Ok, not a graphic design related story but I share it anyway to warn others of the danger
It seemed like any other morning, if anything it was extraordinary in being so ordinary. I'd awoken from a strange dream of leprechauns riding unicorns to the soundtrack from Grease, so the day had started off as most of my days had ... Except that I was running a little late.
I quickly prettied myself up in front of the mirror and dashed out the front door with barely time to wave goodbye to my teddybear. Running across the carpark toward the bus-stop I knew my timing was critical.
Across the overpass I sped, fearing to look up the highway and see Bus 961 preceding me. I danced down the stairs to the bus-stop to the startled amazement of several locals who were shying their eyes for some reason. I paused to consider their reactions before doing my fly up. Who'd have thought free-balling would be the first bad decision of the day?
Having under-estimated my superb physical condition, I'd reached the bus-stop early enough to catch my breath, with no bus yet in sight. Being quite over-heated and sweaty with my morning run, I walked around the edge of the bus-stop and stopped near the bin whilst fanning myself to cool down.
Thirty seconds passed as I stood on the spot before I noticed what felt like small electric shocks in my legs. I thought 'This is why I don't exercise. It hurts. I don't like it'. Still, I like to think my pain threshold is quite manly, so I stood still and ignored the little zaps that were coursing up my appendages.
I saw the bus come over the horizon and thought, 'about time, I need to sit down. These damn zaps aren't going away while I stand here.' In fact, they were spreading. I started feeling like I was tingling all over with painful little shocks, from my legs to my chest and neck. Even my nether regions were not immune. Ouch!
True, a strange reaction to the first exercise I had undertaken in three months but my own body turning against me in anger was nothing unusual. My brain reacted similarly to most of the exertions I tried to put it through.
So as I sat down next to an Auntie on a packed bus I noticed a small ant crawling along my arm which suddenly bit into my wrist with wreckless abandon. 'You bastard. Time to fly.' I flicked it off and noticed his brother was hiking up my shoulder. 'Oh, so you bought your friends? Now it's personal. Join your family in hell' I whispered as I flicked it onto an unsuspecting passerby.
It was then I started to make a connection.
Zaps all over body.
Crawling angry bitey ants.
Hmm. Could it be?
Worriedly, I began to massage my legs and thighs much to the horror of my fellow passengers who understandably thought I was touching myself. I stamped my feet and my fears were realised when a significant number of writhing ants fell out of my pants. Even in their death throes they were crunching their mandibles together in a last gasp effort to inflict more pain upon me. These were serious soldiers I was riddled with, kamikaze to the last! I started whacking myself all over, including places that no ant should ever venture near. Legs, arms, chest neck and nether regions were punched, whacked, grabbed and twisted. The auntie nearest to me actually began to try and squirm away in genuine fear. Some averted their eyes, thinking the strange foreign devil was experiencing a demonic episode. Still, there was little to do but bare with the pain until my final bus-stop appeared.
Faster than a speeding bullet I was off and into the Futurebrand office toilets, stripping down to essentials only (my socks of course) and vigorously rubbing myself all over (and not in the good way). Many ants died that day, and I still carry their bitey little scars on my body as I write this. Yet, as the general of the opposing army, I felt proud of my enemy's accomplishments. They feared not my size, or the thought of crawling into my underpants to fiercely bite at my tender spots. As Homer Simpson said in similar blissful ignore 'Ow. Oww. Owww! They are defending themselves somehow!'
Their queen would be proud. I will not stand near the bus-stop bin again.