DAY ONE -- THE INVASION
It was early in the morning when I stumbled into my bathroom. I’m not much for mornings and today was no exception. As I switched on the light and blinked my eyes, it seemed they were everywhere -- moving like men on a mission -- all over my bathroom counter. Ants! Hurrying; scurrying; coming; going.
“How dare you!” I blurted out, “This is my bathroom, what do you think you’re doing here?” I lashed out in anger and squashed every one I could catch. “There, that will teach you.”
Immediately I felt guilty. I may not be a morning person, but I’m not a murderer. I had just smashed somebody’s uncles or brothers or fathers. I could hear the survivors back at the anthill, breathlessly telling the whole horrible story about the giant monster lady that had ruthlessly massacred them all in cold blood. I tried not to think about it the rest of the day.
DAY TWO -- WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?
They were back in force. It was almost as if they had called out reinforcements, because my bathroom counter was alive with the little guys. I found myself talking to them again. “What do you want? If you are looking for food, you’re in the wrong room, guys, this is the bathroom!” And then I thought maybe I should watch them for a while, just in case they knew something I didn’t -- I’m always ready for a snack, and if they had discovered food, I wanted to know about it!
“What could they possibly be looking for?” I thought to myself, for they definitely moved as if they were looking for something. I realized it had been a long time since I had taken the time to watch ants at work. They seemed to have some kind of trail they followed and they always traveled single file until each one in turn would venture off and go exploring. They seemed almost to be frantic in their searching as they ran back and forth. They always returned to “The Trail” before continuing on their way, either moving ahead or going back.
I thought I remembered reading somewhere that all ants are male, except the queen, who rules The Hill, and they all work constantly serving her. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I couldn’t help wondering what a bunch of males were doing in my bathroom. It occurred to me that maybe this particular group of ants had a very ugly queen, and were hoping to make off with some of my cosmetics to beautify her. I’d heard that ants can carry several times their own weight and I suspiciously waited to see if they tried to make off with a tube of lipstick.
As I watched, I was reminded of the last time I looked down at the earth from an airplane and watched the little cars scurrying along the roads. I thought to myself that humans are not all that different than these ants from that perspective, following their little trails and jockeying for position. And some of the conversations I’ve heard on human trails are not nearly as polite as what I was imagining that of the ants to be.
Suddenly, I realized all that hustling and bustling had made me hungry, so I went to make myself a sandwich, which I brought with me back to the bathroom and commenced eating as I watched the little fellows some more. “Oh well,” I thought, “I might as well share a few crumbs. It will be kind of fun to see what they do.” So I carefully placed a couple of tiny breadcrumbs near The Trail.
It didn’t take long before one adventurer found the first crumb. I watched as he checked it out, lifted it a couple of times as if testing its weight, then with considerable ease, hoisted it up and headed for The Trail. “If only I could bench press like that,” I thought jealously, and considered squashing him.
I realized that he would probably take his precious cargo back to The Hill and present it proudly to his queen. This was my chance to find out where The Trail began. I carefully watched his every move as he began his journey home. First, he went the wrong way on the trail and ended up at the opposite end of the counter. “Typical male,” I thought, “they never stop to ask for directions.” Finally he turned around and started back.
It was fascinating to note that the ants returning to The Hill followed the same single file as the ants coming from the Hill. Consequently, there were more than a few head-on collisions, and definite interaction with each other as they decided who would give way to whom. I had earlier wondered how they knew where The Trail was, once they had left it. I mean, after all, if you’ve seen one bit of white Formica, haven’t you seen it all? But watching, I realized it must be the interaction with one another that gave them assurance they were on the right track. I mean, can’t you just hear the whole conversation?
“Watch where you’re going, you road hog! By the way, is this the way back to The Hill?”
“Watch where you’re going yourself, can’t you see I’m in a hurry? Yes, you’re on the right trail, just turn left when you get to that dent in the wallpaper, then it’s straight up from there.”
