Raoul vs. the Hobo

I am a broken man. I've been drunk for a full seven days. I've taken up smoking again. If I am able to sleep, it's fitful and plagued by nightmares. I guess you could say that the sun just doesn't seem to shine quite as bright anymore...

Why, you may be asking yourself? Well, there was a hobo spider in my kitchen last week, that's why. The moment didn't last more than a minute but I've been indelibly scarred.

Let me explain. It was about 8:30 pm last Friday night. I was going to the fridge for a Fanta when I saw the spider.

It was clearly a hobo-- 4 inches long with the tell-tale v-shaped stripes down the middle of his body. But it was the intangibles that really distinguished this little bastard. He had what can only be described as a kind of 'swagger'. Yes, he carried himself with a cool confidence usually reserved for prize fighters.

If I'm not mistaken, he scoffed when he first saw me. He didn't even stir until I reached for a shoe but even then his movements weren't motivated by fear. No, he wasn't going to run... it was go-time. And in that moment I could see it clearly-- this spider didn't just want to bite me, he wanted to humiliate me. He wanted to put a cigarette out in my face and sleep with my girlfriend.

We circled each other, locked in a primitive and savage dance. There could be only one winner. In the back of my mind I was thinking about what would happen if he got his dirty little fangs into me. An internet search reveals victims nursing grotesquely swollen, pus-laden wounds. But after meeting this spider face to face I wasn't even remotely surprised. He was evil incarnate. Indeed, this was the kind of spider who laughed during Schindler's list; who called all his friends in August 1999 to tell them “Bruce Willis is a ghost”.

I took a frantic swipe at him with one of my size twelves... not even close. I thought I heard him laugh. Undaunted, he made his move. He went for straight for the big toe on my right foot. His intent was unmistakable, he wanted to take my legs out one at a time, get me on the ground and finish the job. I squealed like an 8 year old girl in pig-tails and frantically flicked him off before he could bite. He landed unharmed and turned to attack again. At this point, I was totally unglued and might even have peed myself a little bit. It was clear that I was out of my league, that I would not win this fight. He recognized this and that was it. It was over--I was psychologically licked and he knew it. He glared at me before he slowly ambled under the fridge. I wasn't worth his effort and he was probably late for some dog-fighting.

Since that night, things have been, well, rough. I've given notice on my apartment. I'm going to lose a pant-load by breaking my lease but I see no other option. I'd like to think that it isn't just me--that the spider is also forever changed from our encounter--but I know better. No, this was as one sided as you can get. Hobo 1, Raoul nil.