Never say that I don’t take one for the team.
I went to Fort Greene on Wednesday afternoon to interview apiarist John Howe about the city’s stunning legalization of beekeeping.
I figured I’d get the quotes, eat some honey and be back at my keyboard in half an hour.
Instead, all I got was a bee sting — and this story.
Oh the irony, considering that the Board of Health legalized beekeeping after deeming that the flying kamikazes are not a “wild animal” or dangerous to the public.
Sure, I understand that honeybees are generally harmless unless provoked, but I was gentle as a lamb as Howe slipped on his nifty white beekeeper suit and opened his rooftop hive so I could snap some shots of him and his moneymakers.
I should have heeded the old circus adage: never work with animals.
Once Howe jimmied open the cover, several bees made their eponymous line towards my head, getting trapped in my full, shimmering locks. One of them rooted around, just above my spine, and sat himself down.
The next thing I felt was pain — sharp, hot and mercifully brief.
Howe explained that honeybees are typically docile, but they do tend to go after people with long hair. Something about mistaking them for bears.
Whatever. I was getting queasy.
“Do you need some Benadryl?” Howe said, helpfully. “I think we have a cream.”
I told him I already had what I needed. And you just read it.
