Zen and the art of hitchhiking

It was a gorgeous day down on the peninsula today when I left for my commute home. I had the windows rolled down, the music turned up, and there was no one on the road so I was able to go "the speed limit."

Suddenly, a bee got caught up in my airflow, smacked into the b-pillar, and landed on my lap. I was a little panicked at first, but realized that the bee was probably just as confused and surprised as I was. As long as I didn't do anything stupid, no one was likely to get hurt.

I immediately begin to think of ways to get the bee out of the car, but based on my current speed, I decided that it would be very difficult to pull off without a) pissing off the bee, b) squishing the bee and making a mess or c) driving my car into the median.

I didn't want to kill the bee. And I didn't want to get stung. And I certainly didn't want to make a mess in or OF my car. So... I decided to wait. The whole "smacking into the b-pillar" ordeal must have really taken its toll on him, as the bee was quietly hanging out on my leg for about 30 minutes. He occassionally would make a few tired steps, or "clean" his antennae or hind legs as if to say, "yeah, I meant to do that."

As I was driving north, further and further away from where I had bee-friended this little guy, I couldn't help but think that even though I hadn't killed him in my car by smashing him with a book or a shoe or the like, the fact that he would be 30 miles away from his hive would surely cause him some duress. That made me a little sad...

...but I got over it. When I got up to the entrance to 19th street, I finally was able to slow down enough to where I could safely open up my driver-side door and "flick" my little friend out of the car, to the safety of the cold hard concrete, upon which other motorists were happily traversing.

"Bee free, little friend!"