Like a lot of us, each weekday starts with getting in the car and turning on your favourite radio station to keep you company for the commute to the office. However, on this particular day, I had some unexpected company. My visitor was a huge hairy huntsman spider nestled in the back corner of my dashboard.
Ok, the dashboard is safe proximity to keep me in the safe zone, so I decide to keep driving and keep this guest under close surveillance until I was able to make my getaway at the office entrance. Here I thought the staff I work with would gallantly come to my rescue and remove this hairy, uninvited visitor.
However, it wasn't my lucky day. The not so incy wincy spider started to climb down the dashboard, which triggered my brain to signal, danger, danger! This prompted me to speedily pull over in front of Bruce's café and scarper out of reach. Half coherently I mumbled, “No coffee today Bruce, but I need another kind of fix." Seeing my distress, Bruce kindly tries to locate my hairy passenger. He declares with little conviction that my hairy guest, who is now under the manifest, should stay put. And if I drive and keep my feet kept moving, it's highly unlikely to land on me. What? I need a huge can of fly spray right now. Half a fly spray can later, I've unintentionally created an agitated bristly monster erratically jerking its legs out from behind the manifest. Unfortunately, this is still not quite enough leg for Bruce the Brave to grab onto. All this action has taken 22-minutes, plus it's raining and I’m late for work.
Luckily I have a lightbulb moment and phone my very chilled boyfriend for some practical and calming words. His words provide me with the ounce of courage I need to temporarily disable this ridiculous phobia.
Literally, I chuck my jacket over the pedals (voluntary blindness to any movement just makes me feel better), and I furiously tap my feet for the final daunting 10 minutes of my drive to the office.
Finally, I’m parked at my destination and have made a mad leap from my vehicle. Stepping into the office I shrillingly announce that I have a gigantic huntsman in my car. This cry for help receives blank stares and complete inactivity. It’s no exaggeration but one of my debilitated work colleagues suggests that I leave the car door open for a while so the spider can simply depart. This then brought me to the question of how will I know it's decided to take a stroll outside instead of hankering down below a dark, defended dashboard? Incredibly enough, another brilliant work colleague suggests we change the angle of our outside security camera. On that note, it sounds like I will be getting an Uber home.