One of them, the accountants I worked with, one or another of them always remembered to bring me back one of the giant cookies from the monthly association meeting. I think they must confer on it before they leave, ‘who’s got the cookies for the office girls?’
It’s sweet. So is the cookie, which is no lie as big as my face.
Half of it was still on my desk a few hours later, when I noticed an ant crawling towards it. I’d never seen an ant in this building before. It’s so clean! and marble! and beige! I put the little plastic dome of a vending machine toy dispensor over him (yes, I carry these in my purse) but I wasn’t sure where to take him. If his family was in our office – or anywhere on our floor – they were hella sneaky. The only place I was certain an ant could live was downstairs, one floor and out to the parking lot, but that was too far to assume he’d come from there. Last time I tried to move an office spider out to the parking lot he was too scared of the outdoors and ran directly under my foot. Trying doesn’t always work, yo.
My boss surpressed the second blink when I told her where I was going, trying to pretend she doesn’t think that’s weird. Bless. The ant did flips around the inside of the plastic bubble while we waited for the elevator. Was it really better than just squishing him, to exile him to the land of rival ant gangs? Were there little ant friends somewhere that would miss him? Yes, I do think about these things. Yes, I do care. I’m careful even with very small life.
An ant is a social creature. It might not miss it’s mama, per se, but it sure can express agitation at a survival problem when presented with an unfamiliar terrain. And it did, up and down that concrete curb. So I did a very sentimental, shortsighted (but if that’s not human what is?) thing.
I left it the other half of the cookie.