The Only Thing Worse Than A Spider Is SO MANY SPIDERS
CONTENT WARNING: Spiders (Many, Large)
I read this story and immediately sympathized with the author.
I live in a s***ty apartment with a s***ty landlord. As a result, when things go wrong, I deal with it. As such, when I got a nasty ant infestation, I started to deal — bait traps, vinegar, black pepper, and sealing the cracks as they appeared. It’s under control now.
However, the reason for the sudden ant infestation is that one of my neighbors killed the spider that lived in the fence nearby. I don’t like spiders, but I didn’t have to see this one, and it kept the ants and mosquitoes in check. We have lots of spiders in our fences nearby.
Sometimes they make themselves known with webs over various surfaces. I don’t sit on my patio as a result. (We’re ludicrously calling a cement stoop facing a cracked peeling parking lot a patio.) We also end up with spiders in the apartment occasionally. When spiders are outside, I leave them alone; they are in their home. When they come into my home, sorry, you eight-legged monster; you don’t pay rent.
So, when the ants got in, the spiders followed. Similar to how I was dealing with the ants, I was dealing with the spiders, freaking out each time.
My breaking point was a few nights ago. The ants had found a new point of entry. I wasn’t sleeping, my cat was being a nightmare, and I had a friend needing massive amounts of emotional support. A big hairy spider was on the wall. I got up, killed the spider, and removed the body to keep the ants from having food besides the bait.
Five minutes later, I swear to the holy spaghetti monster in the sky the ghost of this spider was on my wall in the same spot. I got up and killed it, feeling slightly unnerved. Five minutes later, I took out another one and was now feeling freaked out. As I was returning to my seat, I noticed a little jerk crawling across the ground. Before I could deal with it, it scurried under a cat trap AKA an empty box.
Moving the box revealed floor, no spider. The only thing worse than a ghost spider is a disappearing spider. I set the box down, and the cat took a nap in it. Another spider was on the wall; maybe it was the disappearing spider.
I decided I needed a break. It was three in the morning. I took out the trash. As I lifted the lid of the trash can, I felt it: the brush of web and then the legs. I freaked out, screamed, dropped the lid, dropped the trash, and backed all the way across the lot practically hyperventilating.
Lights flicked on and curtains flipped open. I felt bad. I cleaned up my mess, waved sheepishly at the tired, concerned faces of my neighbors, and went inside. I constructed a NextDoor post and settled in to huddle on the couch and freak out.
The cat was my breaking point. She was playing with something on the floor. She plays with trash, dirt, and sometimes nothing, so I rarely pay attention, but I heard nails hit cords. I turned on the responsible pet parent and leaned down to redirect her only to see what she was playing with: a big f****** spider, on the couch, only a few inches from my leg and now outstretched arm.
I screeched like a bloody banshee, practically threw my laptop across the room, vaulted off the couch, and found myself standing in the spare room with the light on sobbing as my girlfriend rushed out with her MagLite flashlight.
Girlfriend: *Still mostly asleep* “Wass happenin’?”
Me: *Ashamed* “Spider. Cat drove it up the couch and toward me. It’s like the seventh I’ve dealt with tonight.”
Girlfriend: “Come to bed. We’ll find the beastie in the morning.”
Me: “Bold of you to assume I can sleep with that evil thing in the apartment.”
I was right; I didn’t sleep. I still haven’t found that spider. It’ll take at least forever before I stop checking the couch cushions for it.
