The Virginia Informer

Ants Marching

By Chris Peterson, Features Editor

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            It is my sincerest hope that this epistle will not become my eulogy. And yet I fear that it may, for I am indeed in a position where I fear death most direly. This is a message born of fear. This is a message of invasion. While Cindy Sheehan and counter-revolutionaries battle on the Sunken Gardens, I write this in my room, alone, waiting for the next attack. The battle is here. The battle is now.

            My battle is with ants.

            Truth be told, this was not the battle I expected. In making a trek down from my native land of New Hampshire, I foresaw a change in my way of life. I expected to be assaulted by accents, confounded by conservatism, and crippled by country music.

            What I did not expect, however, were ants.

            They are small, brown, and pervasive. I am told that they are of Egyptian descent, and that they respond to the efforts of exterminators with increased breeding. They find their way into the cracks of the wall, unsealed foodstuffs, and the hair of the scalp.

            Last week, a syndicate of these infernal insects sent our R.A. a letter claiming responsibility for the kidnapping of our resident French kid, Arthur. Something about an Action Directe hit in 1984. The letter was actually fairly legible, and written in carefully arranged rivers of regurgitated strawberry jam.

            Though my room has been relatively unaffected by this onslaught—an asylum I attribute to an unspoken agreement between the Egyptian ants and my Egyptian roommate—it still somewhat bothers me that we face this problem. Based on the golden reviews of this college that I heard during my opening days here, I rather thought that my status as a student here would not only protect me from the ravages of petty insects, but brighten my smile, purge my sins, and grace my excrement with the fragrance of wild elderberries.

            Pardon my sarcasm, but I am sorry to report that the overwhelming impression that I retain from orientation is that of immense pretension on the part of this institution. It is unfortunate that freshman, at every orientation event, were treated to charming examples of the vaunted William and Mary wit.

            For example, the University of Virginia was cunningly—and cuttingly!—referred to as “that other college in Charlottesville” much to the apparent delight of the gathered masses. Stores on DoG street sell shirts that list “The Top 10 Reasons I Came to W&M”; a list that is more intent on sullying other academic institutions than anything else. 

            I think it is imperative that a point be made here. Much was discussed during freshman orientation about the rich history of the college, its legendary academic rigor, and famed, honorable alumni. But to my (perhaps untrained) ear, such propositions, devoid of pretension, translated as, “We’re old, we’re nerdy, and we thank heaven Jon Stewart graduated from here.”

            There is no reason why one should not take pride in being a William and Mary student. It is not an easy college to be admitted to, and the importance of rigor in the development of intellect is difficult to understate.

            But none of those things are exclusive to William and Mary students. And it left a bad taste in my mouth to see the emphasis placed on deriding “inferior” academic institutions. Such slander breeds a false superiority complex—something that we young adults, an inherently arrogant breed, hardly need more of.

            Please, students, remember that just going to school in Colonial Williamsburg doesn’t make you any more sacrosanct. Ask the ants if they care what college you attend. The answer to the negative might surprise you—that is, if you can convince them to stop gnawing on your skin long enough to deliver it.

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