Spider & I

Behold, a few conversational encounters with spiders in/around Washington, DC . . .

Spider in my room: "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Me: "I hate when people ask me that. I hate when spiders ask me that, too. Now I'm thinking, what was I thinking about."

Spider: "Which was..."

Me: "Nothing. I wasn't thinking anything at all. Nada. I was lying here making faces out of the cracks and bumps in the ceiling."

Spider: "You're a Krishnamurti in denim."

Me: "No, I'm not, not at all. Krishnamurti wouldn't keep dreamy spiders around who don't do shit besides graze on other people's black bean dip and slobber on their books."

Spider: "Ha. Further proof of him bein' a charlatan, I say... Faces on the ceiling, eh. I see Leonid Brezhnev. There. See it? Those are his eyebrows, there, and--"

Me: "Shit, I do see it. That's his eyebrows, his like bushy as fuck eyebrows, and those are his big boxy sunglasses there, those watermarks or whatever they are. And there's his frown right there--you see it?"

Spider: "It's more a grimace than a frown. Like he's at a performance of Shostakovich's Symphony Number Five and he's gotta poot real bad."

Me: "It's totally a grimace. Damn, you're good at this... I changed my mind, it's the Fonz, smiling. And those shadows are his leather jacket."

Spider: "I'd be lying if I said I see the Fonz. You and me maybe didn't watch the same Happy Days."

Me: "Shit, story of my life."

~~~

Spider: "I don't know how you do it, Van."

Me: "You don't know how I do what."

Spider: "Go through life without getting smushed or flushed."

Me: "Not biting people helps. Not biting people lends an immense benefit of the doubt. You should try it."

Spider: "Wish I could. My nature is to bite everything and anything. Plus, I love biting things. People, bugs, other spiders..."

Me: "Look up real quick... Smile... God, you really are hideous. Those mandibles look like they can do some damage, though."

Spider: "They can! I can bite through all sorts of stuff. If you gave me like ten or twelve minutes, I could take your whole pinkie off."

Me: "See, that's the kind of talk that'll get you into trouble... Are those... Why are you wearing tabi socks?"

Spider: "They help me sneak up on bugs."

Me: "Do me a favor, go run around outside or something. My head hurts and I need a nap and you're weirding me out."

Spider: "Don't mind me. I'll be real quiet. Which of these Paul Auster books should I read first?"

Me: "Doesn't matter if you're quiet, your presence freaks me out. Seriously, last chance or it's slipper city... And start with the New York Trilogy like everyone does. Weird existentialist mystery shit. Right up your creepy little alley."

~~~

Small but muscular lookin' spider: "What's that, guy?... Yes, I do have mandibles, but don't persecute me. Remember, I kill bugs."

Me: "You bit me last night, didn't you. This little welt, that's you, isn't it."

Spider: "My excuse, my lord, is to admit I have no excuse."

Me: "Don't get cute. You're gonna get Scrubble Bubbled either way, but you might as well be chewing on a better set of last words."

Spider: "I wasn't getting cute. I was quoting Khalil Gibran. I'm real learned for my age."

Me: "I bet you are. I see you over there by my books fucking around in your little web. I permitted you to camp out there and do your creepy spider shit and you show your appreciation by giving me a fucking welt."

Spider: "Look, just cool off, okay? It was an accident. I was crossing you and you like jumped in your sleep and I didn't know what else to do."

Me: "Eight legs, eight eyes, yet still one default reaction to everything in life... Look, nothing personal but you leave me no choice. Scrubble Bubbled, crunched, or both?"

Spider: "You could always capture me and let me loose outside."

Me: "Yeah, so you can bite me again? Thanks but no thanks."

Spider: "*sigh* Okay, I'm ready. Any chance of me gettin' a funeral at sea?"

Me: "You mean will I flush your mangled little corpse, admiral? Yeah, I can do that."

~~~

Spider in my room: "What are you, dosing on shrooms or something? Why the weirdness, guy?"

Me: *gazing at ceiling/walls* "This goddamn mosquito feasted on me last night and the little fucker's probably still in here."

Spider: "What a bummer. What *a* bummer."

Me: "You see him anywhere? Can any of your eight fucking eyeballs spot him before he zaps me again?"

Spider: "No need. I know exactly where he is. And now I know why he tasted like Triscuits and sharp cheddar and Asahi."

Me: "You ate him?"

Spider: "Yessir. Midnight snack! I actually nabbed him while he was sucking on the top of your foot. You may or may not be delighted to know he begged for his life. Man, zero dignity. Like none at all. He went full on Miller's Crossing on me. 'Look into your heart, look into your heart' and I said, real coldly, just like Gabriel Byrne, I said 'what heart. *crunch!* You woulda loved it."

Me: "I bet, I bet. My hero. I owe you one. Still, I wish you would've got him before he gave me the Nosferatu treatment."

