Rated: G
     This is an old story. I have a lot of sentimental love for this ratty old thing. It’s fun, it’s popcorn, I know. But still.
     – Java

     High up in the sky, the sun burned with a heartfelt vengeance. The sky itself was a pale, washed-out white-blue, bare of clouds, like a used-up prostitute in a strip show. The air had become thick and heavy, and heat boiled up off the pavement in snake-like waves.
     Sammi paused in the cool wash of air conditioning to don her sunglasses, then stepped out into Hell. The heat was brain-numbing. She lit a cigarette on the way to her car, sweat already trickling down her back. She walked steadily, booted feet slapping unmindfully at the scorched concrete, able to feel the burn even through the half-inch soles.
She reached her car and swung the door open. Heat burst out at her as though she’d opened an oven. She wrinkled her nose distastefully and plopped in anyway, jamming her key in the ignition, and punching the clutch. She turned the key, popped it in neutral, set the emergency brake, and turned on the a/c. A moment or two later the car began blowing cool air and she sighed in relief. She left the door hanging open, propped her fit up in the hinge, slouched a bit, and took a huge, satisfying drag off the cigarette. God, she was glad to be out of that store.
     Sammi was morally certain that there were worse things a seventeen-year-old kid could be doing for summer work than bagging groceries at the local Shop N’ Save, but right at the moment, she couldn’t think of anything. All she knew was that it was the first of the month, and everybody got their Food Stamps today, and only five carry-outs had shown up to bag for thirty lanes. And the other four were idiots.
     She had been bagging groceries mechanically for seven hours. Bag the order, move down a lane, bag the order, move down a lane, bag the order . . . repeat as necessary. Not just little orders, but two huge cartloads or more, hauled up by fat, dirty women with sixteen little dirty screaming kids in tow. Usually at least one cartload was jammed full of meat; dripping, bleeding, oozing meat that had to be double-bagged. And then cleaned up after.
     Sammi was tired and cranky. Her shoulders and back ached liked fire. Her calves were in knots. Her feet were screaming. And this was her first cigarette in seven hours. And, this was only her lunch break. She had to go back.
Just as she was contemplating that horror, something suddenly blocked the sun. She looked up at the windshield and froze. Her jaw dropped. Her eyes grew huge behind the mirrored Lennon lenses of her sunglasses. Her lungs locked up and her heart skipped a beat. With interminable, aching slowness, she lifted her feet out of the hinge and slowly swung them inside the car.
     Perched on her windshield was a slender, elegant, black wasp. Presumably, it had landed there for a brief rest in the stifling heat. Now, Sammi didn’t necessarily like wasps or bees or hornets, but she wasn’t usually this afraid of them, either. Granted, black wasps were particularly evil-minded, and slightly more hostile than other wasps, and generally took things more personally, but that wasn’t the reason for Sammi’s terror.
     It was that this wasp was the size of a Rottweiler.
     A big one.
     At about that moment Sammi realized the car door was still hanging open. With the same agonizing slowness, she leaned out, grabbed the handle, and jerked the door shut. Hard. The wasp buzzed in startlement and took exception. With one sure swing, it plunged its stinger into the windshield. It’s stinger was at least a foot long and barbed, a giant needle dripping clear poison.
     Sammi watched in slow-motion horror as the stinger stabbed through the window and toward her face. At the last second she jerked back into the seat, staring cross-eyed at the tip of the stinger an inch from her nose. Sammi’s heart kicked into high gear, her breath left her lungs on a whispered scream, and instinct took over.
     She punched the clutch, dropped the brake, and slammed it into reverse. She plunged her foot down on gas and every ounce of power in her ‘76 Chevelle centered on peeling out backwards. The tires screamed and Sammi cranked the wheel, whipping the car in a tight curve. She ignored first gear, and popped it into second. Her feet like pistons, she let up on the clutch and kicked the gas. The engine roared and the car left a black layer of angry rubber behind it.
     The wasp, which had been trying to work it’s stinger free, got one furious buzz in, then was flattened as the car shot forward. Sammi frantically shifted into third, then fourth as the wasp pushed itself up and began to sting in earnest. Sammi jerked her head to the left, smacking the window, as the wasp stabbed the seat behind her. She dropped it into fifth, put the pedal to the metal and saw the end of the parking lot flying towards her.
     Split-second decision.
     She dropped it into neutral, locked up the brakes, and whipped the wheel.
     The sound of her brakes echoed across the parking lot like the scream of an angry cougar. Now she had everyone’s attention. The car whipped a perfect one-eighty and the wasp slid across the slick glass, held fast to the car by its stinger. Sammi howled in frustration and fright as the wasp righted itself, wings buzzing in rage, and began stinging again. It plunged and stabbed phallicly, the glass now not just spider-webbed, but beginning to give. It cracked ominously.
     Now Sammi got mad.
     Once again she slammed the stick into second, and once again her feet kicked like pistons. The car bellowed like some kind of angry beast. The car blew forward. She left twenty feet of smoking rubber behind her. The wasp sounded a little scared as it buzzed, and now its stabbing seemed more like an escape attempt. A maniacal grin graced her face as she dropped it into fourth, then fifth. The engine roared, the wasp hung on for dear life, and little old ladies dropped their walkers and dove out of the way. Sammi put the pedal down and watched the speedometer’s needle shoot to the right.
     The wasp glistened in the brutal sun, working it’s stinger in a mix of panic and fury, forcing Sammi to lean to avoid it. She grinned hard and as the needle hit ninety, she locked up the brakes.
     All across the parking lot, people stood in the blistering heat, shoes growing hot on the burning pavement, eyes shaded with hands, and watched in awestruck amazement. Only a few could actually see what was stuck to Sammi’s windshield, but all winced as they heard the primal shriek of her tires. The car fishtailed wildly as it came to a fevered stop. The shinning thing on her car flew off in a rain of sparkling glass, hit the pavement with a metallic crack, and scrape across the ground a few feet. Some applauded.
     Sammi reached behind her seat. A small voice in the back of her head sanely pointed out that she could just run the wasp over, but the rest of her brain howled for a more personal vengeance. After all, the wasp had fucked up her lunch break.
     She kicked to door open and lept out, a solid oak Louisville Slugger clasped in one fist. She strode towards the downed wasp.
     The wasp was standing, shaky, buzzing gossamer wings in bewilderment. Sammi stalked up, hefted the bat in both hands over her head, and brought it down with all the force one person could muster. The Slugger drove down on the wasp’s head and bounced off the pavement with a resounding crack! The wasp crumpled, and all was silent.
Sammi stared at it for a long, quiet minute. The wasp lay in a shattered crumple on the ground, oozing pathetically. She let the end of the bat thump softly on the ground. She glanced wearily at the pulped wasp, dropped the bat, and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it, she took a long, sweet drag, let it slowly out to drift away in the heat, then looked at her watch.
Her lunch break was up.
     Heaving a tired sigh, she turned and trudged the burning trek back into the store. The crowd watched silently as she disappeared into Shop N’ Save, then surveyed the sticky wasp-mess and stalled car. Wisely leaving both alone, the crowd began to break up and move away into the heat.

Playing the Popularity Game: