Ants and such...

Standing pumping gas tonight, I noticed a steady stream of ants. Those perky little buggers were everywhere, but all in a nice straight line. None of them straying from whatever task they were undertaking. And that task appeared to be suicide.

The line of ants snaked around the area where my car was. They seemed oblivious to the pieces of shitty convenience store food lying around on the ground. Instead, they were making a bee-line for the gas pump itself. I looked in amazement as it seemed they were going straight down into the storage tank just below me.

How on earth could they be finding something of sustenance there? It seemed like just a mass line of ants going to their doom.

I was mesmerized by this for a good two minutes. Then my cell phone started to buzz. It jolted me out of my ant-infused brain coma. I looked at the phone, it was my ex-girlfriend texting me. She is going through what I went through a few years ago. The feeling of abandonment from the job. Journalism’s always been a tough field. Never paid all that much, although I have a feeling she did quite well for herself, unlike this dumb bastard. It, however, was at times the most rewarding job out there. Better than teaching, I’d believe, but full of the same kind of muck and dreck one had to wade through to find those diamonds in the rough.

Her paper is downsizing, big time. One of the last companies to really bite the bullet and cut to the bone. And I feel bad for her and her colleagues. Many of the folks at other papers in the company were my mentors. And some of them got shown the door as well that fateful Tuesday.

After a couple of messages, I made my points and hopefully she took at least something from it other than my cynicism.

But it got me thinking on the drive home. This was the second day in a row that ants have played a huge role in my day.

Yesterday, I went outside to get away from the office. An occurrence that used to happen every couple of weeks at other places of employment, but has become a daily, if not hourly, task at the current sweatshop.

While standing outside, I took in the stray cats and the employees leaving. It was 5:02 p.m. when I went out, and the steady stream of folks always amuses me. A newspaper should not be a 9 to 5 gig. But for many, it is. For some it’s an 11 to 4 one. But, that’s just me being cynical again.

I was standing there after watching some circulation guy leave in his rusted out old Monte Carlo – never would have pictured him in one of those. Not a Monte Carlo, as he’s a slick-talking young black guy, but instead one with a rusty roof and backside. He’s so meticulous about everything he wears and talks about, I’d of thought he’d drive a sweeter looking ride. He was the last to leave in the mass exodus, so I looked for something else.

And on the ground right between my feet was a single fire ant. He was a huge one. Probably had seen lots of action in his time. But he was staggering about. Didn’t look long for the world. And there were no other fire ants around. I’m guessing he may have been kicked out or ostracized from his colony, either for being too old or just not useful enough. Not economically viable, so to speak.

He staggered around the concrete outside of the smoke area. I watched him go into every nook and cranny of the busted up foundation. What he was looking for, I have no idea, but he seemed to be very determined. At one point he disappeared into a crack, and I figured I’d never see him again, but wala he popped up head first a little while later and restarted his search.

He hit a trash can and didn’t seem to care. He nudged up against an old newspaper rack, and turned around. A spider web was in the corner, he seemed to sense it was there, stopping in his tracks and feeling about with his pinchers before reeling about and coming back towards me. Eventually, he just stopped and sat there for a moment. Then he started again. Looking, looking, looking. For what? I have no clue. Then, the IT guy came out of the office.

He had a faux leather man purse in one hand and his cell phone in the other. I looked at him, then at the ant. The fucker and his tiny little pony tail – with about six rubber bands holding into some rat-tailesque form – was headed straight for him. For a moment, I thought about pushing him aside, not giving a reason why as he tumbled over the concrete wall that led to the entrance.

Instead, I watched in horror as he walked towards the ant, and then promptly stepped on him.

I winced. Then looked down. He was squashed on the concrete, legs still twitching. I bent over and looked closer. His head was crushed, along with most of his upper body. The rest was fine. I stood back up and picked up my foot. I finished off the little ant. Putting him out of his misery.

Now, I knew that ants in dreams were bad. Something about uniformity and conformity as well as some kind of dissatisfaction with daily life. So, if I notice ants tomorrow, I’ll know it’s the insect kingdom trying to tell me something. Something I already know.