I have nothing against spiders. Honestly. But you wouldn’t know it from the scores of carcasses I have discarded down the drain in the past few months.
It’s not personal. I am but a hired gun – or at least a hired paper towel, which is then pressed firmly between my thumb and fingers to finish off the little buggers. I have grown accustomed to the work. Though, you never really get used to the “pop.”
I used to try to convince my clients that spiders really aren’t that bad. Good luck with that. A four-year-old girl will never believe that the spider she found on her ceiling has no qualms with her. It doesn't matter when I remind her that spiders could even help keep other bugs away. She's not buying the spider's side of the story. She just wants it gone.
“Daddy!” she shrieks. “Spider!” And I go to work.
Dangling from the ceiling, crawling along the window sill, scurrying across the floor -- no spider is safe. I grab my trusty paper towel, napkin, or, in a pinch, toilet paper. And I begin the hunt.
“Where is it?”
The child points, and cowers beneath the covers. I have to squint to even see the darn thing. I swear my kids are exceptional at noticing spiders. They must get that from their mother. With a quick swipe, squeeze and flush, the job is done, the client relieved.
Certainly, I don’t want to live in house that is “infested” as my wife describes it during the months when spiders seem to just appear. I just don’t notice them. What is that small black spot on the crown molding? I really don’t care. In fact, I usually hope it’s a spider. Better that than chipping paint or evidence of a leak. Those jobs are much tougher on the soul than killing a spider.
But, I swear, I have nothing against them. It is just a job to me. And as much as I’m good at it, there is one part I will never quite enjoy.
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