When Jack and I went up to the cottage for lunch we discovered a huge swarm of wasps in my room. Like 50 of them. We had known about the nest in the outside wall under one of my windows. Dad had been working on getting rid of the wasps, including patching up the holes they made in the siding. Apparently, the wasps were then trapped in the wall, and the only way out was to bore a hole through the wall into my bedroom.
I sent Jack out of the room, closed the door, opened the screen a little and started shooing them out, but there were even more wasps outside and they started flying in. Jack found the duct tape so I could cover up the hole they'd made in the wall. Barb and the boys frantically searched everywhere for the wasp spray, and once they found it I was able to start killing the wasps off. I spent about 20 minutes in a full-on battle with them. Luckily I was only stung once.
Later on, I vacuumed up the bodies.
When we were kids, my brother was terrified of wasps. For some inexplicable reason, I wasn't. Whenever he found a wasp in his room, he'd scream and I'd come running to show him how superior I was. (As his younger sister I tried to show my superiority whenever possible.) I'd pick the wasp up by the wing and fling it out the window, sometimes in dramatic slow motion to make my brother squirm even more.