Don't Bug Me for a Good Time

His first time was not going well. The crowd was a lot thicker than he had expected it to be. The near darkness was broken up with just a few excruciatingly bright beams of light bouncing around, blinding those that were unaccustomed to such surroundings. The heat from so many gathered bodies huddled so close together was nauseating; mix in the smells of body odor, the sweat dripping down from his neck passed his shoulders down his back, the clouds of smoke from cigarettes and joints that no one cared were against the rules (were there any rules?). He felt light-headed, wondering in the back of his mind if he was going to throw up.

He was told it would be fun, that it would be one of the best experiences of his life. And as soon as they got there, the friend who insisted he come tonight up and left. Michael kept scanning the crowd, well, trying to. More realistically, it was just about ten people in front of him that was hard to see passed. Thank God he was tall, about six foot, but even still, it was almost impossible to discern individuals in the massive blob of a mob. There were probably over one hundred people in a tiny garage made to hold forty. Well, made to hold two cars side by side and maybe a lawnmower and a snow plow, but yeah forty people sounds about right too he supposed.

"God damn you, Krystal," he mumbled under his breath. He put his hand in his pocket, feeling for his phone. As he pulled it out, a strong elbow slammed directly into his spine. Michael's phone tumbled out of his hand and landed on the cement ground before getting kicked and stepped on by various people.

"Shit," he whirled on the person behind him, rubbing his spine.

"Oopsie," giggled a young girl, clearly wasted, as she squeezed through the mob, barely vertical.

Despite his desire, he kept his mouth shut and turned his attention back to his phone. Michael's eyes scoured the ground, seeing no sign of his call, save for a few pieces of plastic that may or may not have come from his device. With a deep breath, he dove down through the surrounding sea of legs and shoes, ignoring his better judgement. The ground was filthy. He crawled quickly forward, hands outstretched, feeling around the many stomping feet. The sensation of wetness engulfed his hand and he pulled it back, trying not to gag. Giving it a careful sniff, he pretended what was clearly urine (who the hell pees in a garage?) was beer instead. Thankfully, he saw his phone and stood quickly after retrieving it.

"Please, please don't be dead," he begged under his breath. The screen was cracked and part of the corner was dented, but it seemed to turn on just fine. "I'll take it," he said, dialing.

"Mike! Whatcha want?" came Krystal's voice through the phone, broken up and static-filled. Great, guess the speaker is broken too.

"Where did you go? I'm getting trampled in a mob and have no idea what's going on."

Static-filled laughter from the other side of the phone rings painfully in his ears. "Look up."

His eyes darted to the ceiling. "I see a roof," he answered with annoyance.

"Where is the screen?"

What screen? he wanted to ask. There are so many. He raised himself up as high as he could and looked around, every corner and every wall. There were four TV screens mounted around the garage, each one showing some advertisement right now. It was pretty clear what he should have been seeing. On the far wall was a very large monitor, with a 60Seconds display paused, waiting to count.

"See it?" Krystal asked. "Head towards it. I'll meet you at the VIP section." The call ended.

Finding the screen was easy, but getting there? Michael pushed through the mob as best he could. It reminded him of an episode of The Walking Dead. Everyone was dancing to the music blasting throughout the garage, drinks splashing around and, more frequently, onto Michael's clothing. He saw a very small roped off area on his right. The VIP Section, he thought to himself. Sure enough, he saw Krystal's hand waving. Michael climbed over the rope, just as a loud buzzer went off.

"Hey hey, howdy hey," an announcer echoed through hidden speakers.

"Oh you're just in time," Krystal squealed, pulling Michael to the front of the section. He recognized a few faces as he passed, mostly Krystal's friends, some of whom he had met before. There were some strangely dressed, eccentric individuals wearing weird beetle horns/pincers on their hats, a few had less noticeable pins on their jackets or shirts.

Looking past the set of ropes, Michael saw a small pedestal upon which sat a log or a tree branch of some sort. Someone was kneeling in front holding a large, professional-looking video camera over his shoulder. The announcer was nearby too, wearing a strange combination of an old sweater, leather pants, and a dark grey suit jacket. On top of his head sat a worn top hat that was way too big.

"Who's excited for our show tonight?" the announcer shouted into his microphone. His voice reverberated throughout the speakers, giving a little feedback from talking too loudly. He was clearly new to announcing, but he seemed to be loving every second of it.

The crowd went wild, shouting and screaming in excitement. One of the large spotlights shone awkwardly around the crowd, turning on and off, trying to make a stage light give the illusion of a strobe light. Michael watched as a man in all black save a neon green tie and an older man in a strange 1970's brightly colored plaid suit came from the corner of the garage, each holding a small cage, the kind a child would use to catch a cricket on a school field trip.

"In our first corner tonight, we have a bug like no other-"

Did he just say bug?