They all seemed to be in such a hurry, and again, I thought how much humans are the same as those ants. Everyone is in a hurry. I’m not sure why, either. We rush to pass all the other travelers on the trail, just so we can sit and wait at the next light while they catch up to us.
Anyway, I tracked the guy with the crumb all the way past the dent in the wallpaper, up the door trim to the wall above the closet, and into a hole near the ceiling. “Aha! So that’s where you broke and entered,” I said, as he disappeared into the hole.
DAY THREE -- SORRY, GUYS, BUT THIS IS MY BATHROOM
In spite of the entertainment factor of watching ants, the next day I called the apartment manager and he agreed to send over an exterminator. I know. It was a cruel and heartless act. I mean, after all, they weren’t really hurting anything, were they? But I had to do it. “It’s my bathroom, guys,” I told them, as if they were judging me, after the exterminator had gone, leaving poisonous ant bait near the entry hole. He explained that they would unwittingly carry the poison back to their queen, not knowing they were serving her a death sentence. “Once the queen is dead, they will have no direction, and will die of frustration,” he told me. I felt bad, but I tried to make them understand that I would never come crawling around their home, and even if I tried, they would surely do their best to defend it.
The whole process seemed a little like what happens in human homes as we carry home poisonous stress from our scurrying and hurrying out on the trail. The next thing we know we lash out at the very ones we vowed to love until at some point, a part of them just shrivels up and dies.
I watched the demise of the ants with mixed emotions. I’m not really a bad person. But this was a war, and war is never a pretty sight. Everyone knows you do things in the heat of battle that you might not do under normal circumstances. I keep hoping they found it in their little hearts to forgive me -- maybe they didn’t die. Maybe they found a new queen, and maybe the new one wasn’t so ugly.
After watching the saga of the ants, I decided it was time for me to stop spending so much time traveling in a sea of white formica and veer off the trail to enjoy the beauty of all the other colors in God’s creation. Perhaps by doing so, I can avoid a premature visit from the exterminator.
It was early in the morning when I stumbled into my bathroom. I’m not much for mornings and today was no exception. As I switched on the light and blinked my eyes, it seemed they were everywhere -- moving like men on a mission -- all over my bathroom counter. Ants! Hurrying; scurrying; coming; going. “How dare you!” I blurted out, “This is my bathroom, what do you think you’re doing here?” I lashed out in anger and squashed every one I could catch. “There, that will teach you.”
Immediately I felt guilty. I may not be a morning person, but I’m not a murderer. I had just smashed somebody’s uncles or brothers or fathers. I could hear the survivors back at the anthill, breathlessly telling the whole horrible story about the giant monster lady that had ruthlessly massacred them all in cold blood. I tried not to think about it the rest of the day.
DAY TWO -- WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?
They were back in force. It was almost as if they had called out reinforcements, because my bathroom counter was alive with the little guys. I found myself talking to them again. “What do you want? If you are looking for food, you’re in the wrong room, guys, this is the bathroom!” And then I thought maybe I should watch them for a while, just in case they knew something I didn’t -- I’m always ready for a snack, and if they had discovered food, I wanted to know about it!
“What could they possibly be looking for?” I thought to myself, for they definitely moved as if they were looking for something. I realized it had been a long time since I had taken the time to watch ants at work. They seemed to have some kind of trail they followed and they always traveled single file until each one in turn would venture off and go exploring. They seemed almost to be frantic in their searching as they ran back and forth. They always returned to “The Trail” before continuing on their way, either moving ahead or going back.
I thought I remembered reading somewhere that all ants are male, except the queen, who rules The Hill, and they all work constantly serving her. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I couldn’t help wondering what a bunch of males were doing in my bathroom. It occurred to me that maybe this particular group of ants had a very ugly queen, and were hoping to make off with some of my cosmetics to beautify her. I’d heard that ants can carry several times their own weight and I suspiciously waited to see if they tried to make off with a tube of lipstick.
