Ant Adventure at the Holiday Inn, According to Girl

Ant adventure at the Holiday Inn according to Girl: Life in Grand Rapids was pretty mundane the first year of our "going together" with long distance phone calls, letters, and no internet. We could not text or instant message. Nor could we take advantage of talking for "no charge for long distance" on a cell phone.
 
 

Life was simple.

Gas was cheap.

The instant gratification of jumping on a plane was unknown.

Money had to be saved. Tickets had to be purchased at the airlines. Travelocity and Expedia were yet to be conceived in the mind of the techie gurus of Seattle or Silicon Valley.

When Mike got off the plane for his Christmas break, I was there to pick him up. It was the weekend; I did not have to work, so I jumped in the Mustang and prayed for dry weather. I had been stranded lots of times when it would downpour and the wires on the Mustang would get wet. Once when it happened, I remember walking on I-96 for a mile to the Fuller exit, where I could use the payphone at the bar to call my dad. He was the car expert of the family. He could fix anything with four wheels. Our garage on Spencer Street was filled with tools and car parts, the two stall was mainly one stall, with the stall closest to the house used to park the vehicle of the week—the one needing repairs.

Dad would pick me up, we would head to the little yellow pain in the rain car, and he would dry off the strategic parts that could not handle the soaking monsoons of spring. Looking like a drowned cocker spaniel with my hair suddenly flat, straight and wet, I could put the heat on high, dry off a bit, put a ponytail in my hair, and head into work.

Mike would be staying with George on this trip. However, for the first night, we opted to spend the night together. With very little money, we needed to find a cheap motel.

Holiday Inn, 28th Street and Interstate 131 was economical, fairly close to my work, and conveniently located between George’s house and Spencer Street (where I lived).

Getting to the airport an hour early that day, I remember wearing my

new jeans, a black jacket, black gloves, a white turtleneck sweater, black pointed cowboy boots and a huge black leather bag. My chestnut colored hair was curled around my face, giving me the innocent schoolgirl look of a nineteen year old. I stood on the deck at Kent County Airport, it was breezy and sunny. December in Grand Rapids generally is not the best time of year to go up on the deck, however with a nickel, you could look through high powered binoculars and watch the flights coming and going. I was only interested in the United flight from LaGuardia.

When the loudspeaker announced his flight was arriving, I rushed down to the terminal, boots slipping down the four sets of stairways and past the unimportant gates to the United gates at the end of the terminal. I was chilled outside, my fingers, toes and nose were red from the forty-five minutes spent on the icy cold sunny deck, but inside, I was hot.

There he came; he was the last one off the flight. His seat was towards the back, and he must have been helping others, or perhaps, he was sleeping and dreaming about me. He looked great. His hair was sandy blonde; he wore his fresh dress shirt, his jeans and his brown leather jacket.

I saw him and melted.

We kissed, as only lovers do, and he twirled me and wrapped his arms around me, while we attempted to head to the car.

I had packed a small overnight bag with toothbrush, toothpaste, stuff for my contacts and hairspray.

We tossed the thirty-five dollars on the desk and signed in as Mr. and Mrs. Carrier. I liked the sound of that.

Mike found a place to get a bottle of wine and we ended up getting some pizza. We spent the night making love with Johnny Carson in black and white as the entertainment. Mike woke me up in the early hours with a terror in his voice. "Ev, Ev, wake up!"

I was panicked. What was wrong? I could tell by his voice that someone was hot-wiring the Mustang or maybe trying to break into our room.

What he said next caused me to wonder exactly how much we had to drink.

"Ev, the floor is moving!"

I focused.

Oh my gosh—a billion ants.

They were all over the carpet.

I did not dare get out of bed.

I shuddered, pulled up my bare feet and scrunched into a frightened ball of Evie.

Well, we skillfully pulled a MacGyver, brain over brawn, to solve this desperate problem. MacGyver brilliantly would use household chemicals to create poisons or explosives. Mythbusters, a popular show on cable, often will spend their hour trying to prove or disprove many of MacGyver’s tactics.

We took what we had in the room, hairspray and a match.

Mike shot the spray of carbon, hydrocarbon and alcohol in the air just above the crawling floor and lit a match. Ants were torched, along with carpet fibers, oops. We stomped out the smoky room, we were thankful the smoke detector did not go off, inviting the fire department to the storyline of this winning episode.

The cousin ants who were left on the scene understood they were unwelcome guests and promptly sauntered off in a fit of rage and wonder with something to tell their ant kids.

Mike and I decided it was time to leave the room with its brocade draperies, quilted bedspread, and red shag crispy carpet. We packed it up, leaving what was left of the pizza in the room for next of kin to enjoy, and we headed out to pancakes and black coffee.