"He's the one, the only, the very creepy crawly... Give it up for Big Bad Benny and his trainer... uh...  Benny!"

Michael watched as the man in the tie opened one of the little boxes and tipped it, letting whatever was inside fall out onto the log. The camera man focused in with his lens, the display appearing instantly on the TV monitors throughout the garage. A small beetle with an ugly face crawled quickly up to the highest part of the branch, the red under his belly contrasting with the sleek, black exterior. His most prominent feature, a long horn, curled up from his little beetle forehead up towards the sky, with a spiked barb on the end.

"Benny has raised his beetle from the day it was born, ready to fight against anyone and anything.”

Wait. Fighting?

Benny smiled awkwardly, straightening his tie, as the camera man zoomed in on his face while the announcer talked.

“Aaaaand in the other corner,” the announcer said, arm outstretched to the man in the ‘70s suit. “We have a fan favorite beetle, a pesky pest, the beetle bully…”

A rather large stag beetle was dumped roughly onto the other side of the log. His mandibles opened and closed wildly, rearing up onto his back legs and raising as much of himself into the air as possible.

“Let’s hear it for Jared the Destroyer!”

What strange names, Michael thought.

“Time starts now,” the announcer’s voice was drowned out by a large buzzer, and the large display of 60 seconds began counting down. Immediately, as if they had been trained to recognize the sound (which, they probably were), the two bugs began charging towards each other. Benny the Bug looked much smaller than his opponent. This would be a quick fight.

What in the world is going on? Michael thought. They are just putting these little bugs in a ring against each other? Well, a log I guess. To him, it seemed wrong no so many levels.

As soon as he was within reach, Benny ran straight into Jared, his horn pointed right at his face. Jared took this opportunity to grasp the little beetle with both of his pincers and squeeze. Benny wriggled, trying to get free or stab him or scare him or, anything. The announcer was going on and on, narrating every little detail.

“And now he’s in the air, the mandibles are digging into his exoskeleton, oh it will be very hard for him to get out of this one!”

Michael watched as the timer counted down, ten seconds… nine seconds…

“Oh, it looks like the Big Bad Benny is actually twisting itself out of Jared the Destroyer’s grip!”

Eight… seven...

The little bug was slowly spinning itself in a circle, how it managed to do that, Michael had no idea. The crowd was shouting, boos and praise, at the little bugs as they attacked each other relentlessly.

“Aaaand he’s free!”

Six…

“The horn collides with Jared,”

Little Benny smashed his forehead horn directly into Jared’s side.

Five…

“And he’s on his back! It’s-”

Four…

“The Big Bad Benny is right on top of him now-”

Three.

“Jared’s pincers can’t reach, he’s a turtle on his back now-”

Two.

“The horn collides with his face and-”

One.

A giant air horn fills the entire room, causing Michael to jump out of his skin. His eyes darted around the room.

“We have a winner!”

The TV screen shifted off of the bugs, who were still going at each other, despite the buzzer. Each of the owners approached the log. Jared the Destroyer was placed back into his box by the man in the suit. The man looked devastated, and slightly annoyed, but he graciously left the front as soon as his beetle was in the box.

The camera focused in on the Benny with the neon tie. His face was something beyond ecstatic, his smile stretching his mouth into something of an unnatural position.

“The Big Bad Benny has won round one,”

Michael turned to ask Krystal about what had just happened, but she was gone.

Not again. He scanned the crowd, just one big lump of human, sweating and screaming together, waiting with anticipation for the next thing to cheer for. Krystal was nowhere to be seen.

His attention returned to the “stage” with the fighting log.

“Yes, thank you Benny,” came the announcer’s ever-present voice. His voice was starting to get annoying, but at least his announcing was getting slightly better.

“Our last fight for today-”

Loud, obnoxious boo’s from the crowd drowned out the announcer’s voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” the announcer seemed impatient now. “Unfortunately our last fight tonight.”

There was only one before this, Michael thought. Guess there’s only two per convention?

A woman in a brightly colored floral sundress with a black winter scarf was front and center on the TV screens. She seemed nervous; she rotated between twiddling her fingers, playing with the ends of her hair, and licking her lips.

The announcer motioned for her to release her beetle, but she wasn’t paying attention.

“Miss Maggie Steins, with her beetle,” his hand motions, unnoticed still, were making his voice sound breathy.

“Who we will see, very soon-”

Oh, she mouthed stepping up to the log with her beetle. Michael saw her bounce, clearly an attempt at catching herself from tripping. She smoothed her dress with one hand as she tried to dump the little bug out of its box.

“-has been to eight different fight conventions. Her first time with us. Give it up for The Unrelenting… unrelenting what?” the announcer trails off, turning his face from the microphone to the woman in the sundress.

“Oh, just… The Unrelenter!”

