A bee lands on the corner post of a freshly lacquered deck. The structure is gorgeous from afar, but toxic up close. The smell has wafted through the neighborhood for days now, killing flowers and stopping children and pets in their eerily similar tracks. On the other side of the deck is another bee, minding his own beeswax - if such a thing is possible.
“Can you believe this weather?,” says the first bee to the second.
“Do I know you?” says the other bee, confused and slightly annoyed. He was enjoying the solitude.
“You do now, pal. I don’t think you’re supposed to stain a deck in this climate. Cut corners and this is what happens. No permit, no level, no finesse. You see how the one end is bowing a bit?”
“You don’t say.”
“I just got back from my folks place over on Eastern Parkway. The trains were down so I had to buzz the whole way myself. Some Mayor we elected, huh?
If the other bee’s eyes could roll, they’d be spinning.
“That’s the thing about this city. Everything’s different now. You used to pop into a bodega and it was hard to find things. I mean, really difficult. Now everything is clearly marked to assuage those with serious allergies and anyone with even mild spatial issues. Part of the fun though was flying around and discovering an open bag of confectioner’s sugar – not realizing if the apostrophe was in the right place or not. And not caring. You were there for the regular sugar, the classic glucose, or whatever was fed to you growing up. But this was something new and exciting. You were finally on your own. You’re a bee. But maybe now you’re a baker. You could get your life in order by getting on The Great British Bake Off, winning a few rounds and stinging one of the judge’s open palms. A whole world of sweets and possibilities was now open to you. All because someone left a ripped bag on the top shelf. That doesn’t happen today. That bag gets tossed with the rest of the place’s mistakes. God forbid someone in corporate pay a visit and see anything in disarray. But that mistake might’ve changed your life. What are we becoming, man? A nation of people adrift, head in our phones, forgetting what makes us-"
The other bee cuts in, seizing a brief and sudden pause in the monologue.
“I think you got the wrong guy. ‘Cause I’m a honey bee just passing the time.”
“Oh yeah? I’m here for the deck, since I’m a carpenter bee. Or “boring bee” if you’d prefer.”
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