Immediately I begin to scan my brain for the characteristics of the most poisonous spiders in this beast-ridden country. It wasn’t a Redback. Could it be a Funnel-Web? Damn, I couldn’t remember what they look like. Obviously I had to play it safe and kill the thing, especially considering my regrettable history with spider bites. I thought about sucking it up with the vacuum cleaner from a safe distance, but then who knows if it wouldn’t survive in the vacuum bag for days or weeks, only to find a way to crawl back out or pounce on whoever was unlucky enough to empty the bag. Besides, if I left the room to get the vacuum you just know that by the time I made it back to the office the spider would have moved to some dark corner, not to be found again that night. He’d stay lurking in the shadows, and each time we needed to use the office we would have to creep in scanning the room with paranoid glances, unsure of which piece of paper or pencil box he was hiding behind. No, I had to kill it now.
A sturdy mailing tube presented itself as a likely weapon: strong, not too bulky, and long enough to keep my bare hand at a safe distance. Unfortunately, the spider’s location wasn’t well exposed, with part of his body protected by the bulk of the transformer and some other wires hanging in the way of a clear shot. Nevertheless, after taking careful aim, I took a good whack at him. Predictably, all I managed to do was knock the transformer out of the outlet, which fell and knocked over a couple of plastic containers full of keys and loose envelopes, all of which fell into a messy pile on the floor. And I didn’t know where the spider was. I thought he fell, but I didn’t know if he was alive or dead or if he was somewhere in the pile on the floor, or hiding in some newly found crevice, or if he had crawled under the door out into the lobby. I scanned the ground but was disappointed to not see any spider corpses. So he was alive (and probably pissed off).
I poked at the pile of debris I had knocked onto the floor, and picked up the pieces one by one, carefully examining each for attached arachnids before grasping it with my fingers. Then I took another look around the tiny office, standing there in my bare feet, cursing how cluttered and dimly lit it was. This place was a spider’s dream: there must have been a thousand hiding spots. I needed a flashlight. I cautiously opened the door into the lobby, also dimly lit, and walked out one step at a time, thoroughly scanning the ground before each footfall. No sign of him.
I ran upstairs to get the flashlight in our flat. I breathlessly explained the encounter to Deborah, who was amused to see me so animated. We descended to the lobby with flashlight in hand to search for the escaped spider. At last we pulled a potted plant aside to find him lurking in a corner. He was a sitting duck. Deborah promptly bludgeoned him to death with the handle of a broom.
A little internet research identified our hairy little nemesis as a Badge Huntsman Spider – not one of the really poisonous ones. Mostly harmless, really, despite it’s nefarious appearance. They can bite, and it will hurt, but it’s certainly not going to kill you. But now we can’t get the theme from Spider Man out of our heads or, alternatively, Homer Simpson’s version of “Spider Pig.” Of course, when Deborah tells this story she is the heroic spider killer and I am the squealing little girl but, for the record, I fervently contest that characterization.
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Badge Huntsman Spider
(Not the actual spider, who is now thoroughly squished)
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