With the onset of spring we welcome several things into our lives:
The arrival of intersection blocking tour buses
Giant blonde Nebraskans with size 14 shoes crossing against the red light
Browning cherry blossoms skim-rotting in the Tidal Basin like the chocolate pudding at Jack’s “Fresh”
The stars of 37 digitally animated Pixar movies trolling our kitchen.
Attracted by the delicious window sill buffet of overly-ripened tomatoes and a constantly uncovered jar of dog treats, these little buggers have so far mocked two years of Raid ® Ant Baits III. The G has moved every food item into the fridge with the hope of ridding the hacienda of these pests, including the bananas (violating the advice from nearly 60 years of Chiquita commercials) and garlic, for some reason. But, to paraphrase the words of Charlottesville’s poet laureate*, these ants keep marching/not fucking dying.
So experts were consulted and research was conducted and tests were carried out. The trap baits garnered zero attention from the ants, though the dog found them tasty and poisonous. The process of squishing them individually was highly satisfying but wildly inefficient and my cupboard-side vigil resulted in me burning through all my sick days. Cough.
Fortunately, random unsolicited advice came our way. “You gotta try these Terro ant traps,” we were told. “It’s like the outdoor seating at The Front Page on the first warm day of spring and the ants were interns and the Corona’s were poison and the limes were even more poison.”
I challenge you argue with that description based on what happened, literally, 10 minutes after I put the bait out.
It was a full blown ant panic. The first ones on the scene used their ESP to call their buddies and when new ants showed up they were so excited that they would touch fists and do thorax bumps, even they know it was kind of lame. We weren’t even sure how the ants were getting into the house but the steady stream of new soldiers betrayed their secret entrance. Several times the hole got backed up as the ones showing up to the party prevented the ones trying to get the Terro to the nest leaving.**
The parade continued for about 6 hours until the stuff started to harden. It was hard not to rub my hands together and laugh maniacally as I knew these suckers were carrying home liquid death to their queen. On the flip side, though, I started to feel really bad when one got stuck in the goo and was abandoned by his mates. He was still there the next morning, waving his tiny ineffective arms and trying to crawl to freedom. I tried to liberate him with a steak knife but I only accelerated his demise in the end. Poor Woody Allen.
Results? 100% success. It’s been just over a week since they got their first taste and we haven’t seen anybody hanging around for 4 days. And it only took one of the six included packets. So if you got some ants to murder on, I got a delicious borax and Splenda cocktail for them to suck on.
**Unfortunately, the ants from the southern and western parts of the colony blocked the transportation bill and the area remained congested. The northerners were infuriated, especially since the bulk of the colony’s tax revenue was based on the growth of their technology corridor. They were also upset that their smaller high school football teams could never win any colony titles, even though their players took more AP classes. However, the northerners got the last laugh when one of their own was elected to the Ant Senate, swinging the national balance toward the Democr-ants.