Recluse

There are two folks at work who have been bitten by spiders recently. These are stay-out-of-work-go-to-the-doctor type bites.

Everyone is concerned that biter may have been the dreaded Brown Recluse.

If you want to gross yourself out, Google the results of a Brown Recluse bite. The venom is acidic and gives you this flesh-eating creepout effect. Bleagh. Even without that drama, a regular bite can get you all swollen and troubled.

One of the kids on my team was talking about all the black widows she sees on her horse farm. She was talking about the marks like it was something you hadn't seen in comic books and horror films a billion times. Black freaking widows! Acid-biting spiders! Poison snakes! Dead armadillos! Go Texas!

So I was thinking about the vile critters as I rolled home. I was taking out the trash and a lizard took off like a shot. He was in the garage somehow and was now cruising across the pavement. He was a round little thing and his short legs gave his body a comedic swaying motion as he ran. I'd seen him around before, so in the hopes that he decides to come over again I decided to nickname him Fatty.

This of course is a nod to the hilarious Fatty the Groundhog that lived in my parent's yard for some time.

But what was Fatty doing in the garage? Just visiting? Cooling off? It was nearly 100° that day. But methinks there was a more culinary reason in his choice of hangout. So today I scoped out the garage to see what was up. Sure enough: weird beetles here and there in the corners. Gross. Not a lot of them, mind you, but enough to bring Fatty over for some nom nom nom.

They were all dead so I broomed them up and knocked down the spider web. But on the base of the stairs I found these two little creeps. Nothing crazy but I thought I would take a snap. So I flip them onto a handy piece of paper and it's click click click. While, imagine my surprise when after fifteen minutes the little one starts twitching and flips himself over. I'm a guy and have no problem killing bugs. Still there was a tiny part of my brain thinking: you had never heard of the Brown Recluse until two days ago. Who knows what other nasty crap they have down here?

I squished him in a tissue and continued my day.

Artless

I gotta find a new corner store. You may remember that I previously posted a karmic encounter at the store here.

So, it;s Friday evening, I'm done with work and headed home. At the last minute, I decide to stop in at my corner gas station place to pick up a six pack. A lot of other people have the same idea, so there is a general wait around the checkouts.

Now, there are two check out counters going, but they are unusually far apart. So you have to choose one or the other and cannot easily slide to the next available one.

You know where this is going. I started in one lane because there seemed to be some sort of gas-buying holdup on the other one. But that clears up and my lane isn't moving, so I change over. THere's only one guy in front of me, so this should be a breeze.

Wrong. Some guy comes in and starts asking the cashier about what was going on on gas pump 5. At first he's calm and she explains the situation. He's so calm that I get the impression he's a manager or something. Wrong. Turns out it's the former gas-buying-patron's husband that raised the commotion before and now he wants the story.

Well, here it is: the wife started pumping gas. She selected the cash option and pumped $2.14 worth of gas. Or she tried to pay for the $2.14 worth of gas with a credit card after saying that she had cash. Or something like that. It's hard to tell because the conversation became very heated. What it boiled down to was: pay the lady $2.14 in cash, and then you can pump the rest of your gas and pay with a credit card. Seems easy enough.

Wrong. THe dude is flipping out, saying that he is being penalized for the cashier's mistake and he is going to sue the place and call the police. The cashier is saying that calling the police is fine with her because they still owe her for the gas and please pay because I have your plates and will call the cops if you don't. This goes on and on and is now a shouting match with the guy becoming deeply wounded that he has somehow been wronged by the store.

Meanwhile I just want to buy a six pack of Tecate.

THis is like walking down the street and seeing a nickel sticking out of a bee's nest. Hmm. might be dangerous to reach in and grab it, and there's not much reward for the risk, but what the hell?.

Plus, I'm an idiot, so, I slap three bucks on the counter and say "Here! Here's your $2.14! Now go pump your damn gas!"

There is dead silence for a minute as nobody knows what to do. Then the guy looks at me square in the face and says "FUCK! YOU!" He punctuates each word with a finger point so I know it's me who should be fucked and then he turns on his heel and runs out the store in the manner of a crying teen girl.

That guy must have had a bad day. But anyway! It's beer-buying time and I'm the hero of the store, right? I bet they give me a discount, or at least a grateful grin. Wrong. I put my purchase on the counter and the cluster of cashiers just stare balefully at me and ring me up in silence. Somehow in a shouting match over two bucks I became the rude one for trying to move things along. I gotta find a new corner store.