Dan said:I glance down and it's a Tarantula!!!
Holy smokes, Dan. You're having quite the eventful year, eh?
I've not had that particular pleasure - and thank the gods, because
frankly my testosterone level drops to zero in the presence of big
scary bugs and spiders. Big ol' aggressive dogs, I can handle - I
feel a certain kinship with my fellow mammals. But creepy crawly cold
blooded [censored], no way.
- - -
Back around the turn of the millennium I rolled into Puerto Escondido
(way southern Mexico on the Pacific coast, a surfer town) after a week
in Oaxaca with the blonde. We anticipated prime surfing season by
about a month, so it wasn't quite a ghost town but just barely
starting to awaken. Got a great off-season rate for a bungalow up on
the cliff overlooking the ocean. A duplex, with the spacious kitchen
above the enormous bedroom.
While the little lady is showering I explore the bungalow. Haha,
those wacky surfers! Someone must've left an enormous rubber
tarantula on the kitchen wall as a gag months ago. But aside from
being laughably huger than these things could ever possibly grow - I
mean, this thing would clearly have a wingspan of at least a foot, its
body alone the size of my fist - it looks remarkably lifelike. I ask
my companion for a second opinion when she's done showering, and she
affirms that it's unmistakably a living creature. Yipes!
I summon, in my crude Spanish, for he hablas no ingles, Señor
Bungalow. "Un Tarantula! En mi cocina!"
"Tarantula no es peligroso. ¡Escorpion es peligroso, muy peligroso!"
Well that's just dandy Señor Bungalow, but nonetheless we paid for a
room for two, not three, so it's (he's... Sr. B had asked "¿Mujer o
hombre?" but then declared "¡Un hombre, claro!" upon seeing the beast)
got to go.
Apparently they're a protected species in Mexico or perhaps just the
state of Oaxaca, so he can't kill the monster. Instead he coaxes it
into a bucket using his machete. I lack the words to properly convey
how friggin' *huge* this thing was, as it lazily - relaxed in the
manner of the King of the Jungle, knowing nobody's gonna mess with it
- extended it's hideous limbs to shocking full length and ambled into
the bucket.
'Twas not easy to get to sleep that night, though after several rounds
of inspecting the premises and no doubt a few cervezas or margaritas
we eventually managed.
Next morning I ascend the short staircase into the kitchen with intent
to brew some coffee. Turn around, look at the wall above the doorway
- sure enough, a damn scorpion.
I don't think I've ever packed and vacated a motel room faster than
that morning. Amazing how adrenaline can punch through the thick wall
of mental fog brought on by unbearable heat and humidity, the worst
I've ever encountered and quite the shock to the body after the very
pleasant high desert atmosphere in Oaxaca.
