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One noisy bug
As I was leaving work yesterday, I saw two people trying to get into the building. "During intersession we close at five," I told them. I then offered to direct to the next stop on their tour, but they politely declined. Then one of them, an older woman, said, "I do have a question for you. What is making that sound? Is that an insect or is it some sort of electrical machinery?"
"That's a cicada. Where are you from that you don't have them?"
"New Hampshire."
"We have the ones that make that background droning," said the young man accompanying her. "But not those."
So I had to regale them with tales of Brood XIII.
"That's just one there, isn't it?" she asked, indicating a screech from a towering oak near us.
"Yup. Now imagine the sound a thousand of those would make." And with that unsettling thought, I left them in order to make my tutoring session.
"That's a cicada. Where are you from that you don't have them?"
"New Hampshire."
"We have the ones that make that background droning," said the young man accompanying her. "But not those."
So I had to regale them with tales of Brood XIII.
"That's just one there, isn't it?" she asked, indicating a screech from a towering oak near us.
"Yup. Now imagine the sound a thousand of those would make." And with that unsettling thought, I left them in order to make my tutoring session.
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Bug joy, but still.
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