Brisbane Bug in a Box

My plan today was to transfer the contents of the box of goods into our magical file for the immigration folks next week. I'd get to it any minute.

Any minute.

As I watched just one more bowl from an Aussie bowler to a Kiwi batsman, just one more, I suddenly heard this very low rumble. It was like a helicopter, but not because the thing it came from was much smaller. I turned my head in time to see this fucking beetle thing flying and buzzing like a helicopter lazily through the open terrace doors. He seemed uncomfortable having to fly, as though he didn't completely know what he was doing.

Then the buzzing stopped, signaling that he had, of course, landed somewhere next to the couch I was sitting on. I moved the couch, pushed a pile of papers around, and then heard a slight something or other that made me stop and look. And there it was.

I don't like bugs. I don't like things that fly. No, it's not that I don't like things that fly. I don't mind them. As long as they're not flying around me or in my apartment. Or even flying at me as the case may be. To sum up, I don't like things flying in my apartment. So what the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? It never moved, but there was no way in hell I was going to bend over to pick up the box. Like I wanted this thing flying at my face in its dull helicopter roar. So we enganged in a standoff.

And then I just decided to remove the box, or, rather, push it out with the handle of a broom. A few minutes later, when he seemingly got sick of baking in the sun, he started climbing out. And I helped him with a little nudge.

To add to the day's tally, I faced a small jumping spider and a cricket, both of which I took care of with the broom.