We heard the Wasp before we saw him; high-pitched screeching preceded his strut in to our branch that hot summer morning. Short in stature, easily-offended, he forced his tiny frame upward as he buzzed around the yard, correcting co-workers and making an enemy of all he pestered.  

Wasp was transferred another branch and we knew not why, but he came across as a talkative, man in his early sixties who’d staved off the signs of age, but at first, we assumed he was in his forties. We soon learned he was happy to share his knowledge.

Wasp would tut, “…I knows man …many gurls chasing me… they must chase… It’s in them to chase… Ya get me…?”

“Most people fools, not me!” Wasp beamed, sparking up his smokes.

Like most who first met Wasp, I was intrigued enough to fish for inspiration, soon reasoning Wasp was either boastful of a great life, or a desperate fantasist.

In the second week, Wasp started using the canteen to microwave his pot noodle and his eagerness to boast, soon got him noticed.  

“I just can’t get all the slabs in Terry’s lorry!” moaned Barry to Aiden.

“Well…” began Aiden.

“…Easy!” interrupted Wasp with as he slapped his hands in victory.

“You do it then!” Barry snapped.

“I will…! But first…” Wasp turned to me, offering to engage in conversation, I felt the room watching.

“What’s life like in the evening for you?” I randomly whimpered.

Wasp happily took the opportunity to boast of the great evenings in his mansion.

“I got money, it helps…,” he did concede before boasting of his appeal to woman, who he knew were chasing him for his money.

“You got to make them always wanting you,” he grinned, taking out his pot noodle.

I began to suspect he was a fantasist.

“Why work here?” I had to ask, scanning the room for interest.