I have an ant convention in my office. Apparently the things are running all over campus and have infected almost all of the older buildings. Since my building is over a hundred years, the ants have taken up residence in the walls. They aren’t fire ants, which is a blessing, but it is a huge distraction to have them running willy-nilly across my desk, papers, and books. Squishing ants is almost a sport, requiring agility, calm nerves, and a blood-thirsty soul. I meet all of the requirements, so I have been spending the past week rubbing out their advanced scouts. I am unsure as to whether they are looking for food or water, but their blind loyalty to their cause is admirable even in the face of certain death. If they were a political party, they would blindly vote for their leader even in the face of disaster and mayhem. I have no idea why they are interested in my note tablet where I write down the details of the latest fire I am trying to put out. They are red and easy pickings for my deadly right thumb. I know that my decision to kill is arbitrary and irrational, but I don’t like sharing with ants. Perhaps I am slightly xenophobic and have an irrational dislike of six-legged creatures (I killed a cockroach the other day, too), but their irrepressive energy is daunting and frightening. Aren’t we lucky that they are so small? These red ants are only a fraction of a gram, but what would happen if they weighed in at half a pound? I have put out baits–poison–to put an end to them, once and for all. I use both violence and poison to kill them, and they still keep coming. Their dedication to surviving long enough to provide for the next generation is admirable. They seem to have adapted to living with humans and their structures to such an extent that they are a kind of robo-ant that likes red bricks and mortar, that feeds off of dirty trash cans, spilled sodas, and half-eaten Pop-Tarts. I know they are attracted to electrical fields, but other than my computer, there are none in my office. What impresses me is their sheer numbers. I’ve killed over a hundred, and they just keep coming. The baits have had no effect on their determination, squishing has had no effect on their numbers, and I have had to sit back and admire their work. I saw them carrying off an apple core, three Oreos, and an entire to-go box from Chuy’s. I don’t leave food in my office, and their are no crumbs on my floor. I get the feeling that the ants don’t even notice me in their quest for survival. Whether I am there or not is irrevelant. I am the ant, and they are giants, and I suspect that long after humans are gone from the face of the Earth, the ants will be working tirelessly to find their next meal.