And that's why I'm scared of spiders

A few people have asked me recently how I became so deathly afraid of spiders.

Was I born an arachnid wimp who always screeched like a frightened school girl at the site of an eight-legged beast, or did it take time to become such a fraidy cat?

It happened one fateful day when I was in elementary school.

Up until that day of infamy I was not a huge fan of spiders, but I was not the trembling super wuss I am today.

Like every little boy anywhere in the world, I was interested in gross stuff like bugs, snakes and other such critters. We used to catch grasshoppers by the handful and chase dragonflies every chance we got.

I can even remember grabbing some of those big, ugly, nasty looking water beetles from out of our pool.

As I grew older, my fear and dislike of insects grew – that will happen when you catch a biting or stinging variety one time too many – but I had not yet developed the mind-numbing terror I feel as an adult.

Spiders were never one of my favourite bugs to play with, but it was on a camping trip in school that my stark raving fear of spiders was tattooed onto the psyche.

It was day two of a four-day trip when some friends and I (yes, I had friends in school) were goofing around and running about the campground.

I can remember being chased by buddy of mine for some reason or another when I turned hard off the roadway and into the surrounding woods.

I was ducking and dodging branches and bushes like a woodland sprite when I cut between two trees.

It was then that fate took its cruel turn in an incident that would scar me for life.

You see, strung between those two poplar trees was a spider web. A big spider web. A big spider web that was about head high.

I hit the web at full speed and it wrapped around my face like a mask. Of course spider webs are sticky, so it didn't just hit my face, it super glued itself to my entire head.

Now the thing about spider webs is they often contain a spider. And often the spider will sit in the very centre of the web and wait for an unsuspecting insect to get caught in its trap of doom.

When I hit the web, the spider, which was roughly the size of a small Bassett hound, ended up in my left eye socket.

As of that wasn't bad enough, the beast then scampered up my forehead, over the top of my head and down my back – into my shirt.

To say I freaked out is to say the Titanic had a bit of a mishap.

I clawed at the web to get it off my head even as I felt the spider run down the back of my neck.

I was spinning and turning and thrashing like a mad man having a standing seizure.

This is known as the spider dance – an uncontrollable, panic-driven set of moves designed to rid yourself of any possible intruder. This works for bugs of all description, but is most enthusiastically done with a spider.

Anyway, after doing the spider dance to the amusement of my friends, I tore my shirt off, slammed it on the ground and continued to twist and gyrate like I was on fire.

Once I calmed down, I stomped on the shirt repeatedly in case the spider was still in its cottony folds.

I don't recall if I ever wore that shirt again, but to this day I can still recall the feeling of that massive, prehistoric-sized spider clambering across my face and head.

Even thinking about it now sends a shiver up my spine causing me to do the spider twitch (a much more subdued version of the spider dance.)

And that, dear readers, is how I became terrified of spiders; and really, who could blame me.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

