WASP.

Walking into the lab this morning, I offhandedly noticed a soft buzz directly over my head. I looked up to see a large wasp zipping through the light fixtures. "Hmm," I thought. "A wasp in a fifth floor laboratory with no windows. That can't happen very often." I ignored the insect and went to work. A few seconds later, however, I heard faint, shrillish girl-shrieks from somewhere down the hall. "Get it! Get it! Augh!" they screamed, and I poked my head out of the door only to feel two more wasps fly in right over my head. "What?" I thought. Pretty soon, I was ducking, gasping and flinching as the wasps zoomed around our lab. One of the senior boys was brave enough to grab a binder to smack them with, standing in the middle of the room and taking heavy, wild swings at the flying specks as they terrorized us. The sight was entirely absurd: a roomful of science students ducking behind expensive pieces of chemical equipment to avoid the wrath of three confused wasps. As soon as our wasps were successfully knocked out of the air, a girl came running down our hall at full speed, stopping in our doorway. "Wasp killer," she grinned, handing us an industrial-size bottle. "You have them too, right?"
Apparently, a large group of wasps had flown in through a broken fifth floor window earlier that morning, probably drawn by the scent of a solution some lab was making. They had basically infested the floor, and labs had been fighting them off all morning.
I returned later in the afternoon to find a hastily drawn message scrawled across the white board in big, shaky, block letters: DON'T WORRY. 523 HAS WASP KILLER.

I couldn't stop laughing.