I’m afraid of spiders. Like the type of afraid that won’t allow me to sleep in a room that has the cosmic stain of spider-soul. I can’t get within four feet, max, of a spider, and I can’t have spider pictures anywhere on my phone or browsing history for fear that the eight-legged bastard will go all The Ring on me. That's right folks, I’m a 23-year-old, grown-ass woman who is afraid of pictures of spiders. Yes, I am aware that a human is thousands of times bigger than a spider, and yes, I am aware that of the 4000 known species of spider in North America, only three are actually dangerous to humans (the Black Widow, Brown Widow, and the Brown Recluse). But I also know that there are about 2.8 million spiders for every one human, a fact that inspires me to nope right off this planet and find a new, spiderless, one to grow old on. But since SpaceX apparently hasn't figured that one out yet, I’m stuck here with my share of the 3 million to 1.
My dad doesn’t mind spiders and as I was growing up he was slow to take any decisive action against them. This apathy towards the arachnid invaders led to many incidents involving spider Houdinis, escaping to unknown corners of our house, only to reemerge at the worst possible times, like as I was trying to go to sleep or midway through the creation of a beautiful shampoo beehive. I quickly learned that the only thing worse than a spider is a missing spider and if I wanted to rest comfortably, knowing there were no spiders lurking in some dark corner, I would have to dispose of them myself. Now, this posed something of an issue, because, as I said before, I don’t get within four feet of spiders, regardless of size, species, or state of aliveness (Pro tip #1: never trust a dead spider). I spent years refining, by the agonizing method of trial and error, my disposal technique so as to accommodate my four feet rule. I will share my findings with you so that you can benefit from the hard-earned fruits of my labor.
You might be wondering, what is with this four feet rule? I’ll tell you. A big part of this rule has to do with my own personal irrationalities and neuroses, but just enough of it is rooted in fact to make it concrete and completely non-negotiable. For example, there are certain species of spider (namely jumping spiders) that can jump between 10 and 50 times their own body length. This means that a ½ inch jumping spider can leap up to 25 inches in any horizontal direction. Additionally, flattie spiders can spin at speeds of up to 3000 degrees per second. They can make three full rotations in the time it takes humans to blink once. That’s a big ole hell no from me. And while we humans might be able to outrun a spider in a land-bound foot race, since the fastest moving spider (the giant house spider) can only reach speeds of about 1.73 feet per second, or about one mile an hour, we often are caught unawares by those nasty, eight-legged jerks. And when you are least expecting it, 1.73 feet per second is nothing to sneeze at. I am no arachnid expert, I wouldn’t know one species from another at first glance, thus, I remain at least four feet away from all known spiders at all times. Here are some of the ways I accomplish this whilst disposing of offending arthropods:
The Smash and Smear Technique. This technique is one that has been used in my family for many years. It began as a method for killing horse flies, but I have since adapted it for use on spiders. First, find a flat-bottom box (Pro tip #2: the bottom of the box must be flat or else it won’t work), the larger the surface area the better, that has some heft to it. Be careful that it’s not too heavy though or you'll throw out your back. Then, firmly plant your feet as far away from the spider as possible, bend at the waist, and, holding the box straight out in front of you (and, obviously, directly over the spider) drop that bad boy. When you hear the box hit the floor, apply your full body weight to the top of the box and twist, first clockwise then counter clockwise. The smearing aspect is a crucial part of the Smash and Smear Technique. It ensures actual death, not just an elaborate farce on the part of the eight-legged devil. (Pro tip # 3: having a second person present to cover your blindside is always a good idea).
The vacuum hose attachment. This method is one that I avoid unless the conditions are completely optimal. The target is much smaller and thus the margin of error is much wider: a recipe for disaster, in my opinion. But sometimes the hose is the only way to go and, if your technique is good, can be quite effective. I really only use this method in two situations, 1. The spider is in a corner that is inaccessible by any other means. 2. The spider is on the wall/ceiling, is inaccessible by any other means, and, with the right accompanying tools, the hose is the best way to avoid calamity. If the spider is on the floor and simply in a corner, you can proceed with the festivities. (Pro tip #4: take the time to aim carefully. Believe me, you don’t want to miss). However, if the spider is on the wall or ceiling, things get a bit more complicated. First you’re going to want to remove the spider from its perch. You do not want to skip this step. There are several ways to go about this, but they all fall under the category of ‘Risky Behavior.’ The best way I have found is to throw something, maybe a book, a Kleenex box, or a shoe. You can also use a broom, but that’s the riskiest move of them all, in my opinion. This next part is going to move really quickly, so be ready. Once you dislodge the spider, move in with the vacuum hose, as quickly and precisely as possible (Pro tip #5: shrieking as you deliver the “death blow” increases power, speed, accuracy, and agility exponentially). As soon as the spider is sucked into the bowels of the vacuum, take the entire unit and deposit it outside, and a good distance from the door, until you can find someone to empty the dust trap for you (Pro tip #6: use a vacuum that has a clear, plastic dust trap. Do not use a vacuum that uses vacuum bags. The spider can, and will, get traction on the walls of the bag and climb back out).
Use whatever resource available…including cats. Both of the above methods call for fairly specific conditions and, though they can be effective, have their limitations. So, the best wisdom I can impart on you, my fellow arachnophobic, is this: Learn to use whatever resource is available. This may include Nerf guns, shampoo and standing water, or even cats. If you have cats that are inclined to help you out, this is a double win for you. You get rid of the spider and you make a “sacrifice” to your cat who will reward you for your fealty (Pro tip #7: if your cat does assist you in the removal of a spider, don’t look too closely the next time you clean the litter box). The moral of the story is that it’s vital that you learn to take advantage of the resources around you so that you are always able to take one more arachnid bastard off this planet.
Let’s face it, spiders suck. They’re nasty, creepy, disgusting creatures. And, frankly, I hate them. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. And I hate that I hate them. Whole, grown up people should not be afraid of bugs…and yet, here we are. So, I have made it my mission, my duty, my crusade to rid the world of as many spiders as I can before one of those jackasses takes me with it. And I plan to do just that. I will channel Samuel L. Jackson: I’ll kick butt, take names, and scream obscenities as I do it. And I’ll continue to refine my technique so that I can keep advising the arachnophobia community in the best ways to dispose of this scourge upon humanity, because the best spider is a dead spider.
