Arachnicide: Life On The Hall

I confess. I committed arachnicide on Tuesday.

I couldn't help it, really. With a scant three minutes left of my plan period, I encountered a spider skittering across the floor by my cabinets. I was on my way to run a last-minute copy. No time to grab a piece of paper and scoop up Spidey and slide him out the window. I don't think I would have tried that with this one, anyway. He was as big as an Eisenhower dollar. Not a Susan B. Anthony dollar. Bigger.


See what I mean? Spidey was all hairy and black. He looked like a hopper. I tried to put the kibosh on his shenanigans with my shoe. That little booger was durable. It took me a good four stomps to get him. It didn't help matters that he made a beeline for my cabinet. If there's one thing I don't want in my cabinet, it's a hairy black hopping spider the size of an Eisenhower dollar. No thank you.

I had to root Spidey out from the cabinet base with the toe of my shoe. That kind of made a crunching sound, and caused Spidey to curl up like a stainless steel colander. I was not inclined to hike across the room for a tissue, and then make the return trip to the wastebasket. So I did what any teacher at the end of her plan period, with parent conferences bringing traffic to her room later in the day would do, and kicked Spidey three short feet out into the hall. But that left Spidey right in front of the door to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's classroom. So he got the boot for three more feet. Which somehow caused one of his legs to fall off. Not so durable in death, now, are you, Mr. Spidey?

I knew he would get swept up before conferences. We're very careful about things like that. So far, there are no witnesses. My doorway is in a camera dead zone.

Good to know.