I am not particularly scared of spiders, but I had to share this story.
I live in an apartment that faces a piece of land that has a creek, and along the banks are lots of trees. It's a bit of a wilderness over there. At night I hear an owl hooting nearby, which is cool. And last year I was visited a few times by a toad, who squatted on my front porch for a few weeks and hopped inside whenever I opened my door. That toad freaked me out for some reason. I worried it was going to jump on me, and...I didn't know what would happen. But I knew I wasn't going to like it. One particularly unfortunate afternoon, I was re-planting some potted plants on my porch and as I pulled a plant out its pot, the toad--which had evidently burrowed into the soil, unbeknownst to me--fell out and flopped onto the ground, its legs jerking around as it tried to flip over and hop away. I screamed. My neighbor, an alarmed look on his face, came outside to see what the ruckus was about. I will spare you the description of his reaction when I told him I had just been attacked by a toad. Needless to say, he wasn't impressed.
This is not supposed to be about toads. This is about a spider. I am not scared of spiders. But still...
DAN VS. THE SPIDER
Grab towels out of laundry basket.
Notice a towel had fallen behind laundry basket, and pick up that towel to add to towels already in arms.
Look down at towel, and notice dead spider attached to that towel, legs curled up into body in death pose.
Walk over to toilet, and shake towel in attempt to knock it off into toilet.
Action of shaking the towel alarms spider, which was just pretending to be dead, but is actually very much alive. Spider flips legs open, and is now the size of a dime. Spider begins to scurry up towel in general of direction of hand.
Shriek. Not knowing what else to do, shove entire collection of towels into toilet.
Stand back and gaze upon collection of six bath towels (plus one spider) in toilet.
Survey clump of towels from multiple angles, looking for spider. See no sign of spider. Plan the intricate task of peeling out towels one-by-one to inspect for presence of spider.
Pull out towel that originally had spider. Hold up above toilet. Spider is, not surprisingly, still present on towel on area that is soaked with water from toilet, but is still, very surprisingly, alive. Spider starts crawling up towel again.
Turn on shower. Hold towel in shower stream. Strike spider directly with water in attempt to wash down drain.
Spider curls up again but does not dislodge from towel. Continue to attack spider with deluge of water from shower, yet spider refuses to relent.
Contemplate the resilience of spider. Waves of guilt flood forth, while trying to kill a living creature for no reason. This spider means no harm. This spider only wants to live. Who am I to kill this poor spider?
Turn off shower. Study spider for signs of life. Spider unfurls legs again, and tries feebly to crawl up towel once more. Wow. What a tough spider.
Holding towel like a bullfighter's cape, walk with towel to front door, dripping water in steady stream along the path. Spider falters on towel, so walk quicker, to get spider outside and off wet towel. Worry that spider may die while on towel and guilt would be too much to bear. Please don't die, spider. Make it just a few seconds more and you'll be outside. And if you live or die out there, I cannot control. But it's a nice day.
Step onto porch, and flick spider outside. Feel warmth of sun on face. Goodbye spider. May you live to see another day.
Turn to go back inside, and notice neighbor, looking back, while I stand on porch. In t-shirt and underwear.
Walk back inside. Neighbor already thinks I'm crazy anyway.