When it comes to spiders, there are supposed to be rules, people.  The spiders can hang out in the garage and in the basement. They can even build the occasional web in the corner of the living room ceiling. But they are not, I repeat not, supposed to hide under the car handle where you have to put your hand to open the door.

I’m pretty sure my parent’s neighbors think I was performing some sort of mixed martial arts demonstration in the street today. When I reached for the car handle, sliding my fingers into the space under the handle, a space I always considered safe and a spider-free zone, a large, furry black spider crawled out to shake my hand.  Needless to say, I freaked out, flinging the spider off my hand and back onto the car. Then I performed a few involuntary spasmodic movements, which would have made Chuck Norris proud.

Once I managed to stand still again, and after I wiped my hand on my capris many, many times, I glared at the spider. He was headed back to the door handle. I needed to knock him off the car with something. And it certainly wasn’t going to be my hand. So I whipped open my purse, grabbed a receipt and whacked the spider, attempting to knock him on the ground. I proceeded to fling the spider onto the ground a millimeter from my right foot. This resulted in a new set of movements, which would best be described as river dancer on crack.

Then, I waited. Were there more spiders under the door handle? Had Mr. Spider left a wife and kids at home while he ventured out to see the world? Using a Kleenex as a makeshift glove, I opened the door. Thankfully, there were no more spiders. From now on, before I open a car door, I’m going to knock on the handle in the hope that whatever creature is lurking beneath will retreat and not come out to greet me.