I’ve lived in many places across the globe and regardless of where I lived, there were houseflies. Now, I am certain that there were subtle biological differences between them from one continent to the next but to me, they all looked the same and behaved in the same annoying fashion; that is until I made contact with the Ecuadorian version of the common house fly…the Latin Ninja! These flying nuisances make all other houseflies seem like warm, snuggly kittens in comparison.
I am absolutely certain that some devious, whacked out geneticist has intentionally engineered these demons using a bit of Bruce Lee’s DNA, combined with a bit of DNA from Rodney Dangerfield. They are not only brutal and cunning in their repeat attacks but combine their brutality with all the annoying qualities of Dangerfield, going for all the weak spots in typical Dangerfield fashion!
They wait, lurking in the fold of a curtain or behind the edge of a picture frame until I am deeply engaged in a project or watching a great movie or even worse, as I am trying to take a well-deserved nap. They often make a low, buzzing pass by my face, sometimes making light contact just to announce their presence. Then, the onslaught begins!
They land on my eyelids, my lips, the tip of my nose and attempt to get into my ear canals. They take great glee in landing on the backs of my hands so that I will try to swat them, only causing harm to myself. These attacks go on for tens of minutes before they retreat to plan their next sortie.
I recently bought one of those electric fly swatters shaped like a small tennis racket. It holds an electrical charge and crackle-fries the little terrors in mid-air as I practice my best John McEnroe vocalizations. A loud electrical spark (which I must admit generates significant feelings of sweet revenge) signifies my success when I successfully connect and their crispy, smoking little Ninja bodies fall to the ground. I know…I sound cruel but I’m truly not. In fact, I’m an animal lover but apparently, I have limits.
In their most recent and bold assaults aimed at provoking me even more, they land on the back of the hand holding the electric racket and I swear, they do some kind of an end-zone victory dance as if they’d just scored a touchdown.
Yesterday, I was working at the computer and there were, perhaps, 3-4 of these Ninjas taking turns. One would repeatedly land on my wrist while another kept trying to do a water landing on my eyeball. I kept typing while waving my free hand and shaking my head like I was under the control of a drunken puppeteer. Eventually, I reached my limit, stopped working, grabbed the racket (which I have now named Fry Baby) and began to stalk my tormentors in earnest. I slowly stood, pushed my chair back, and with racket in hand surveyed the landscape.
There they were; flying in low formation along the top of my work table. They knew what they were doing. Staying in low formation and flying among computers, speakers, printers, cables and stacks of papers would keep them safe. A swift swing of “Fry Baby” in that tangle would surely damage my stuff and the Ninjas would escape. I waited.
Eventually, the pair lost their focus and landed together on the back of a chair. In an instant, I anticipated and calculated their departure route. I began my swing and, as hoped, their flight path intersected with Fry Baby’s swift justice about 2 feet over the top of the table. Two bright flashes provided visual verification and two loud electrical crackles added additional confirmation. They had met their end.
Speaking as a fellow aviator, I have to admire their courage as well as their flight skills. Unfortunately, they picked the wrong target too many times. Brave and skilled aviators for sure… but stupid! What the hell…they were only flies and there are plenty more. As a matter of fact, two of them have been bugging me while I’ve been typing this.
Gotta’ go. Fry Baby has been charging and it’s time for justice!