Ants in My Pants

On the day my next door neighbors moved out, several colonies of ants moved into my house. I had left a pizza crust on my dinner plate in the living room the night before and they had completely covered it with themselves. I ran into my bedroom, cringing and rubbing my forehead as if a genie might pop out and solve my problem. The only place I’d seen ants invade so vigorously was a summer picnic, but my house? Never! I frantically paced the room, trying to think of ways to diverge them. I had never had to deal with such a problem. I’d been one of the lucky few that had never been truly invaded with bugs. I thought maybe if I left them alone, they’d just go away. Then I started to think of them moving into my house as a permanent home, moving from my neighbor’s house to mine. Is that why they had left? Had these ants eaten all their food and moved in, leaving them with nothing but wire on the walls as Mr. Grinch had in How the Grinch Stole Christmas? I pictured these invaders sitting on their couch and arguing over which channels to watch and that being “the last straw!” I imagined my neighbors packing their bags and throwing evil looks the ants’ way as they packed up the moving truck. They did never say why they had left.

I’m not one to kill bugs. In fact, I pride myself in being able to count on one hand the amount of bugs I’ve killed in my lifetime. But a war had been declared and if I didn’t retaliate, I was sure they’d make me move out just like my poor next door neighbors. I loved my house way too much for that to happen, so I looked down at the dark mass and tried to think of how to kill so many little black ants.

I tried to think of what other household liquid might work on such creatures, and came up with Windex, the window and surface cleaner. I figured some ammonia might work and by god it did. I found a bottle of Windex in the back of the car my dad handed down to me and got to work. Once the cleaner was sprayed on an ant, it tried to half run, half swim away, only to find itself twitching several times, and then dying within the minute. It was fabulous. At first I tried targeting the ants one by one. But that wasn’t fast enough: the others were getting the message and running away before I could get to them. And the last thing I wanted was feeling guilty because they were trying to escape my wrath. I needed to catch them off-guard and eating my food. So I moved the bottle of Windex higher up and sprayed from a distance, in rapid succession, killing large masses of ants at a time. It wasn’t long until I felt like an alien-robot destroyer. Nothing could stop Robot #3847 from his planet’s duty.

I moved from the living room to the kitchen, to the garage. All the while bent over like a demented hunch-back taking revenge on his betraying city. I even started spraying areas where there were no ants, but that looked like a place they might march through as a shortcut. Blue streams flowed along the floors and carpets. Forty-five minutes and half a bottle of Windex later, all ants in sight were dead or still twitching. I stood, out of breath and energy, and surveyed my work. The blue splotches of Windex were everywhere, making my floors look like I had an untrained puppy with a taste for blueberry Kool-Aid. I stared over the carnage that was my house and nodded. “Yes,” I thought, “this is the beginning of the end.”

I slept well that night and dreamt of a tall, dark and handsome insect-exterminator taking me out to dinner and a movie, then getting lucky back at my place. I awoke with a sore back, but smiled at the fact that I wouldn’t have another run-in with the ants.

I groggily walked into my kitchen to make a cup of coffee when I felt something on my foot. I looked down after realizing it was an ant, brushed it onto the floor. But it was too late, I felt a small sting. At first I didn’t think much of it because they were just small black ants, not fire ants, which I had an allergic reaction to. However, I now know I am also allergic to small black ants. The stinging grew and grew, so I sprayed some Windex on my foot. Then I put red wine vinegar on it, followed by a piled on mound of baking soda that turned cakey and red from the vinegar, followed by wrapping it up with paper towels and prayed to God my foot would be saved. God not only didn’t save my foot, he put a big puss filled blister on it and made it swell like a balloon.

I cursed those colonies like a sailor in a bar, dragging a trail of paper towel behind me, still half clinging to my swollen foot. The ants were back and they were angry. They were avenging their angry queen and they suddenly seemed everywhere. I was the misunderstood Frankenstein and they were the angry villagers, carrying lit torches with a crazy glint their little eye. Any minute I expected to hear chants of “kill the beast!” in little high-pitched ant voices. I ran into my room and, making sure my door was shut and tightly locked, found my slipper boots. My slippers came halfway up my calf and were covered in pink fur. They were uncomfortably hot and made me walk like the un-dead stitched-together man himself, but perfect for keeping the ants at bay.

I found my Windex and charged into the kitchen, yelling war cries and blindly spraying in all directions. They started twitching all together among yesterday’s dead bodies. I felt barbaric, but I also felt such a rush of power. I sprayed all corners of the inside of my house. I turned on all the lights and slowly walked around searching for a stray that left the pack. But I knew no matter how much I made my carpet blue, they’d keep coming back.
At this point, when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t darkness that I saw, but millions of ants. Every time I walked into a room, I scanned the floor for ants. The worst part was that I always found at least one everywhere I looked. It was time to take real action and get professional help at Lowe’s Hardware.

I drove to Lowe’s feeling slightly defeated, but happy that the intruders would finally be out of my not-so-humble abode. I walked over to the insect killing isle and started to read labels. I had no idea there were so many ways to kill ants. I was in heaven.
Just then a young boy wearing a Lowe’s uniform and a nametag at just read “Ask Me,” popped his head around the corner and asked, “Need any help, Miss?”
I looked at him and raised one eyebrow, “Do ants have legs?” I replied. He shuffled his feet around a little and cocked his head to the side.

“I don’t know, Miss, I just work here,” he said.

I told him I was looking for something that would bring complete ant-Armageddon to my home. The Lowe’s worker didn’t seem phased by my taste for death as I’m sure he had encountered ones like me that had come before. I didn’t know where to begin. All of the methods for extermination seemed appropriate and satisfactory. The young worker put his hands on his hips and looked at me, waiting for instructions.

I glared at him, “Get me a cart.”

I purchased 10 ant “hotels”, 4 tubes of ant gel to line the outside of my house, and 2 cans of spray that attracts them then kills them all off.

Upon returning home, I crashed through my garage door, feeling like Jack Nicolson in “The Shining.”

I ripped open the boxes of death traps and placed them strategically around and inside my house, making it a concentration camp for ants. It wouldn’t be long now before they marched in, but won’t march out. I felt like rejoicing and having a pizza delivered to my house so I could eat it in front of them and leave the crusts on the floor. I wanted to have a picnic on my kitchen floor and spill juice, watermelon, and hotdog buns all over it. I only wished that I knew the new number of my ex-neighbors’ new house so I could call to tell them I’m in the process of avenging them.

Before making myself dinner that night, I went to look out at the sprayed-on pieces of cardboard I had put on my back deck. It was black with ants. I couldn’t help but laugh in my reflection in the window. Am I still paranoid about ants being on floors in my house? Well, yes, I am. But I feel reassured knowing that the ant-concentration camp I built will prevent me ever seeing another ant again.