We like to produce a hopefully entertaining yet somewhat educational piece of fiction once a year, an anecdote, for your enjoyment as well as our own. Historically this was done in our catalog, then it became an online practice right around catalog time. This year, while we’re on a vacation of sorts, offering a vacation from seriousness in the form of the following story seemed fitting. Enjoy.
Adam wasn’t particularly intelligent or good looking, but he was admired for his ability to provide. He’d head out in the morning only to return a few hours later bearing loads of treats — mostly sweets — for his family and friends. He’d do this day in and day out. In provider terms, Adam was a legend.
The source of his bounty was one of the great unknowns as faithfully Adam would sneak out covering his trail as he went, ensuring no one would follow as the others always liked to do (often ruining things for everyone). Until recently, that is. At a party late last year Adam had a bit too much of his favorite beverage and started spouting off about some place he called Linoland.
“Food o’ glorious food,” he was heard to say, “as far as the eye can see.” Adam spoke of a strange land which was the stuff dreams were made of. “Walking across this land,” he said, “was so easy… and safe.” He spoke of more than the place’s easy terrain. He also spoke of the land’s absence of danger, weather-stable environment, and, much to everyone’s fantastical delight, a harvest everywhere the eye could see. A wonderful vision, and one to be shared.
Sharing was not what Adam had in mind, but to speak of such a place and then withhold its location wasn’t going to fly with the community. He drank, he bragged, then under pressure from one and all, he shared. He promised everyone at the party to meet him in the morning and he’d play guide. He ended the statement with a gusty “whoooop” before twirling off with some girl to another song. Soon Adam had forgotten his promise.
His friends and family, neighbors (and even some of their relatives) didn’t forget, though. Little did Adam know, soon after he twirled off with some girl, the others organized themselves into a mass of hungry individuals with thoughts of sugar plums, and other sweet treats, dancing in their heads. They sobered up while Adam partied on and the next morning they were raring to go.
There was a knock on Adam’s door. Then another. After a while he awoke and struggled to his feet making his way to the door, on the other side of which an ever growing crowd formed as the word got out. By the time Adam actually opened the door and raised his swollen eyelids to take it all in with his bloodshot eyes, everyone was there. Adam’s friends, family, neighbors, their friends and family and their neighbors, too. There were hundreds, nay thousands, lined up at Adam’s door anticipating being led to the promised land.
Promises are promises, even when forgotten. There was no way Adam was going to get out of this one. His treasure trove, he thought dejectedly, was no longer to be just his. The fame and glory he prized as a legendary provider, in lieu of looks and wit, would be no more. The credit of his sharing would last a day and Adam knew it. There would be no plaque or statue put up to commemorate this time in his life. He drank too much and blew it.
Adam, after splashing some water on his face and sucking down a bit of the hair of the aphid that bit him, was feeling restored enough to lead the way-too-noisy group outside his door to a better place. He marched. Instinctively, it seemed, the group formed up behind him as he made his way. They, too, seeming to march in almost military fashion and with purpose. This was not a parade, there was no “eyes-right,” no salutes, no shouting cadence. There was determined marching and the tap-tap-tap of thousands of feet moving in unison.
After some time the massive slithering body of individuals came to a stop just outside a sheer, imposing vertical surface. His throat was scratchy, but Adam turned and addressed the fearful looking group. “I know this is an evil and dangerous place as we’ve all been told, but Linoland is beyond this wall and worth the effort for those willing to shed the fear based on old stories passed down to us from our elders.” There was murmuring from the crowd. Adam had led them to a place that throughout all of history was for reasons long forgotten considered dangerous and off-limits to members of the community. The community was concerned.
Concern yielded to curiosity, then hunger. It was lunchtime and the crowd’s collective stomach growled. “We go forth,” they all sounded jointly with brave determination. Adam eyed the crowd, nodded, and turned. “We go here,” he said, ” and made his way into a crack in the wall, turning his body and sucking in his gut to fit.” One by one the others followed. Before long the entire procession was inside the wall making their way through a labyrinth of dark corridors and confused, congested passages. They marched. One whistled the tune from the movie The Bridge on the River Kwai, but it didn’t catch on and the rest of the march was made in silence.
Adam stopped suddenly causing everyone in the crowd to bump into the marcher in front of them. After thousands of collisions, amid some laughter and surprised cries, he turned and stated that they had arrived. “I don’t see nothin’” some loud mouth bellowed from the back of the crowd, but Adam ignored him. “It is just above the small wall in front of me. Let’s go.” Adam again turned and, without further word, led the group over the lip of the wall into Linoland.
One by one they all made their way over the last obstacle and did the same thing: Mouths hung slack jawed as they stood and surveyed the vast paradise in silence. The awe was etched onto their faces. Even the loudmouth from the back stood in awe with nothing pouring from his lips now. Smooth terrain as promised, almost white, a safe haven if there ever was one. And dotted on the landscape before them was food o’ glorious food, as far as the eye can see. As advertised.
Adam’s time of fame was over. A few mumbled their thanks as they passed him, making their own way into the paradise he named Linoland, but that was it. Even his new girlfriend (from the night before… so he was told) barely said two words to him as she wandered off eyeballing what looked like pastry. Oh, well, he thought, I may as well have a snack. As did the others, Adam had lunch and prepared to carry back a load of goodies as he had done so many times before. Mere moments after he did this, however, after slipping back down the wall by himself, the old stories of this place would come to life endangering them all and once again putting Linoland on the off-limits list.
It was muffled by the small wall but he heard it: A scream more fearful than anything ever imagined. Shrill thunder. It was followed by the low gasps of his friends, family, neighbors, and the many who followed he did not know at all. Then there was a strange warbling sound, the sound something like: “My, God, Ralph, we have ants — get the spray!” This was followed by banging noises, more screams and low warbling sounds, followed but an all-encompassing hissing sound. Then there was silence.
Adam went back to the lip and peered over. Linoland was now foggy but it was clearing. Black shapes became visible as the fog passed. They were bodies and they were strewn everywhere, as far as the eye could see. His friends, families, neighbors, and all these he did not know lie dead amid the clearing fog. Adam was the only ant left alive and knew it. Terrified, he backed down the kitchen back-splash and made his escape. He realized it was a trap — why else would so much food just be laying around?! He was wracked with guilt knowing he was fooled and led the entire ant colony to their demise. No statue for Adam today.
Eventually he forgot and moved on. Now almost a year later, he found a new colony and became a master provider, but he did it the old fashioned way. No more trips to Linoland and its promise of pleasure and death. He learned: Kitchen counters, even if they do seem like buffet tables, are dangerous.
Moral of this Story: In case it’s not clear, if you don’t want ants in your kitchen, don’t feed them. Keep your counters clean. More ant issues can be addressed in just this manner, foregoing the need for the all-encompassing hissing sound of your favorite poison.
