wasps, seem to know about monarchy.

They spoke of wasps, and much else.  This fine autumn morning, wasps swarmed to and through our bathroom window here in Manchester.  I went to buy a fly swatter, and toilet paper and beer.  The day before we leave this house, we want it well stocked with toilet paper, a few courteous bottles of beer although we drank no beer of its owners, but no wasps; they lack courtesy.

Off I went, before 7:00 A.M., on a weekend tram and bus pass, to a grocery store one tram stop down the line.  The place was opening for business, and one man was wheeling onto the sidewalk various displays.  Another man, inside, was by a trolley of boxes of items he meant to unpack.

The outside man said the line that opened this little tale, and I wanted no wasp tail in my body, so I listened.

"My brother got stung in the fall when we were small.  The nurse at the hospital told us that in the fall, after the queen leaves, wasps sting more often.  He really swelled up.  It was funny."

"For you," I said.

"Yeah."

By now, Inside Man had walked into the conversation, which hurts less than walking into a wasp.  

"Do we sell fly swatters?" he asked Outside Man, having heard from me that I wanted a swatter.

"No," Outside Man replied.  Wait until eight, when the Poundland near here opens.  They might have swatters."  Back at the house, we would later kill and dispose of more than ten wasps, and reclaim our bathroom.  

Back I went with Inside Man to his cart of boxes awaiting unpacking.  I was happy these two had time to talk, for I have seen many retail workers who did not have time, even if they wanted to talk.  Who knows how many working people, in Manchester or elsewhere, know wasp habits?  Perhaps these men's union agreement has,  a clause about talk, or about wasps.  The wasps seemed organized, unionized.

"I also need toilet paper and beer," I said.  He not only told me where to find them and even walked me to the toilet paper.  He said something funny enough to make me write this story.

"You might be drinking a beer, your head wrapped in toilet paper, and swatting wasps." 

My time in England has often stung me with surprises, as I learned some of the land's quaint customs.