White, Anglo-Saxon Pests.

Lately, my apartment has become hospice for wayward wasps. Somehow they're entering through my windows and stay, well, until their last flap of the wing (I say somehow, but the truth is, I live in a dilapidated piece of shit, so these guys are probably just entering through termite tunnels, mouse holes, or feral cat passageways). I'm not scared of them; I'm glad they aren't roaches (at least...I don't think they are). I don't know if they sting or bite, or if they're completely harmless. They seem to get a little frazzled when they wander too close to the ceiling fans, but even when they get a swift whack, they get up and buzz back to the windows. I tell them "Go! The windows are open! This is probably the only apartment in the all of South Florida that doesn't have air conditioning! Do you know how lucky you are? This is the jackpot in the lottery of quick escapes. Go!!!" But they don't listen, and because I don't care enough to rescue them and put them back outside, they always, always die by the windows. I mist them with water from time to time, but it's always too late...and I don't really want to have Terry Schiavo wasps; I mean, my God, there'd probably be protests and I just don't have the kind of space for that. I've come to terms that these wasps simply want to die in here because it is different from how all the other wasps die - it's kind of boho chic to be swept off a windowsill and flushed down a toilet, right? So long as they don't get angry on me and/or crawl down my throat at night, I'm going to keep their wishes sacred and euthanize them with my windows.