I am now "that neighbor"

Oh well this is just peachy.

Gateway House (the name of my dorm that sounds not at all unlike the name of a halfway house or a rehab center) has a little bee problem. I've heard there are always bees in the lounges and earlier this week I had to kill one that was in my room. I was never afraid of bees or wasps until I got stung by one after it flew into my hair and my hand felt like it was being stabbed for two days solid. Then I learned that bees can call other bees to attack if you threaten them. LOVELY. The whole building is apparently covered in beeeees so tonight there was another bee bonking itself on my overhead light.

Now the last time there was a bee in here, after I ran shrieking, I got my sponge mop and smushed him when he landed on the floor. Then I dragged the thing all the way out the front door and threw him out as quickly as possible since he was actually still alive. This time the bee wouldn't stop moving long enough for me to swat him and I couldn't reach him on the ceiling, so after twenty minutes of trying to trick him into going outside by playing an elaborate prank with the lights I went downstairs to elicit help. It was 12:30am.

So I'm standing in the lobby with wet hair in a sweatshirt and baggy pants waiting for someone to come in. After a couple minutes some guy comes in with groceries and I ask if he can help me reach a bee on the ceiling. The guy is obviously pretty confused but says he'll come help me after he puts his groceries away. So I go to my room and the bee is still there, smacking the light. I open the door and wait and at some point the bugger disappears. He doesn't fly past me to go out, he just disappears. So then the guy gets there and there's no bee. We look around for a minute and I swear that there WAS a bee, it's just not here now. Eventually I thank him and he goes back to his room upstairs.

Ten minutes later I notice the little bastard crawling around on my desk and I NAIL HIM WITH MY NOTEBOOK.

So now I'm trying to figure out if leaving a note in the elevator addressed to "the nice guy who tried to help me kill the bee" letting him know that I found it and killed it after he left won't actually seem crazy by comparison to me standing around in my pajamas asking strange men to help me kill things in my bedroom.