Recently, I was asked to write up a list of all my past work experiences for my current job. They want to see all the species I’ve worked in my life. While writing it all up, I had to laugh at myself. One of the places I used to work at was the plant pathology lab at my college. It was a job I got to help me with rent while I went to school. It didn’t evolve animals, but I thought lab experience would look good on a resume and plants are just as important as animals. I remember being a little excited for it. I didn’t care much for lab work in high school, but I was hoping this job might turn that around.

One of the lines on the job description was “working with vectors of plant pathology.” I didn’t think much of it.

I remember the interview going really well. The gal that was hiring me was super nice and I could see myself working for her. Good vibes all around. Then, one word leaves her lips and I deadpanned.

Bugs.

Dummy me didn’t think to consider what the vectors of plant pathology were. Of course it’s bugs. Bugs eat plants. They spread disease in animals so why wouldn’t they spread disease in plants as well? I hate bugs. I don’t want them near me. I don’t want to touch them. I can’t stand even looking at certain ones. So, I mildly panicked when the interviewer told me I’d be working with the bugs that spread the disease she’s studying. I think she saw the look on my face because she quickly told me they were tiny bugs. They were the size of a fruit fly and a gnat. I convinced myself it would be fine. I wouldn’t be seeing their characteristics like I do in bigger bugs, they’ll just be little dots flying in the air, so small my eyes can’t distinguish their creepy little features. I would be fine.

You know what else is in a laboratory that I forgot about? A microscope.

At first, my job was easy. I would plant and grow the corn we were going to infect with the disease. Then I moved up to dealing with the bugs by moving them from one corn colony to the next to keep them alive. This species of bug was an invasive species, so I had to take extra precautions to make sure they didn’t get out of the lab and disrupt the circle of life where I lived. I’d wear different clothes, work under a sheet, and use a vacuum to suck them all up. It went well. They were so small, it didn’t bother me that I was around them.

Then, I moved up to helping with the RNA extractions and logging and readings and really it was a bunch of stuff I understood at the time, but can’t explain now. It was computer work, and I was okay with that.

Then, I got to learn how to inject the bugs with the disease we were studying so they could infect the corn. It involved chilling the little bugs so they go into a hibernate-like state, then putting them under the microscope, poking them with the needle, and injecting them with the disease.

I honestly thought I would be fine. I’d been working with these bugs long enough, I didn’t think it would bug me seeing them under the microscope, but I took one look and my stress spiked. I don’t know what it is about them. They have creepy little legs, the exoskeleton feels wrong, their beady pupil-less eyes, and the buzzing of their wings is insufferable. I didn’t want to poke them with a needle, but I wasn’t going to tell my boss no.

Thankfully, I was left alone to complete this task and deal with the panic that rose up with me just because of a few tiny bugs that couldn’t hurt me. I tried poking them without looking. It didn’t work. I tried blurring my vision to blur their features. It didn’t work. I tried focusing on the plate the bugs sat on, looking past them in a way, and it sort of worked.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t just stab them. You had to poke a specific spot and be careful that the needle didn’t go all the way through them. The first time I successfully poked one, I had to walk away. When you poke yourself, your skin gives a little before anything pierces it. When I poked these bugs, their entire rear end contorted and caved in until the needle pierced through the area between their plates, the pressure released, and the body reformed around the needle. Suddenly, I was holding a needle that was inside the majority of this bug’s body.

I injected the disease, but the bug back on ice, and went to the bathroom to stress cry.

I already had high anxiety from having to stare at the bugs, but realizing I actually stabbed one, put me over the edge. I got mad at myself. Why should I care that I’m stabbing a bug? I kill mosquitos with my bare hands all the time and if one of these invasive bugs got lose from their containment, I didn’t feel bad about killing it. So, why did I feel bad about stabbing it? It’s a bug. I hate bugs. Yet, I’m not a monster. I free bugs, spiders, and moths from a pool if they get stuck in it. I feel guilty when I see a dragonfly fell victim to a fly trap.

I pulled myself together in that bathroom because I knew this was important work for agriculture. If we can’t inject these bugs, we can’t study the disease to help save crops. I went back to the lab and stabbed several more tiny bugs. It never got easier.

