JAKE CLELAND

6od:

Look. I know this isn’t going to mean as much to you as it does to me.

I don’t scared of things that easily. Mainly I’m scared of large insects and people with guns who don’t like me. Nothing else really shakes me to my core the way those two things have a tendency to do. Granted, the people with guns who don’t like me aren’t around all that often. In fact I’m pretty good at avoiding them. But large insects? Fuck.

An unusually large black spider ran across my bed 35 minutes ago as I was on my laptop and watching football. The scream that came out of my mouth could be best described as blood-curdling. I jumped up and put on my boots (gotta protect my feet, ya know). Then I looked for my flip-flops. I don’t know why… but a flip-flop sandal is the quintessential spider killing tool. I realized they were in my car. I ran out to my car, got them, ran back inside. I moved my laptop. I couldn’t see it. It must have gone under the covers. I could not pull back the covers. I made a few phone calls. Yes, I’m a total fucking pussy. I do this whenever a large insect is in my living space. There is no such thing as relaxing, taking a deep breath, or calming down when a large insect is in my living space. It’s not a possibility. I think that it’s similar to a panic attack in that I get overwhelmed with fear, I can’t breathe right and my heart rate is through the roof and the more time that passes, the more it escalates. Not to mention the blatant irrational and illogical thinking which occurs, like “HAIR SPRAY!” The phone calls were to no avail. I looked outside for a neighbor or someone walking their dog. There was no one there.

I went back inside and got Mia, the dog, who eats anything and everything, dead or alive - but in a cute way. I put her on the bed. I got up on the bed, flip-flop in hand. I started to pull back one of the blankets but there was nothing, so I went and stood on my nightstand and moved a pillow. It came crawling down the other side of the pillow, catching me completely off-guard. I screamed, apparently louder than before. I kept yelling “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” I jumped down and ran to the other side. I lost site of the spider. Mia looked at me. I started yelling at Mia, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME FOR!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING! STOP IT! GET THE SPIDER! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!” The doorbell rang. I got really excited thinking maybe it was an exterminator or something. It was two cops. About an hour before this all happened, I noticed them drive down the street but I didn’t see them stop. Apparently they heard me screaming. I - wearing boots, running shorts, a bikini top, cardigan and holding a black fuckin’ Havana in my hand - looked like a crazy person. My eyes wide as shit, they asked me if everything was okay. I said yes and that there’s a spider somewhere in my bed. They stepped briefly inside to make sure, I guess, that no one was there with a knife. I told them it was fine. I LIED. I SAID IT WAS FINE. I’M A LIAR. I WONDER IF THEY KNEW I WAS LYING. I didn’t want them to think that I would ever call the police because there is a spider in my bed. When I call the police it will be because of my life being in danger or something. I wanted them to know I take them seriously. Plus like, I have an open jar of Sunflower Seed butter and box of oatmeal cookies BEDSIDE that I may or may not have been combining and eating for breakfast/lunch/RIGHTNOW. They left. I said I wouldn’t scream anymore.

I went back to the bed with a whole new kind of determination. I AM BIGGER THAN THE SPIDER, I kept saying in my head. I AM GOING TO KILL THE FUCK OUT OF THIS FUCKING SPIDER. FUCK THAT FUCKING SPIDER. THIS SPIDER IS FUCKING WITH THE WRONG GIRL. THIS SPIDER CRAWLED INTO THE WRONG BED. WELCOME TO YOUR RESTING PLACE, BITCH. I pulled back the first blanket, then the second, then the third and BAM - it fucking shot across from yet another unexpected side and over to the other blankets and WAM I hit it with my flip flop. I didn’t think it was dead, but it wasn’t moving. It’s like at the end of a scary movie where you think they’re dead but they’re not dead because they’re NEVER DEAD. I ran into the bathroom and grabbed my hair spray. I had to look away cause I can never look AT the actual spider, which is the main reason I have trouble killing them in the first place. But I sprayed the fuck out of the spider. Then I ran and got a bundle of paper towels, soaked them with 409, and put it on top of the hair-sprayed spider. I threw off all the blankets, and wrapped it all up in the sheet.

There is now a bundled up white sheet with a dead spider and 409-soaked paper towels sitting in the middle of the driveway in front of the garage. I’m waiting for someone else to take care of it.

I need to wash the rest of my sheets and blankets now.

I can empathise. I once thumb-tacked a lifeless spidah to my bedroom door. As a warning to the others, because you know when you kill one, the others see you do it, and then they start plotting their revenge. You’ve gotta show them you’re serious.