Despite the various Discovery Channel shows to the contrary, it has been my experience that most individuals fall into one of two categories: people who are afraid of spiders, and people who completely lose their s**t if they come within 100 feet of a single, minuscule spider. I fall into the first group, and my sister, Ethel, is the poster child for the second. A spider crawling across my arm or leg will send me into hysterics, no question, but one crawling up the wall won't even raise my blood pressure (although I am obligated to grab the nearest shoe for its summary execution). Ethel, on the other hand, once saw a small spider crawling across a roll of paper towels that was sitting on a table three feet away from where she was standing, and she still screamed like a pantie-clad extra from a slasher movie. Needless to say, rational thinking tends to take a breather whenever Ethel encounters a spider, and hilarious circumstances are bound to happen.
Ethel and rational thinking briefly parted company this last Labor Day weekend as she, Steven and I drove down to Evansville, IN for our family reunion. We had just left a gas station somewhere south of Effingham, IL when Steve said in the calmest possible voice, "Mom, I don't want to alarm you, but there's a spider right by you." I would have been fine-- in fact, I'd have been deliriously happy-- if Ethel had merely become alarmed. Instead, she opted to freak the hell out. She started whipping back and forth in her seat, shouting, "Where?! Where?! WHERE?!"
I never did see where that inconsiderate spider had the audacity to plant itself. But it must have been near the passenger side door because Ethel then lowered her window about half way, I guess hoping it would jump for freedom. I can only imagine that the spider considered my sister's generous offer of leaping into oblivion and then decided to take its chances in Freak-out Town, population: Ethel, because it didn't budge.
So, Ethel's Plan B was to forcefully evict the spider by smacking it out of the window with the closest object she could reach. The closest object just happened to be my church phone directory. It was a small pamphlet of about 80 pages that I kept on the dashboard of my car for easy reference (and because I was too lazy to take it into the house).
Anyway, Ethel was using the directory to smack and sweep along the car door, demonstrating to the spider her calm and levelheaded argument of GET OUT! I believe she had managed to get the spider onto the pamphlet because Ethel then began shaking the directory out of the open window. (Man, that spider was not taking the hint!)
Now, by this point, I had reached the open highway, which means I was rapidly approaching 55 miles per hour, if I hadn't reached it already. At that speed, the pages of my booklet that Ethel was desperately flinging about began to flap violently in the wind. It then occurred to me that this was not a good Plan B. And I thought, "I sure hope she has a firm grip on that book because..."
Zwoosh!
That was the sound of my phone directory taking flight. Apparently the spider wouldn't have to venture into the unknown alone. Ethel was immediately sorry, apologizing and offering to get out of the car and retrieve it (the directory, not the spider that used it as a landing craft). I actually slowed the car and considered taking her up on her offer since there was absolutely no one else on the road.
Then, rational thinking decided to punch back in from its coffee break, and I realized that doing something foolish like picking things up from the middle of the highway is a good way to get dead. And really, when was the last time I used that book, anyway?
So, I took one last look in my rear view mirror at my directory lying forlornly on the pavement and then sped off. I guess the lessons we can take away from this experience are: a calm, rational tone of voice is no match for a spider freak-out. And always keep a box of tissue in the car for bug-related emergencies.
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