A True Story... - Printable Version +- Mock (https://mockforums.net) +-- Forum: Funny Shit & Good Shit (https://mockforums.net/forum-6.html) +--- Forum: Funny Shit (https://mockforums.net/forum-14.html) +--- Thread: A True Story... (/thread-6414.html) |
A True Story... - cannongal - 08-29-2011 I wrote this for my English Narration class last semester~ Every bit of it is true...Really. I got an A by the way.... Evil Tree House Note to self: For my next do it yourself project around the house; I had best fully investigate the environmental hazards that encompass the area in which my project takes place. We have a giant A-frame swing set in the back corner of our yard. Attached to the swing set is a tree house that stands about thirty feet off the ground. It is made out of plywood, which had originally been painted red, but now was bleached to a pinkish tan color by the sun. The dimensions are ten feet by five feet wide, with the roof being pitched on one side, so that it an adult could stand up in it. The tree house has two windows, which are screened to help keep the bugs out. The only way to enter is through a trap door in the floor. We probably should have taken it down five years ago, but we kept on repairing it instead. Our children got a lot of use out of it over the years. To them it was a permanent tent to camp out in, or headquarters for whatever backyard wars they were having. It was even used as a “hide-out from a bratty little brother” place. My youngest son, Sam, was the only one who didn’t get any use out of it. He is deathly afraid of heights; but that story is for a different essay. The tree house didn’t get much use last year. My husband’s children were quite a few years older than mine, and had grown up. Also, my oldest son had said there were a few yellow jackets flying around in it. The roof and one wall needed to be replaced, so we started talking about taking it down. We wanted to save the swing set if possible, so we spent the winter talking about various ways of tackling the problem. The area that tree house was in made it impossible to get any big equipment in to help with the demolition. So, just a ladder, a few saws, and a hammer? Hopefully we wouldn’t have too much trouble taking it down. When winter turned into spring, I had a lot more time on my hands than my husband Bruce did, so I took it upon myself to take down the tree house. I talked to Bruce about it, and we decided that I would pry off the roof first. Bruce spent a couple of days lecturing me on the safety of sledge hammers, using safety goggles, the dangers of rusty nails, and various other safety issues that he was sure I would encounter. I decided the following Tuesday I was going to set to work, prying boards off the roof. I figured this would be easy, because half the boards on the roof were rotten. Tuesday morning brings sunshine and warm temperatures, so after I have some coffee, I throw on some shorts, a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, then walk to the shed to dig out all of the tools I think I’m going to need, and then proceed to lug them all up to the tree house. I decided to start in the middle of the roof, because that’s where the boards were the most rotten, and therefore the easiest to remove. The first board popped right out. The second board was a little bit harder but still, two gone! Only ten or so more boards to go! I started to pound on the third board to loosen it for the pry bar. Then I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I think nothing of it; maybe just sunlight or whatever, and keep pounding on the boards. This one was a little more secure than the first two. Seeing more movement out of the corners of both my eyes now, something inside my head says that it really can’t be sunlight, it’s at the wrong angle. I take a closer look and realize it’s not sunlight at all. It’s a bizzilion-gillion spiders crawling all over roof. I let out a shriek and decide to vacate the tree house quickly. After getting back on the ground, I feel the spiders crawling all over me. Not that there were spiders all over me, but because the sight of all those critters scurrying on the roof had unsettled my logical thinking. I took off running for the house, stripping my clothing off along the way. I leapt on to back porch in just undies and bra, and see my eighty-three year old neighbor, standing on his porch, laughing hysterically at me. I ran in the house and jumped in the shower. When Bruce got home, he assured me there was no such number as a ‘bizzilion-gillion’ and that I must have been exaggerating. “You were not up there!” I shouted at him. He told me to bring a garden hose up there and squirt the spiders. Wednesday morning comes with much apprehension on my part. I slowly sip my coffee, and take my time doing dishes and laundry. Finally, I cannot put my task off any