Here I am, at 1:30 in the morning, madly writing my paper due in less than eight hours, itching my new spider bites in between words, when I notice a movement across the ceiling. Meet Exhibit A: a dime-sized, dark brown spider with long, angled legs (an exact replica of the one pictured above). I shall call him Brownie. Although I do occasionally notice spiders in the house and sometimes let them carry on their way, I couldn't do it this time. For all I knew, Exhibit A was the culprit behind my spider bite discomfort. I didn't want to risk another night of sharing a bed with an eight-legged creature. No, thanks. Fed up with the constant scratching, I made a fast and easy decision to take care of the situation. But how?
Shamefully, I'll admit that my first instinct was to run to the bathroom and grab a wad of toilet paper. Proudly, I will confess that I've already released about a dozen spiders from this house back into the wilds of Eugene. But, this time, I figured just one death couldn't hurt. Maybe I could live with the guilt. Wad in hand, I stepped onto my bed and reached up to the ceiling to discover that I needed to at least double my amount of toilet paper if I wanted to get this guy. I ran quickly back to the bathroom -- we all know that when you catch spiders, you need to run, the chances are strong that it won't be in the same spot when you come back -- and returned with a much larger wad. Luckily, Brownie was in the same spot. Unluckily, Exhibit B, a similarly sized, but much skinnier spider, had joined him. His name is Legs. Once Brownie was alone, I climbed back on the bed and bravely reached up to the ceiling. Just as I began to apply pressure with the toilet paper, Brownie sprang out from the wall, completely in my direction, and plummeted to the ground. I dropped the toilet paper, let out a panicked scream and flew off of my bed.
My worst nightmare. And, I know you can all relate. Brownie is completely MIA. Frantically, I pull my bed out from the wall hoping that it somehow isn't wrapped in my sheets. I smooth over my comforter, and shake out my pillow. Still no sign of Brownie. I scan the ground, and reexamine my bed. My eyes follow the floorboard up to the heater installed in my wall, and I spot him. It wasn't pretty. Apparently, I'd partially squashed the poor, little guy, and he was missing two legs and confusedly dragging himself along the heater. My heart broke. I hate killing bugs, but when I do it, I want it to be fast and painless. My first time all summer, and I totally blew it. Brownie continues to walk along the edge of the heater, in a position that is nearly impossible for me to make a move. At this point, I'm talking to myself aloud saying, "I need to put him out of his misery" over and over again. I'm sad to report that Brownie has crawled into the heater, and has yet to show himself again.
I feel terrible about this. To make matters worse, a quick Google search taught me that only young spiders can regenerate legs. Judging by Brownie's size, I'm fairly certain he's an adult. Before I had much time to sulk over Brownie's horrific destiny, my mind flashed back to Legs, who was still on my wall. This one wasn't as adventurous as Brownie, and was easily eliminated with a clump of toilet paper. And then, as if things couldn't get any more hectic, the granddaddy of them all, Exhibit C, a.k.a. Sasquatch enters the equation.
On a wall completely his own, this nickel-sized monster was the same breed as Brownie. In other words, I knew he too was a jumper. However, I was experiencing tremendous pangs of guilt from Legs' death, and didn't have it in me to kill Sasquatch. Sure, I was filling guilty, but truthfully, I really didn't want the exact same scenario of a skydiving spider to reoccur. So, I try a new tactic. I race to the kitchen and grab a clear glass (clear is the best for keeping tabs on them once they're captured), and a sturdy piece of paper to cover the top.
Back in my room, I hoist myself up on the bed, and attempt to cover Sasquatch with the glass. Smartest of them all, he quickly scurries across the wall. All the while, I'm desperately trying to follow him with my glass, not succeeding in covering him. Then, using the ceiling as leverage, Sasquatch does what all spiders do best: He quickly drops down from the ceiling hanging from his web. Petrified, I drop the glass, scream and dart out of my room. Cautiously, I reenter and see Sasquatch is back on the wall. He has now lodged himself perfectly between the angle where the ceiling and wall meet, making it impossible for me to capture him with the glass.
Meanwhile, I'm having a miniature panic attack on the bed. It's extremely late, I still have at least three more pages to write, not to mention all of the editing. All six of my roommates are asleep (I know this because I earlier ran downstairs in a desperate attempt for help). I've killed one spider, drastically injured another and have no idea what to do with this third one. I pondered calling a guy friend who lives down the street to help me, and I even thought about begging for help out of my window at the next person who walks by.
Then, a miracle happened: I received a text message. In all of this madness, I had succeeded in waking up my friend Meredith, the roommate I share a wall with. Her text, short and sweet, said: "Maria?" Quickly, I burst through her door and explain everything. I was an absolute mess. She groggily rolled out of her bed, went to the bathroom and collected a clump of toilet paper. She walked into my room, shielding her eyes from the light, and said, "Where is it?" in a very matter-of-fact tone. I pointed out Sasquatch, knowing his last moments were approaching, and watched Meredith climb up on the bed. In one swift, professional (and, maybe experienced?) movement, she swiped up Sasquatch. That was the last we saw of him. Saddened by his death, but more relieved at this point, I am grateful that Meredith was able to bravely handle the situation.
The night has been a roller coaster ride.
THIS JUST IN: As I am writing this, another one, Exhibit D has been spotted on the ceiling, and he is definitely the same species as Brownie and Sasquatch. This one's name is George. This has got to be a joke. Where are these jumping beasts coming from!? I blame my landlord for buying screens that are the complete wrong size for my windows. I'm at a total loss right now. First of all, George is nowhere near my bed (thank goodness), but this means I couldn't reach him whether I wanted to free him or eliminate him. I certainly do not want to risk him flinging himself at me, or him dropping down from a web. Bottom line: This infestation is putting me over the edge. More on George later.
It's now closing in on 3 a.m., and I'm looking at another two hours of homework at the very least. As I began to say earlier before the discovery of George, the night has been a roller coaster ride. I feel regretful about the losses of Legs and Sasquatch, but even sadder about the debilitation of the now six-legged Brownie. Hopefully George will have a better fate.
Now planted on my floor on the opposite side of my room from my bed, I plan to finish my paper here. George has managed to trek across my ceiling, and is now positioned directly above my bed. I can't risk him dropping down on me.
This whole experience has been one huge wake-up call. Usually, I am asleep around midnight. Is this what happens in my room every night while I'm sleeping? Do spiders just take over? I've been living in this room for two months now, with my windows open all day and all night. On second thought, I don't want to know the answers to those questions.
I want to close on the note that I am no arachnophobic. I used to volunteer in the insect zoo at the Oregon Zoo, and had no problem holding the tarantulas. I honestly have no issues with spiders. But after tonight, I'm not so sure.
Hopefully you can find some entertainment in my misery. I am envious of you all, who are probably peacefully sleeping as I'm typing this. George and I have a long night of studying ahead of us.
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