Mild winter, wild summer

Let me first say: What’s good for your business is good for our business. I’m guessing that, for a large percentage of our readership, this has been a busy, buggy summer of unparalleled opportunity. And that’s great for you (and me, by proxy), but consider the plight of the apartment-dwelling civilian (also me) forced to lean on his landlord to call in
the experts. Pity the renter who waits in vain for action to be taken when the ants beat a path to my door, into my kitchen and onto the counter where I prepare several dozen PB&J sandwiches every week.

I know what you’re thinking: “MOVE already!” But for the sake of argument, let’s say that’s not an option. So what’s left for me to do but shake my fist in the air and do the unthinkable: Curse the mild Cleveland winter of 2011-2012. You must understand, this last-resort expression of anger goes against the grain of every fiber of my Clevelander being. I have learned, throughout my 15 years as a North Coast resident, to despise Old Man Winter and everything he stands for.

Our winters are notorious. Up until this last one, if you were to mention — between the months of September and February — that you’re a Clevelander to someone from out of state, your declaration would be met with at least one of three responses:
1. I’m sorry.
2. There but for the grace of God go I.
3. Why?
But now, it’s as if an evil genie has granted Cleveland its one unanimously supported wish: “I wish that Old Man Winter might go easy on us for a change.” A-ha! Wishes, it would appear, come at a price — and the price Clevelanders pay has arrived in the form of a marching army of ants in our respective kitchens. You can practically hear them whistling the Colonel Bogey March from “Bridge on the River Kwai.”

Cleveland winters have exposed me to the brutality a gas bill can perpetrate. Cleveland winters have sent my car skidding across a crowded highway into a median, resulting in my first auto accident. Cleveland winters have inspired me to wear gloves and two pairs of socks to bed. They’ve kept friends and family from even considering a visit, and prevented me from getting out of town when I need a break from the city. But what I never considered, what I’ll never again take for granted, is how our brutal winters go a long way toward keeping the levels of summer pestilence at a manageable level of intensity.

So, Old Man Winter? I’m talking to you. I’m sorry for the things I’ve said. Sorrier still that I tried to wish you away. If you decide to go easy on Cleveland in the future, could you at least make sure you go especially easy on my landlord’s neighborhood?