It’s Not a Swarm of Bees—They’re My Emotional Support Companions

Excuse me. Excuse me. Lynette, is it? I can tell you are super excited to see all of us here at Gate A17. All your shouting and waving—trust me. The bees read you loud and clear. They know you love them, and they appreciate your vocal and physical support.

Huh? What’s that? I can’t hear you over the jet engines as they fire up, nearly ready for Flight 394 to take off. If you don’t let us down this gangway, Lynette, that plane might just depart for Florida without us. Did you say it’s the bees? The bees are making all this noise? No! Can’t be. I’ve had them by my side for 17 weeks now, and I have only had one burst ear drum. God wouldn’t have given you two if He didn’t know you’d need a spare!

And as for passengers with allergies, Lynette… Now I gotta stop for a second and tell you I love your hair. That braid is so intricate! I can tell from it (and you’re lovely li’l name) that you’re a Texas girl, born and raised, just like me! I bet on your driver's’ license that your bangs extend out of frame, amiright?

Anyway, Lynnie, I was just saying that in this super PC world where young men are guilty of things that they’re maybe not guilty of, we cannot kowtow to those snowflakes who don’t understand that life. Is. Hard. And sometimes the only solution to the existential despair is to have a swarm of emotional support bees constantly infusing me with 63 different kinds of histamines, pheromones, enzymes, peptides, amino acids (and, of course, other acids). The bees keep me grounded.

But your incessant waving and shouting, Lynette, is really stressing me out! It’s bad enough I have to come to DFW in the first place, but to see you spazzing out over there with excitement for the bees is really not helping matters. I’m warning you, if I get anymore unnerved, I might be forced to decapitate the queen in a ceremonial fashion in order to promote greater relaxation, so everybody in this terminal just calm the fuck down!

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I apologize. But you can see how nervous I get traveling!

Now, I know what you’re about to say: Southwest has a strict no bee policy. I know, I know. We hear it all the time (even though I know you, Lynette, find it to be an egregious form of discrimination). I mean, I could understand if someone were just bringing a swarm of bees on the plane for fun—that would be reckless. But this is therapeutic! I even have a letter from my physician, Dr. Harold N. Bornstein. And he serves at the pleasure of the president, so you can tell Homeland Security that the Commander-In-Chief himself recommends bees as a means of reducing anxiety in our ever chaotic world.

Lynette? Hon, are you awake? Your face is awful puffy. Have you thought about reducing your alcohol consumption? I’m not making any judgements here, but my friends in the medical community tell me that a swollen, ruddy complexion can be a sign of a drinking problem. Just an observation.

Oh! Why, thank you! Who knew you’d flop down like that, prostrate to the bees in honor of their glory? Lynette, that means the world to me. Truly, above and beyond your duties as a flight attendant. You are a good woman. The bees know it and I know it. And we so appreciate your help in this matter. You could teach Frontier a lesson or two, for sure!

Alright, buddy bees, let’s get a move on. Disneyworld awaits. And, Lynette, you have a nice flight, too.

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