Locusts

When the locusts came they were very polite. "Excuse us," they said, the endless susurations of their legs rubbing together a constant background noise behind them.

I had been elected by the townsfolk to negotiate. They had covered me in warm sulfur paste to protect me from being eaten. "I have come to plead for our lives," I said to the locusts, as it seemed rather foolish to pretend we had any bargaining power.

"Why do you smell so terrible?" they asked me. I explained about the sulfur paste, which got a good laugh. "We don't want to eat you," some of them said while the others were laughing. "We're here about the plumbing."

It turns out they were really good plumbers. Widow Gorblatt had called a service because her toilet wouldn't flush, and the service sent locusts. These days, everything is subcontractors.

I felt rather foolish and smelled terrible, but the locusts assured me that they understood. And they sold me a grease trap at cost, so they were alright in my book.

Of course, once they left, we discovered that rats had made off with most of our grain stores while we were distracted, and we all starved that winter, but at least the drains were clean.