It Never Stops

Yesterday, before our opening service for school, I was getting my robe and suit coat out of the car when I stood up and there, staring at me was a spider.  When I say that it was actually staring at me - I mean that it was actually big enough for it to have pupils.  They dilated when it saw me, probably sizing me up for which meal it would be appropriate to suck the marrow from my bones.

Geesh.  I hate spiders.  I hate them.  I understand that they're good for the environment, but they aren't that good when they have the same wingspan as a fruit bat.  This little hairy monster sat still as a statue eyeing me up and I did what came most natural for me; I dropped my robe and suit on top of the dirty car and slammed the door as fast as I could.  As it was sitting on the frame, I thought the worst possible scenario would be wiping up a gallon of spider guts from the door frame.  With sinking thoughts of horror, I opened the door.  No spider guts.

Only one gigantor spider leg left like a trophy on the car floor.

Which, when I stopped to think about it meant the spider had two options when the door closed on its leg: to jump out or to jump in.

Gulp and double gulp.  Oh God, I prayed, Please let this eight legged camel sized mammal to have jumped out of my car and crawled into the nearest sewer.  Please, please, please with all sorts of promises to be good on top of it.

I didn't have time to check the car for Mr. Huntsman spider (so aptly named because it actually hunts humans, probably) so as I walked into the hall to prepare for the service, all that I could think about was it's slavering lips, like Tolkein's great Shelob, waiting to sink its fangs into me and wrap me up for a late afternoon snack.

To make matters worse, I met David Klinge inside the building.  David is one of the bus drivers from the school.  He is of retirement age, but he likes helping the school out, is really good with kids and is incredibly good at laughing at my foibles.  So, David and I stood in the lobby and I told him about what had just occurred hoping beyond hope that just once, an Australian would tell me a story about an animal that doesn't end in the death of a human.  No matter what it is, there's always a story where a spider, a shark, a snake, a kangaroo, a jelly fish, a crocodile has killed someone in a freakish way.

"Hey David," I said in my suit and tie.

"G'day, Padre," he responded a delightful grin spread across his face.  David is about 6'3 and 175 pounds.  Sometimes he wears glasses that only have one arm on them - not when he's driving bus though.  Today he had his good glasses on.

"I found a spider in my car today, well, it looked like a spider but it was more the size of a rat terrier."

"Atta boy," David responded.

"I don't think you understand, David.  I hate spiders.  Hate them with undiluted fury.  Bad episode that occurred when I was younger which I won't tell you because you'll bring it up much later."

He guffawed.  "What's the problem, Mate?"

I explained what happened and then said, "I think the seven legged spider is still in my car."  Visions of any number of horror movies, most of them involving a claw and a set of fangs ran through my head.

David got serious for a second.  That's as long as he can be serious though.  "You'll want to get that out of your car, you know."

No duh, David.

"I read a story a few months ago about a guy who was driving down the Warrego Highway with his wife beside him.  The sun was coming up in his eyes, so he put down the shade and little did he know one of those huntsmen was hunkered down up there.  It dropped in his lap as he was driving down the highway, huge, hairy thing, big as my fist."  He made a fist.  He didn't need to do that.  "And then he was so surprised he ran off the road.  He survived but his wife..."  He shrugged.

Great, so now I'm not only afraid of having my blood sucked from me while I'm driving to school, but I have to worry about my wife's safety also. 

"Anyway, spiders like to get to the highest point possible to catch their little nibblies.  You'll probably have to check every time you get into the car."

It never stops.  I'm surprised my heart hasn't exploded from all the adrenaline that has coursed through it wondering if every time I walk through the grass, a twenty foot brown snake is going to inject venom directly into both of my eyes; or every time we go to the beach there is just one lonely bull shark looking to make friends with my leg, like some kind of wicked shark-like Norman Bates.

"Thanks, David, for your encouragement."  He nodded and giggled.

"You're welcome, Padre.  Have a great service."

At this moment, Christine approached and as I told her the story, I was cognizant that I could lose her to a huntsman spider the size of Lassie.  I shook my head attempting to etch-a-sketch that picture.  Christine laughed too. 

Australians.

During the service, I sweated, not just because I was preaching to a thousand people that day, but knowing that I would have to go out to my car where one gruesome leg lay still on the mat behind the driver's seat.  Somewhere deep inside the belly of the white beast was a seven legged Freddy Krueger.

I loitered as long as I could after the service hoping that the heat would have parboiled the little freak but knowing that spiders are pretty hardy, I knew that I would have to face my deepest fear, not death or public speaking but arachnophobia.

I approached the car wondering if the monster was underneath the car waiting to reach out with one of its remaining paws and suck me under the chassis devouring me whole.  With a deep breath, I opened the driver's door hoping even more so to actually see it.  An invisible enemy is sooooo much worse than a visible one.  No luck.  Carefully I rattled the umbrella by the side of the door and jumped back.  Nothing. 

Then, I looked up.  The shade.  I was not going to sit in the car to pull that baby down.  So, with one swift motion, I pulled it down.

My brain had already decided it was there and I could see it falling.  But fortunately, it was not.  Or, unfortunately, because now I had to get into the stupid car and drive it twenty minutes back to school constantly checking the rear view mirror for that hairy, dilated-eye-face to arise from over the back seat and latch onto my bald head.

Sitting in the car, I checked under the pedals, moved the seat, even went so far to check the empty cigarette lighter just in case the beast could contort itself into a small space.  Nothing.  Just as I was about to start the car, I checked my phone.  I was going to text Christine to say good bye and to tell her what an amazing wife she has been and that I would miss her when the spider ate my spleen.

She had texted me already.  Great sermon.  Thanks.  Skippy and I checked the car and we couldn't see any spider - we were pretty thorough and rough.  Good luck.

Good luck.  Wow, what encouraging words when all the fears of the universe are descending upon you in a screaming heap.

It never stops.