the spider dep

while visiting the town of white cloud sounds like it would be a pleasant and peaceful undertaking, I regret to inform you that it wasn't. for today i was the unfortunate recipient of "THE SPIDER DEP."

what is that, you say?
let me share my story.


(fade in)
I walk up to the attorney's office building, where he runs his own practice, 20 minutes early. I'm relieved to have not gotten lost, found it on time, encountering zero construction.

The two front doors are locked. I stand there, hovering, hoping the secretary will catch a glimpse of me through the window. Meanwhile, I pull out my phone and dial their number as a last resort. Before I get through, however, the secretary sees me and lets me in. Thank goodness. It's frustrating to arrive early only to wait, when I could be setting up and getting situated.

I'm led back to their conference room, a comfy library-type room full of law books and the attorney's own personal high school trophies for tennis, baseball, hockey and golf. He ran a race on Mackinaw Island apparently and also had a couple signed photographs of NHL players. I even saw that one started out, "To Kevin." Interesting. And then on the wall above all the bookcases are all his degrees and certificates, suitably and proudly framed.

(I should mention that when the secretary let me in, the attorney was obviously pumping himself up for this deposition by listening -- not quietly -- to an 80's hairband rock song. I was not expecting that. The secretary -- not sure if she was embarrassed or just being polite -- had to close his office door because it was so loud.)

Anyway, I set up, introduce myself to the attorney and things get underway when the other attorney and the witness arrive. Partway through the dep the other party walks in, so now we have a full house. I'm sitting in the back corner, typing happily away. (I can see everyone but they're not even facing me. Perfect.)

And then, it happens.

God designed our vision to include something called "peripheral" vision. Pure brilliance. For today, my lower peripheral vision caught a glimpse of something on my jacket, in the right lapel area. In one fluid motion: I move my hand to dust it off while at the same time adjusting my head so that I am no longer seeing with my peripheral vision but looking right at the "spot" that I am about to flick off my person.

By all that is holy, the simultaneity of my actions freed me from the horror I could not avoid: the "spot" was not a spot at all, but a SPIDER. By the time my brain registers the fact that it was a spider ON me, I have already flicked it away. (I shudder even now to share this with you.) Thankfully, I was spared humiliation by not shrieking or gesturing violently -- which one tends to do when encountering varelse of such a creepifying nature.

And the mind, as complex as it is, cannot now help but play tricks on me. My neck is tickly. My back itches. All I can imagine is a troop of spiders, being led by the brave one that dared to climb up the enemy's shirt (obviously doing recon), rushing out from the trim and parachuting down from the ceiling, "For Spain! For our Children! And for Victory!"

Now, I'm not really sure Spain's role in this, but my brain isn't really behaving rationally at this point. So bear with me.

The next part is a bit of a blur. While I am imagining all sorts of horror-on-8-legs taking a hike on my person, I look down again AND THE SPIDER IS BACK. Same spot, same looking insect. I repeat the flick maneuver and the infidel is gone.

Moments later, I happen to glance at the arm of the chair I am sitting on. The arm on this chair connects in a "L" shape from the back of the chair like normal, then forming a 90 degree angle to connect to the edge of the chair. ascending the arm, perhaps pausing to catch it's 8-legged breath, IS ANOTHER SPIDER. Now I'm a little paranoid, but the flick maneuver is reliable and effective.

No more spiders appear, but you can be sure that that is probably because I have now become a vigilant watchman, prepared to do what I must, vigilante against 8-legged crimes of trespass.

An hour or so later I pack up and head home, ever alert for charlotte's minions to rush me when everyone else has left the room. it never happened. until we meet again, perhaps...

(fade out)
(catch a glimpse of furry spider leg disappearing into a pocket of my equipment case as I load up my car)