longer. I go into the shed and dig out a couple of garden hoses, hook them together and attach them to the spigot. I also grabbed the power spray nozzle out of shed, and screwed it on to my end of the hose. I turned on the spigot and climbed up the ladder with the hose. I started spraying into the trap door before I got to it. I drenched the whole inside of the tree house for about twenty minutes. The house and I are both soaked, but no evidence of the spiders that sent me streaking across the yard the previous day had remained. I grabbed the sledge hammer, and go back to hammering the third board. The board finally comes out, along with part of a fourth, when I hear the buzzing. I start hammering on the other half of the fourth board and the buzzing gets louder. I investigate and discover the source of the buzzing to be a megagillion yellow jackets. I decide to again vacate quickly, but not strip this time. Note to self: Even though a garden hose will wash out all the spiders in the tree house, all it does is piss off the yellow jackets which call the tree house home. Bruce assures me that I must be exaggerating again, there is no such number as a megagillion. I pouted. He said he would humor me and went in and sprayed the corners of tree house with raid. He ended up using four cans. I spend Wednesday night praying that the old wives tale about killing a spider to bring rain was true, because I had probably killed enough spiders to make it rain for a month. No such luck on my part, it is bright and sunny Thursday morning, with no rain in the forecast. I am dreading going into that tree house today, but Bruce says after four cans of Raid, all the Yellow Jackets are dead. I climb up the ladder and started tentatively prying off the next board. It came off; along with the next couple of boards, which had a couple of dead yellow jackets on them. Bruce is right, I think, he got them all. As I am working to pry off another board, I start to feel stinging on my legs. When I look down, I see that the floor and my feet are covered with termites. They are crawling up my pants, (I didn’t tuck my pants into my socks) and biting my legs. I let out an even louder shriek than Tuesday, and must have taken every third rung to get down the ladder. When I got to the bottom, I was in serious pain, my whole body felt like it was on fire and my legs felt as if someone was sticking a thousand needles in them all at once. Once again, I took off running for the house, stripping my clothes off while I ran, even disrobing of my underwear and bra this time. As I am frantically trying to open my back door, I heard the same neighbor who had laughed at me on Tuesday, calling out “looking good, Sue”, and laughing again. I ended up with red welts all over my legs, buttocks, and belly. I called Bruce up at work and tell him I’ve decided to burn the damn thing where it stood. On Friday, Bruce came up with idea to throw really big tarp over tree house and toss a bug bomb it. I really wish he had thought of that on Tuesday. He finished taking it down for me on Saturday, and a ton of bug carcasses poured from the walls. He reluctantly admitted that maybe I was not exaggerating about the Mega-bizillian bugs I saw. We were able to save the swing set, which did get used quite a bit over the summer. I haven’t had any more complaints about yellow jackets from my boys. I sit on my back porch and look over at that corner. I remember the first time I brought my sons’ to Bruce’s house; Brian climbed the ladder and stuck his face in the window. He looked so tiny up there. I remember Sam climbing to the second rung, and screaming in terror, and at that point Brian realized there was at least one place in this world that his brother couldn’t follow him to. That place is gone now, only an empty spot next to a swing set remains. RE: A True Story... - Fibonacci Prima - 08-29-2011 I would have given it a b minus, at best. Then I'd have given your teacher an f for poor teaching skills. RE: A True Story... - Cracker - 08-29-2011 "had best" "had said" WTF? Community college? RE: A True Story... - cannongal - 08-29-2011 (08-29-2011, 09:46 AM)Fibonacci Prima Wrote: I would have given it a b minus, at best. Then I'd have given your teacher an f for poor teaching skills. Eh...Maybe he felt sorry for me-It had been over 20 years since I've been out of school. RE: A True Story... - StephenCBanks - 04-13-2022 What if there were a way you could free yourself form your annoying undergraduate thesis writing by transferring your undergraduate thesis writing problems an expert undergraduate thesis writer? Thesis writing at undergraduate level requires laborious endeavors which becomes very hard to complete in such a hectic life. So many students find it difficult to manage writing their undergraduate thesis. 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