Ant trails

While I find hive minds fascinating–great example of a truly organic computer–I’d much rather they stayed out in the wilderness. In particular, Tapinoma sessile, the Odiferous House Ant, should really be going home now.

The antmind disagrees, and has instructed its peripherals to think of my home as theirs. Until recently this took the form of a trickle of tiny nuisance ants in the bathroom, off and on. It’s not like I do antly things in there but Mom says they’re after the soap.

I put out ant baits; they stepped neatly around them on the way to the soap dish. I resorted to more primitive methods or, as my old entomology professor used to say, extended dorso-ventral flattening. Squishing Tapinoma sessile, BTW, produces an outsized, rotten-sweet stink that sticks to your fingers.

They left for awhile, after I’d flattened a couple legions’ worth (I’m picturing the antmind doing “Alas, poor Yoricks” all over the bathroom floor). But they came back with last month’s blizzard. In force.

As they don’t bite, don’t hurt anything but my pride and maybe the soap, I’d pretty much resigned myself to continually squishing ants in the bathroom–I once worked for Orkin, I KNOW how hard these things are to get rid of. I mentioned this to a friend, a stalwart and forthright soul.

“Ants!” she snorted, “I can fix that. Where’s your bleach?” And she headed up to the bathroom with the Clorox spray. “Where are they coming in?”

I pointed to a corner near the tub, and she unloaded half a bottle into the grout (which is now a pristine white–it’s a pity the rest of the grout is medium-grey).

It worked: The ants left the bathroom and moved into my office. I’m trying hard to see this as a victory.

Of course, having Formicidaean officemates has its benefits; I’m learning patience. When an ant skitters across your laptop airvents, it’s best to wait until she’s back on solid titanium to apply the flattening treatment (unless you like trying to vacuum body parts out of the computer). Mostly, though, I’m calculating how long it will take the ants to discover the catfood and then the kitchen. I give it 30 days.

In the meantime, I’m studying the ants for exploitable weaknesses. I grabbed my macro lens, captured some ants on a piece of tape and tried some not-very-closeups (it’s a MACRO lens, not a micro). And, as in one of my favorite movies, Joyeux Noel, I found that getting to know your enemy changes your perspective.

For one thing, these ants aren’t black. They’re black and brown and amber, they have stripes and, when you look at them head-on, permanently annoyed expressions. Or maybe it’s deep concentration. They have gigantic antenna that extend when they’re lost (or stuck on a piece of tape) and wave about furiously. When you get right down to it, they’re kind of attractive. Interestingly, my newfound appreciation has not stopped me from squishing them.

Each ant responds to the tape treatment in the same way. First, laboriously, roll over (these ants are too small to walk onto the tape and get stuck, so the tape gets stuck on them). Then, free the antenna and see where you are. If the front legs aren’t already free, work first the left front, then the right, then use them for leverage to free the others. Finally, get the hell out of there.

The antmind isn’t a joke; they really DO organize, in ways that far outshine armies and high-tech multinationals. They apply what looks like a hellish form of Six Sigma to solve problems, they rarely seem to agonize over miscommunications in the chain of command so they don’t really need HR and–in what is probably a cautionary tale for this jobless time–they’ve perfected the ruthless pruning of workers for efficiency’s sake. They (literally) don’t know the meaning of “never leave a man behind.”

I checked online for effective ant eradicators that wouldn’t turn the house into a superfund site. One suggested peppermint oil: I can attest now that ants hate it, and will go (for them) miles to avoid it. Whether it actually deters them–the antmind seems fully capable of calculating complicated detours–is another story.

Another site suggested lining the baseboards and corners with coffee grounds. I think I’d rather have the ants.

Here’s another:

“Mix 5 tspb. Of cornmeal with 3 tspb of bacon grease. Add 3 tspb. of baking powder and 3 packages of yeast. Then, put it on something like a canning jar lid and place the lid near the nest. The ants will literally eat themselves to death!”

This presupposes that you know where the nest is, of course. I don’t particularly fancy staging the party scene from Satyricon, ant-style, in my living room.

And according to the info I’m studying, Tapinoma sessile colonies contain hundreds of intercommunicating queens (wow, a true multitasking multiprocessor) with hundreds of thousands or millions of ants. By the time that many ants have gorged themselves to oblivion I will have gone through the world’s supply of cornmeal and bacon grease. I’d be off Southern cooking for life.

Fortunately, things appear to have quieted down tonight; a couple of ants are wandering the peppermint-coated floor like drunks trying to remember which way is home. Nobody (visible) has made it as far as the desk in the last hour. I suspect they’re planning a surprise party for me up in the bathroom.

Sigh.

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