As I watched, I was reminded of the last time I looked down at the earth from an airplane and watched the little cars scurrying along the roads. I thought to myself that humans are not all that different than these ants from that perspective, following their little trails and jockeying for position. And some of the conversations I’ve heard on human trails are not nearly as polite as what I was imagining that of the ants to be.
Suddenly, I realized all that hustling and bustling had made me hungry, so I went to make myself a sandwich, which I brought with me back to the bathroom and commenced eating as I watched the little fellows some more. “Oh well,” I thought, “I might as well share a few crumbs. It will be kind of fun to see what they do.” So I carefully placed a couple of tiny breadcrumbs near The Trail.
It didn’t take long before one adventurer found the first crumb. I watched as he checked it out, lifted it a couple of times as if testing its weight, then with considerable ease, hoisted it up and headed for The Trail. “If only I could bench press like that,” I thought jealously, and considered squashing him.
I realized that he would probably take his precious cargo back to The Hill and present it proudly to his queen. This was my chance to find out where The Trail began. I carefully watched his every move as he began his journey home. First, he went the wrong way on the trail and ended up at the opposite end of the counter. “Typical male,” I thought, “they never stop to ask for directions.” Finally he turned around and started back.
It was fascinating to note that the ants returning to The Hill followed the same single file as the ants coming from the Hill. Consequently, there were more than a few head-on collisions, and definite interaction with each other as they decided who would give way to whom. I had earlier wondered how they knew where The Trail was, once they had left it. I mean, after all, if you’ve seen one bit of white Formica, haven’t you seen it all? But watching, I realized it must be the interaction with one another that gave them assurance they were on the right track. I mean, can’t you just hear the whole conversation?
“Watch where you’re going, you road hog! By the way, is this the way back to The Hill?”
“Watch where you’re going yourself, can’t you see I’m in a hurry? Yes, you’re on the right trail, just turn left when you get to that dent in the wallpaper, then it’s straight up from there.”
They all seemed to be in such a hurry, and again, I thought how much humans are the same as those ants. Everyone is in a hurry. I’m not sure why, either. We rush to pass all the other travelers on the trail, just so we can sit and wait at the next light while they catch up to us.
Anyway, I tracked the guy with the crumb all the way past the dent in the wallpaper, up the door trim to the wall above the closet, and into a hole near the ceiling. “Aha! So that’s where you broke and entered,” I said, as he disappeared into the hole.
DAY THREE -- SORRY, GUYS, BUT THIS IS MY BATHROOM
In spite of the entertainment factor of watching ants, the next day I called the apartment manager and he agreed to send over an exterminator. I know. It was a cruel and heartless act. I mean, after all, they weren’t really hurting anything, were they? But I had to do it. “It’s my bathroom, guys,” I told them, as if they were judging me, after the exterminator had gone, leaving poisonous ant bait near the entry hole. He explained that they would unwittingly carry the poison back to their queen, not knowing they were serving her a death sentence. “Once the queen is dead, they will have no direction, and will die of frustration,” he told me. I felt bad, but I tried to make them understand that I would never come crawling around their home, and even if I tried, they would surely do their best to defend it.
The whole process seemed a little like what happens in human homes as we carry home poisonous stress from our scurrying and hurrying out on the trail. The next thing we know we lash out at the very ones we vowed to love until at some point, a part of them just shrivels up and dies.
I watched the demise of the ants with mixed emotions. I’m not really a bad person. But this was a war, and war is never a pretty sight. Everyone knows you do things in the heat of battle that you might not do under normal circumstances. I keep hoping they found it in their little hearts to forgive me -- maybe they didn’t die. Maybe they found a new queen, and maybe the new one wasn’t so ugly.
After watching the saga of the ants, I decided it was time for me to stop spending so much time traveling in a sea of white formica and veer off the trail to enjoy the beauty of all the other colors in God’s creation. Perhaps by doing so, I can avoid a premature visit from the exterminator.
That was just plain fun. I can't wait until you have to deal with a mouse.
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