Disclaimer: This article is a part of The Lewd, a biannual satirical project put together by The Lode staff, typically published the week before finals. The article is purely for comedic purposes, and the opinions presented in these articles do not reflect The Lode’s values.
So, you’ve finally decided to take the plunge. You’ve seen the TikToks. You’ve read at least one Wikipedia article, and you’re ready to become a beekeeper. And what better place to start than your cozy, slightly mildew-scented Wadsworth Hall dorm room?
Let’s be honest: the Living Guide never explicitly bans bees. They say no unregistered pets, but do insects count? They’re more like… roommates, really. Roommates that make honey and occasionally sting your actual roommate, Kyle. He had it coming after microwaving fish at 2 a.m. So here’s your definitive guide to becoming the buzz of Wads.
One: Hive placement. You might be tempted to place your hive on the windowsill, but let’s be real; Tech’s weather gives seasonal depression to bees and students alike. Instead, clear off your desk and set up your hive next to your LED grow light. Your bees will appreciate the constant glow and ambiance. Bonus tip: your RA will assume it’s just an elaborate succulent setup.
Two: Bee acquisition. Skip the boring online retailers. Just wait until spring (if it ever comes), and lure a swarm from campus flowers with a bottle of Mountain Dew and vague promises of sustainability. Transport them discreetly in your roommate’s laundry basket.
Three: Protective gear. A full beekeeping suit is a dead giveaway. Instead, just wear a large, backward hoodie, sunglasses, and a stolen McNair salad bowl as a face shield. Not OSHA compliant, but you’re living in Wads; safety is optional.
Four: Registration. To get ahead of any administrative nonsense, register your hive as an ESA (Emotional Support Apiary) with Disability Services. Bees have been proven to lower cortisol levels* (*citation needed) and increase chaotic good energy. When questioned, tell them the gentle hum helps with your anxiety, sleep, and lack of serotonin. While you’re at it, swing by Public Safety and declare your bees a non-lethal chemical deterrent for personal safety. Just say it’s part of a self-defense initiative; technically, they are armed. With stingers.
Five: Conflict resolution with your RA. When your RA inevitably discovers your operation (usually after the third or fourth sting incident), just explain that it’s part of a senior design project. Toss in words like “pollinator biome stability” and “apian empathy studies.” Works 60% of the time, every time. If they still insist you remove them, offer a jar of homemade “organic” Wads-honey. It pairs well with burnt ramen and tears.
Six: Winter prep. As snow falls and your GPA (and dopamine) levels drop, you’ll want to tuck your bees in for the winter. Fashion them tiny Tech hoodies, give them a mini space heater, and let them hibernate inside your lofted bed. Snuggly and warm. Just ignore the buzzing.
Beekeeping in Wads isn’t just a lifestyle: it’s a revolution. It’s about reclaiming your space, embracing nature, and being a walking allergy threat to everyone on your floor. Suit up, grab your Mountain Dew, and become the beekeeper Wads never asked for, but definitely deserves.
And remember, if you get stung, just rub a little dining hall honey on it. Probably works.