I ended up leaving the plant pathology lab when they decided to move to a southern university. My boss wanted me to come with them, but I decided I needed to get back into animal related jobs. I wasn’t upset to end that job, but I was going to miss the people. They were all so kind and encouraging. My boss even nominated me for a university worker award. I didn’t win, but I was honored all the same.

Looking back, it now makes me laugh to think I worked with bugs. I’ll never do it again, but at least I know I can make progress in overcoming my fear of the creepy little buggers.

I have to be honest.

If anyone has been following my website for a while, you might have noticed that I always call these little writings of mine as “webposts.” And, yes, I do see the little red squiggly line saying it’s not word every time I type it out. I recently did a webpost following a writing prompt of “Why do you blog?” and not once did I use the word blog in that post. Why?

I don’t like that word.

I don’t like the word “blog” it sounds like bog. Bogs are squishy and muddy and spongey wetlands with a lot of peat–decayed plant matter. They’re not one of the most desirable parts of nature.

I don’t even like the sound of “blog.” It sounds like the name of some little goblin with warts on his nose, he talks in a deep voice, and wants to steal your cookies.

To be fair, I’m also not the biggest fan of the letter “B.” It’s not my least favorite letter, but there’s just something about it that isn’t appealing. Maybe it’s because there’s a lot of words I don’t care for that start with “B.”

Bug
Butt
But
Blog
Bog
Because (I struggled with spelling this word in elementary school)
Bitter
Broccoli

There are a lot of good words that start with the letter “B,” but it still ranks low on the favorite letter list. As for “blog” it still feels like a gross word to me. It’s like the people who can’t stand the word “moist.” I can’t stand “blog.” So, that’s the reason I always write “webpost” instead of “blogpost” or I write “website” instead of “blog.” I don’t know if I’ll ever make friends with that goblin of a word.

What about you? What are the words that you can’t stand? What is your least favorite letter? Have you ever thought about it? Maybe now is a good time to take a mental break to think about i? Feel free to comment what word or letter you can’t stand. Maybe someone else out there thinks the same?

You arrive with butterflies in your stomach. It’s late. You hope you’re in the right place, but the event is still a couple days and you see no signs of it as you pull in.

The chalet has you confuzzeled. You look for a tall and wide building, a modern day hotel, but the chalet has waddle and daub designs. Lanterns hang from the walls in a golden light glow and the lower level doors have iron braces like you walked right into your fairytale.

You get your room and your key and you find you’re down in the dungeons instead of on the king’s balcony. It’s cold, but cozy enough to satisfy your needs. Instead of hitting the hay, you turn right around. You can’t rest until you know you’re at the right location and the coin you spent wasn’t a waste of vacation.

You speak with the staff, but they’re not quite certain. Too many events come and go for them to keep track. So, they point a direction and let you know all events are held at the bottom of the stairs at the end of the very long hall.

Nerves quiver your stomach as you head to investigate. Find the common area empty as midnight draws near. Pass the courtyard where statues wait in silence. You pause at some windows, diamond patterned, medieval facing. Just like in your story and you feel your heart yearning.

Yearning for a miracle. Yearning for a little hope. Yearning to know you’re on the right road. You take a deep breath and leave the windows to the night. You still need to know this place is right.

At the end of the hall stand many wide doors. White in color and ornate trim. Each one has a sign and you see yours dead ahead.

You sigh with relief being in the right place, but that doesn’t keep the butterflies away. You explore a little further, find the event space. It’s a ballroom design and filled with grace. White trim and ornate carpet. Mirrors and pillars and crystal chandeliers. This is the upper class, you realize. Some nobles in your story would feel right at home here. Satisfied with everything in sight. You find your dungeon to call it a night.

The next day you take a chance and mingle. Try to break your introvert curse. There’s so many amazing people. You hope to fit in and not be a leper among royals.

Your social charm is spent, so you call it a night. Your event will arrive with the break of a new day, and your butterflies still won’t go away. As you lay in your bed in the cool of the dungeon, you dare to search for hope on the horizon.