Out of the box came a type of Scarab, a Siamese rhinoceros beetle. Michael had just read an article earlier that week about an apartment complex in Thailand that was completely overrun with them. It was a slightly terrifying article.

The beetle seemed to enjoy the attention as the camera focused on him. The mandibles on this one were more vertical, as opposed to the ones on the Stag beetle that were horizontal. It reared up on his hind legs, begging for attention from the camera. Or trying to bite the hand of the photographer…

“And in the other corner today, the one you have all been waiting for…”

The crowd began to scream, chanting a name that Michael could not make out. He looked around. Krystal is going to miss the whole fight, where did she go?

“Two year champion, winning streak of twenty eight matches with three different beetles…”

Into the foreground walked Krystal, in all black with tall, black, heeled boots and, what looked like a championship pin on the left side of her jacket.

No. Way.

“Give it up for Krystal!”

Much more of a people-person than any of the other trainers, Krystal cheers, a big smile on her face, as she pounds her fist in the air. The crowd follows suit, their “Krystal” chant becoming more unified, faster and faster under the bright spotlight.

“Today, Krystal is competing with her newest beetle, his second competition ever.”

Onto the log dropped a rather large and intimidating bug. It was clearly a rhinoceros beetle, but it looked nothing like the Scarab across from it. It had a very long Y-shaped horn, splitting off at the end like a snake’s tongue. He immediately began walking slowly towards the other beetle.

“Let’s hear it for The Samurai!”

Another buzzer and the timer on the large monitor began counting down once more. This time, Michael watched intently, eyes barely blinking as he tried to take in every second.

Krystal’s beetle made the first move, approaching its opponent. He gave it a quick poke with its horn, looking to see what reaction it could get. The Scarab took a few steps back before trying to get its horns underneath the other.

“And it’s off to a riveting start,” the announcer began narrating once more. “Both beetles have been raised to be aggressive, that is apparent. Which is dominant, smarter or stronger?”

Krystal seemed very interested in her beetle, crouching down to get a better point of view, watching him the way a professional coach does during the Superbowl. The other woman, however, had her head mostly down, watching her beetle from under her eyelids. She was still fiddling with her dress and hair intermittently.

“Thirty seconds left on the clock, and we have both beetles at a stalemate so far.”

Both beetles were trying to pick the other up, but to no avail.

“It looks like the Unrelenter is trying to use his mandibles to get a hold of the Samurai’s horn, but that isn’t working out for him the way he wants.”

Fifteen seconds…

“Oh, wait a second here,”

Sixteen…

“It looks like The Samurai is walking away, what’s this?”

Fifteen… fourteen…

“He’s a little more than an inch away now, I wonder what he’s doing,”

Thirteen… twelve…

“The Samurai has turned around now to face the Unrelenter,”

Eleven… ten… 

“OH, and the Samurai has now gotten his horn under the other beetle-”

Nine… eight…

“He’s leaning back now, like a fulcrum-”

Seven… six…

“OH and the Scarab is off the ground now-”

Five.

“He’s lifting with his horn, it looks like-”

Four.

“He’s going to dump him-”

Three.

“AND HE’S DONE IT!”

The timer froze, two seconds left on the clock. Michael watched in awe as the Scarab was lifted high in the air by the Samurai. It was as high up as the horn itself could reach. And without a second thought, the Samurai threw it onto the ground, the very edge of the log. The Unrelenter clung delicately to a piece of wood with one little foot, the Samurai on his way over to the little beetle. The woman in the sundress quickly approached and let the beetle fall into his little carry case.

The camera panned to Krystal. She cheered, her “whoop” echoing off the walls of the garage, audible despite the thunderous roar of applause.

“The Samurai wins! Krystal keeps her title as champion for a little while longer,” the announcer takes Krystal’s hand and raises it in the air, as if she herself fought and won. “Alright everyone, thank you for coming out tonight-”

Michael tuned out the voice of the announcer as he began his closing spiel. Krystal appeared next to him, her face beaming.

“What’d ya think?” she was practically bouncing with excitement.

Michael didn’t know what to say. “Well, it certainly wasn’t what I was expecting,” he responded honestly. “I had no idea that beetle fighting was a thing.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a hobby of mine,” she shrugged with fake modesty.

“I would say this is more than just a hobby. How long have you been doing this?”

“Just about three years. I train all my beetles from the day they’re born.”

So much goes into this. And here I am thinking my bumper sticker collection was cool.

“But this isn’t even close to how the convention in Japan was, let me tell you-”

“When did you go to Japan?” Michael was flabbergasted.

The two made their way through the crowd and out the door of the garage, tripping over feet and squeezing between bickering couples. The night air hit them as soon as they emerged, enveloping them in a cool mist.

    "I'm competing again next weekend, you in?"

    Michael looked at her. Her question was genuine. Did you have fun? her eyes were asking. Michael hesitated, only briefly.

"Yeah, I'm definitely down."