Sunday, January 6, 2013

This Open Letter to the Spider in my Car

Dear spider in my car,

I won't ask how you got into my car. You are an engine of pure evil and hate, forged from my every nightmare, of course you'd get in there. I should be asking what took you so long to find me in one of my most vulnerable spots. It's the perfect place for an assassination attempt, which is why I presume you were there. I'm in traffic, belted to the seat, a literal captive audience. What about that setup isn't perfect for you?

Was it too easy? Did you find the lack of challenge boring? Because let me tell you, my terror was real. I pride myself on making sure that my face is not within four feet of any live spider. To see you crawling around on my visor was not what I expected when I flipped it down to shade my eyes. I was expecting to see better without the sun in my eyes. And I did. I saw all too clearly the terror that skitters on eight legs.

You will notice, though, that I refrained from emitting a high-pitched squeal and crashing the car into the nearest telephone pole. Nor did I purposefully drive the car off a bridge in an effort to take you out. Yes, I'd likely die in that fiery explosion, but the world would be down a spider, and that's math I can live with.

 However, my wife would miss me if I went out like that, and I still have a second book to finish writing, plenty more to read, and a big backlog of video games. So it was your lucky day. It was also mine, what with the parking lot nearby. Instead of mutually-assured-destruction, I was able to embark on a more civilized plan.

Most people would have killed you, and believe me, I was thinking about it. If I were writing George Orwell's Animal Farm, it would go "Two legs good, four legs bad, eight legs kill with fire." However, my car insurance company wouldn't appreciate me immolating the car for a spider. Even if I was certain that I killed you, they might be less than understanding because insurance adjusters can be so narrowly focused, sometimes.

Even though fire was right out, killing you wasn't exactly the most ideal solution. Oh, I have no qualms about killing spiders, We have a rule in my house. Any spider that make itself visible has forfeited its life. Don't want to die? Stay out of sight.

However, the car is a different story for one very important reason. It's not a good place for a fight to the death. If I'd been driving a van, it might have been a different story. But I was driving a car, and if it came down to a fight, you'd have a lot more room to maneuver. Chances are, I wouldn't have been able to kill you, I'd only have made you mad. There are a lot of places in that car where a pissed-off spider can hide, and I certainly didn't need that on my commute.

That's why I chose exile instead of execution. It was the best solution for everyone because I know, without a doubt, that you are gone from my car. Remember, though, that this changes nothing about our present arrangement. You can live as long as I don't see you. You and all your spider kin.

And if I see you in my car again, well, I'll probably go ahead and let you have it because I don't want any trouble and you clearly want it more than me. In fact, that would probably explain some of the driving I see around town. Those cars don't have people driving them, they are vehicles surrendered to spiders. You guys really need to learn how to signal, and would it kill you to yield once in a while?

Is this part of your overall plan to take over the world one car at a time? Because it's working. perhaps I should have killed you when I had the chance. Now you sense weakness in the human race and are poised to strike. So may I add, my apologies to all of humanity for dooming us all.

I for one welcome our new spider overlords. Hail spiders.

Your faithful human turncoat,

Charles B. French

More Open Letters

1 comment:

  1. I suppose it would be appropriate to CC the bees and wasps on this one too. I have always seemed to have a fun experience with them too.

    I recall a giant grasshopper jumping in through the open window of our moving car. It landed somewhere near my wife's legs. The resulting gyrations and muscle contractions may have earned her a finalist spot on Dancing With the Stars.

    Thank you as always for gracing us again with your own unique brand of wit and wisdom. I hope that you and your wife have a wonderful 2013.