Then it showed up on the window. I wish I had the wits to take a picture. For the briefest moment, the purely objective part of my brain looked at it in wonder and said, "What a beautiful specimen!" About the time "specimen" was forming in my mind, the rest of me - the part that is terrified by even the tiniest spider - caught on to what was on the window and took over the reaction.
EEEEEKKKKKK!!!!!! I still haven't quite figured out how I managed it, but somehow I found myself halfway into the driver's seat while still securely fastened into the passenger seat's belt. There it was - about half the size of my hand altogether. The body was the size of the end of my thumb, from knuckle to tip; the legs were as long as my fingers. I could see it's scary mandible eaty thingies wiggling hungrily as it gazed at me with all its tiny eyes.
I attempted, rather bravely I thought, to tap the window and scare it away. It thought my hand would make a tasty snack and followed it around. I'm certain it was looking for the way into the inside of the car. I was not putting up with that. Thinking fast, I honked the horn and pointed at the spider. Yaw did not immediately respond, so I honked again, waited to see him look, and pointed again at the horrible creature. Yaw was too far away to see it clearly, and I wasn't opening any windows to tell him, just in case the spider had a friend nearby. I waved my hand around and pointed again at the spider.
Yaw decided to move closer to the car to see what I was so excited about. He finally spotted where my finger was pointed and made his way around to the driver's side of the car. He didn't seem to notice any other monstrous arachnids on that side, so I cracked the window.
He said, "It's on the outside of the car. It can't get you. Stop panicking."
I replied in the most calm voice I could muster, "GET IT OFF THE CAR!"
He had me pass him his nifty cane that was in the back seat. (Here's where all the bravery comes out.) He walked around the car, keeping a fair distance. He reached forward as far as he could - arm and cane length - and attempted to nudge the spider. It did not nudge. He tapped lightly, which sent me into fair histrionics - that was glass, with a giant spider attached. I didn't want either falling into the car on me. He realized this wasn't working, about the time the spider started moving towards the edge of the car door.
Now, anyone who has read my earlier blogs will note that one of the things that freaks me out about spiders is the fact that they can squeeze their icky bodies through impossibly small spaces. My mind immediately recited a scenario where said icky spider did exactly that and got inside the car. The freak-out-ometer was clearly going through the roof and Yaw could see this. He could also see, as clearly as I could, that the spider was not going to go peacefully about its way. It wanted IN. He attempted to mash the spider against the edge of the door.
He got part of it - I could see a piece of leg or something fall off. While the sympathetic part of me felt horrible that the spider was now suffering from a lost limb, the rest of me was just ticked the thing wasn't dead yet. I have this thing with spiders. I understand they serve a purpose in this world, and I respect that. However, smart spiders know better than to serve their purpose anywhere that I might possibly see them. Those that are not smart enough, or are too bold (like this one) are summarily destroyed. Eat all the bugs you want, spiders; just don't come out where I can see you. It's an agreement I made with Spiders in general as soon as I could form coherent thought. The spider screwed up, and was even a bold jerk about it. It had to die.
When Yaw partially mashed it, the spider suddenly achieved light speed and dashed up to the top of the car, and headed straight towards the back end. Yaw followed, still at a respectable distance - now the spider was wounded, so it was going to be more dangerous. He attempted to mash it again, but it was too quick this time. It dashed down the car and disappeared underneath. Not satisfied (and knowing I would never get out of the car if there was any remote chance it was still on it somewhere), he had me slowly move the car forward - since I had removed the passenger seat belt and was all the way in the driver's seat now, I complied. I rolled the car forward and backward a couple of times, hoping the spider was on the tire, and would get mushed by the action. Yaw didn't see it anywhere. Great.
He finished his task with the keys, checked around the car one more time for the spider, and got in the passenger side. He convinced me to drive home (across the parking lot) and we discussed how to ensure the spider would be removed. We decided that he would get me out of the car at home and then he'd take the car through the drive-through car-wash that has an undercarriage wash. We got to our new building, he got out and checked for the spider, then escorted me to the door. He went and washed the car and returned, reporting that he did the undercarriage wash, and still never saw any further sign of the spider.
This happened yesterday afternoon, and my eyes are just beginning to de-bug-eye from the experience. The new meds I'm taking for vertigo have a rare side effect - one that if it happens, I must immediately seek medical attention. That side effect is hallucinations. I can see it now. That side effect will decide to happen, and I'll see this huge, icky, bold, scary spider everywhere I look. Someone save me from the spiders! Someone save me from my brain!
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