Ants: A Letter to the Landlord
Posted: 23 Sep 2017, 08:33
Dear sir,
I write to you as a tenant and a human being. I live by myself in an insignificant little flat of yours (although it is dear to me) on Ulica Jana Kasprowicza and I think you will easily identify me for I have paid my rent punctually on the 5th of the month for 7 years now.
Let me begin by saying how wonderful this little apartment, for which I pay such a paltry amount, is. Yes, the delightful odour which emanates from the fishmonger's below took some getting used to and yes, the quirky behaviour of the plumbing has affected a certain change in my day-to-day lifestyle (I write to you as a man 4 days unwashed) but really, I could not ask for more.
Anyway, to the matter in hand - ants. This morning, as I crossed the excellent and not-at-all splintery floorboards which have lasted so long here, I was accosted (this may seem somewhat dramatised but I assure you of it) by a column of tiny red ants marching straight for me. Yes, they have started to pour in and, despite my protestations regarding the legal number of occupants, refuse to stop.
Now if my little visitors were content to merely make a brief circuit and pass out again, I could hardly complain (we Polish are, after all, known for our hospitality, are we not?), but sadly this does not seem to be their design. No, they give the distinct impression of settling in for an altogether longer duration and, what is more, they treat me with alarming ease.
Sauntering across the room, they mounted the table by the good leg and I had not turned my back on them for five minutes when they set upon my cucumber, sitting out innocently in anticipation of being my breakfast, and in no small matter of time made it completely unfit for usage. Please imagine my devastation at that if you will.
Having contented themselves on that front, the ringleaders then directed the procession floorwards via my chair, rather rudely refusing to share it with me. I can say this with some confidence because, when I attempted to perch myself on the corner to begin this letter, they became rather irate and insisted that I vacate forthwith.
However, the worst is yet to come and, as I come to the real crux of this letter, I ask you to brace yourself. The next target was my fruit bowl (unusually well-stocked today) but, alas, my wallet happened to be just in front and they thought nothing of laying their route straight over the top of it. It is therefore, as with my only chair, somewhat out of bounds.
As it is now the 5th of the month and I have no wish to default for the first time in 7 years, I feel a little sheepish for asking but perhaps you could send someone round to assist in the liberation of my wallet?
Yours sincerely,
Aleksander K.
I write to you as a tenant and a human being. I live by myself in an insignificant little flat of yours (although it is dear to me) on Ulica Jana Kasprowicza and I think you will easily identify me for I have paid my rent punctually on the 5th of the month for 7 years now.
Let me begin by saying how wonderful this little apartment, for which I pay such a paltry amount, is. Yes, the delightful odour which emanates from the fishmonger's below took some getting used to and yes, the quirky behaviour of the plumbing has affected a certain change in my day-to-day lifestyle (I write to you as a man 4 days unwashed) but really, I could not ask for more.
Anyway, to the matter in hand - ants. This morning, as I crossed the excellent and not-at-all splintery floorboards which have lasted so long here, I was accosted (this may seem somewhat dramatised but I assure you of it) by a column of tiny red ants marching straight for me. Yes, they have started to pour in and, despite my protestations regarding the legal number of occupants, refuse to stop.
Now if my little visitors were content to merely make a brief circuit and pass out again, I could hardly complain (we Polish are, after all, known for our hospitality, are we not?), but sadly this does not seem to be their design. No, they give the distinct impression of settling in for an altogether longer duration and, what is more, they treat me with alarming ease.
Sauntering across the room, they mounted the table by the good leg and I had not turned my back on them for five minutes when they set upon my cucumber, sitting out innocently in anticipation of being my breakfast, and in no small matter of time made it completely unfit for usage. Please imagine my devastation at that if you will.
Having contented themselves on that front, the ringleaders then directed the procession floorwards via my chair, rather rudely refusing to share it with me. I can say this with some confidence because, when I attempted to perch myself on the corner to begin this letter, they became rather irate and insisted that I vacate forthwith.
However, the worst is yet to come and, as I come to the real crux of this letter, I ask you to brace yourself. The next target was my fruit bowl (unusually well-stocked today) but, alas, my wallet happened to be just in front and they thought nothing of laying their route straight over the top of it. It is therefore, as with my only chair, somewhat out of bounds.
As it is now the 5th of the month and I have no wish to default for the first time in 7 years, I feel a little sheepish for asking but perhaps you could send someone round to assist in the liberation of my wallet?
Yours sincerely,
Aleksander K.