~~~

Spider in my room: "Uh oh. The Vanimal is on the prowl. The Vanimal is restless. Whose unlucky blood will be drawn in attempt to satiate his unquenchable thirst."

Me: "What are you carrying on about, weirdo?"

Spider: "Are you punishing me or are you punishing one of the other blokes? I presume that's why you're boxing up all your books."

Me: "I'm boxing up my books because I'm blowing this creepy little bungalow. Moving across town. Found a spot right smack dab in the middle of Gringolandia. 14th and T... It's a little pasty over there, but whatever, it's the same price as this joint and I'm closer to the stupid bar. No more thousand dollar Uber rides."

Spider: "(!!)... This is terrible news. Totally terrible. Shit sandwich, man, I had no idea. Hmm... For old times' sake, do you think I could, ya know..."

Me: "Do I think you can what, bite the flamin' fuck out of me? No, you can not. And where are my Nelson Algren books. I have like ten fucking Nelson Algren books and I don't see any of them.

Spider: "You do not have ten Nelson Algren books, you have seven Nelson Algren books. Or is it six? Or is it five? Or maybe you don't have any Nelson Algren books at all. Maybe there never was a Nelson Algren. Maybe "Nelson Algren" is a construct that your deviant little human mind manufactured to defer blame to, I don't know, peace lovin' arachnids who like to spend their Sunday evenings languidly sipping on fly juice and reading Heidegger and Baudrillard and---"

Me: "---and Nelson Algren."

Spider: "Fine, goddamnit, will you just leave me The Neon Wilderness? Pretty please? You can blast me with all the Scrubble Bubble you want or flush me or whatever. Just leave me that one book."

Me: "Keep it. Keep all of 'em. Keep in mind, though, his stuff will rot the heck out of your brain.

Spider: "Haha. What mind. What brain."

Me: "Ah. Good point."

~~~

Me: "What's your little protest sign say? *peers down at spider in my room* 'We Are All Itsy Bitsy'... You know, a lot of people wouldn't agree with that."

Spider: "Exactly. Say it again. A lot of *people* wouldn't agree with that."

Me: "You're upset because I poured hydrogen peroxide on your friend the other day and flushed him.... What did I say to you right after I did that?"

Spider: "I don't know, time kinda stood still."

Me: "I asked you if you remember the end of Natural Born Killers."

Spider: "I haven't seen that bullshit movie in three hundred years."

Me: "Well, during their murder spree, Woody Harrelson and what's-her-nuts always let one person live to tell the tale..."

Spider: "Oliver Stone swiped that from a spaghetti western."

Me: "Yeah, and the spaghetti western director swiped it from Alexandre Dumas who swiped it from the John of Patmos who swiped it from Charles Schultz and so on and so on..."

Spider: "Look, guy, I'll take sticks and stones over this verbal treatment any day of any week. Either hit me with the death juice or don't, but whatever you do or don't do, ease up on the syllables. Pretty please, with a big fat fly on top."

Me: "You have a commendable amount of verve for a gentleman in your predicament."

Spider: "Because I've got zilch to lose. What do you take from a spider who's already lost everything?.... Hey!---Asshole! Give it back! That took me hours to make!"

Me: "I'm doing you a favor. Your penmanship's in three different time zones and you spell like you need an exorcist."

Spider: "Typical greedhead human scum."

Me: "Asterick with mandibles."

~~~

Me: "What the... Is this what I think it is?"

Spider in my room: "I don't know, what do you think it is?"

Me: "Spider shit."

Spider: "Then, no, it's definitely not what you think it is."

Me: "*sniff sniff* What the fuck is it then? And why's it all over my China Mieville book."

Spider: "Easy, guy. It's just black bean dip. See? Black bean dip. From Trader Joe's. I'll wash it off in a little bit."

Me: "You can't wash it off. It's like all up in the pages."

Spider: "Then I'll eat it off then. I got the most adroit mandibles this side of Planet X."

Me: "You're pretty nonchalant about all this, eh? What would you do if I got black bean dip all over one of your books?"

Spider: "Probably penalize you same way usual. Take a chunk outta your leg or something while you're snoozin'. Moot point, though, because I don't have any books and I don't need any books because you own like a million fucking books---a million fucking books that you never read because you're always doing stupid shit on your phone."

Me: "Blah, blah, blah. Why are you eating black bean dip at 9:30 in the morning. Not even homeless people do that."

Spider: "Because there's no bugs in this place and because I can't open the fridge and also because none of these bullshit restaurants along this hoity toity bullshit drag accept Diners Club."

Me: "Jesus. That is a lot of books, huh."

Spider: "I'm tellin' you, one library card and the Sultan of Brunei himself's gonna be knockin' on your door askin' if he can like borrow your Turtle Wax."

~~~