I imagine as baby ants are in ant middle school, reading ant history and get to the chapter on ant disasters, they'll come across various accounts of slaughters and destruction of ant hills and colonies throughout the ages (who could forget the Twig of '93?), possibly including the time in scouts when a fellow scout sprayed a ant hill down with Off Bug Repellant, set it on fire, then peed on it to put it out.
Well, surely, there'll be some account, however small, of the Dollar Kitchen Massacre, and they'll rue the day they entered the household of one Stephanie Leann.
We'd been seeing ants here and there, randomly, just one or two, but never really enough to make a fuss over. While in the shower, you can look up and spot one here, maybe two there. It was like a game... "Oh, got one! Oh, got another!"... but it wasn't so bad that telling the office we needed pest control to come through was necessary... okay, it was necessary, but I kept forgetting, how about that?
Tuesday morning, I'm getting to sleep late, don't have to be at work until 2pm, but I'm awakened my lovely wife around 730am to tell me there has been an invasion in our kitchen and pantry. Being asleep, I sorta hear the words "pantry" "all over" "killed them" and then I hear the magic words "you'll need to clean it up before you go to work, because I have to leave shortly". Again, being asleep, I vaguely remember thinking "aw, man..."
9am rolls around, I wake up and figured I should get up, so I immediately go from the bed to the couch to start my day. I smell Raid, but I figure I'll wait a little while before I go see the damage. And hour goes by, I sigh, and make my way into the kitchen.
It really was an ant holocaust. The floor was littered with tiny little non-moving ant carcasses. On the wall by the stove, there was a still wet pool of bug spray which collected hundreds more ant corpses in it. On the counter, they were spread out like bread crumbs. I open the pantry door, and the wall has a wet streak going down it, where the Raid has dripped. Ants lay stuck to the wall, in a deathly position. There are one or two stragglers moving around, but slowly. They are possibly the ant coronors, surveying the damage.
My box of Apple Jacks is wet from bug spray, with ants glued to it. The box of oatmeal is damp on one side, it being collateral damage. Stephanie went nuts in here. She grabbed the raid, and I imagine the Mollie Weasley coming out in her... "NOT MY KITCHEN, YOU B*&^%!!" she would scream.
And being the loyal and loving husband I am, I got to clean it all up. I used at least a dozen paper towels, wiping up most of them in big clumps. I tossed the Apple Jacks, and raked ant bodies... ant fathers who'd never see their larvae grow up... ant mothers who leave behind children wondering where mommy is... ant children who never hear their parents call "Come in for dinner" because, well, because they are dead now... ant lives forever altered because they made the decision to come here.
The carcasses lined the wire shelves in our pantry, forcing me to go line by line to rake them all off. I grabbed the dustbuster, went after all I could on the floor, around the fridged... I moved the microwave and stove--more ants. More dead ants, that is. Finally, I ran a sink full of soapy hot water to wipe down the counters and the wall. I had to empty out and refill the sink three times, because the rag was spotted with little, curled up black dots that I had to wash out.
As I went out for the day, I stopped by the office to ask for pest control to come by. The lady said that everyone is having issues with ants. Its been so dry here (stupid global warming!) that the ants are looking for water and moisture. Pest control is schedule to come, but she said that everyone is just going to have to take precaution.
Perhaps they'll come back. Perhaps they'll plot revenge, amass a bigger army and have a beachfront D-Day invasion. Or, perhaps they'll say "no way" to this house. This is my wife's home, I just live here, and she will not allow it to be filled with ants.