Spiders are not a good wedding gift

I recently read a article by local museum curator Ron Candy in which he talked about spiders.
As any one who has read my past columns knows, I do not like spiders. Actually they scare the snot out of me.
In my teen years, my then-girlfriend thought it would be great fun to throw a rather large and ugly spider at me. I am not ashamed, I admit it, I screamed like a frightened school girl on Halloween night.
I then did the spider dance and was generally creeped out for the rest of the day.
In Ron's column, he talked about how beneficial the little critters are. I have never argued their benefit to the world, I have just demanded their execution on sight.
No trial, no jury and no mercy, just straight to the death chamber commonly known as the bottom of my shoe.
The only good spider is a spider that has been smashed into a unrecognizable pile of goo. Now that's my kind of arachnid.
Ron's column talked about how spiders are revered in some cultures. Let's just say I am not from that culture.
Some cultures eat spiders, and I say go ahead because a dead spider is a good spider, just don't invite me over for dinner.
Some cultures keep spiders as pets. Friends of mine have a teen aged son who has a tarantula as a pet. One day she was talking to my wife and said the tarantula had escaped its enclosure.
My wife asked how many times that had happened.
Slamming my foot to the ground as hard as I could my answer was, “Once.”
And I meant it. If I was at their house and the eight-legged horror was walking across the room they would have one less pet to feed (and a carpet to clean.)
Ron goes on to say Hindus in eastern Bengal collect spiders and let them go at a wedding as a sign of good luck.
Who in the blue hell thinks a small army of spiders crawling all over the place is good luck. I would rather have the wedding guests stick pencils up my nose for luck.
It might be good luck for my wife because she could start our marriage by cashing in my life insurance. If there are 100 people at the wedding and each one of them let even one spider go, that would be it for me. I would see all these little eight-legged nasties running around and I would be out of there so fast the wind from me leaving would knock people over.
But if you think that is bad, Ron goes on to describe another tradition in Egypt where it is common practice to place a spider in the bed of the newly married couple.
OK, hold it. Stop right there. Folks, you have just crossed the line.
Putting a spider in my bed is quite possibly the worst idea I have ever heard. Can you imagine being all in love and happy about the nuptials only to find a bug-eyed monster staring back at you from the honeymoon love lounger?
It would be the shortest honeymoon in the history of honeymoons.
“Honey, why don't you pull the sheets back. I'll be right there.”“Why yes my new wife, that sounds like a great plan.”
“Honey, what was that high-pitched scream? Honey? Honey?”
The next sound would be the door breaking as I ran through it to get out of the room.
Throwing rice and toilet-papering the car is quite enough of a wedding tradition for me thank you.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

I faced pure evil, and won

I am proud to say I went toe-to-toe with evil itself and I did not flinch, I did not waiver, I did not scream like a small school girl and run out of the room.

Instead, I steeled my nerves, summoned courage from deep within my soul and slayed the beast that was threatening me.

Yes folks, it's true: I killed a spider like a man.

I was in the kitchen when out of the corner of my eye I saw it.

A grey figure scampering across the countertop. For a brief instant I froze as my mind reeled at the creature before me.

What kind of horror is this? What kind of spawn from hell itself was invading my home?

As I turned to face my nemesis, it stopped and looked at me tauntingly with its beady little eyes, fangs of doom and eight legs of terror.

It was mocking me, daring me to challenge its existence. At that moment time stood still and I knew it was either him, or me.

Suddenly, he started to move and I had to act fast.

I did not have time to grab paper towel in which to encase and smash him. Nor was there a flame thrower, incendiary device or weapons-grade plutonium handy, so I charged forward with the ferocity of a wild beast.

Unleashing my inner cave man, I attacked with unbridled rage and with a bare hand smashed the creature from hell with a single mighty blow, claiming a staggering victory for arachnophobes everywhere.

However, having a smashed spider on my hand really creeped me out so I ran, I mean, casually strolled to the washroom where I rinsed his guts from my skin – a lot.

It is a day that shall go down in infamy. The day I faced my worst fear and won.

Some people might say it was a shallow victory because the spider was just slightly smaller than the flat part of a thumb tack, but hey, it was still a spider and I still killed it with my bare hands so I am counting that as a victory.

It's not that I hate spiders...OK, well actually I do, I do hate spiders.

I hate pretty much all spiders and now is the time of year when they make a reappearance after several serene winter months without them.

I know I will have many encounters of the icky kind before the cold weather returns and I am not looking forward to any of them.

“Spiders are more afraid of you, than you are of them.”

No they're not.

I doubt a spider ever peed a little while running out of the room because a huge Darren fell on him from the ceiling.

“Spiders are harmless.”

I don't care.

And for the record, not all spiders are harmless. The black widow is a nasty piece of work and can harm you.

There are black widows in the area, so some local arachnids are dangerous.

And with international shipping and travel, how do we know the spider I am gently trying to save is not a deadly species accidentally introduced to the region and by catching and releasing it I am actually dooming the area to a spider-filled nightmare.

That innocent little spider I just squashed could have been a baby Goliath tarantula that will grow into a monster with fangs the size of a chihuahua's tail.

Think of the children.

It is a chance I simply refuse to take, so whenever I see a spider of any size, shape and colour I will slay it.

You are welcome.

Spiders falling from the sky - eeeeeek

It's the kind of thing that wakes me up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
A story so horrific, so terrifying I have chills running down my spine just thinking about it.
It was raining spiders in Southern Australia.
Yes, you read correctly: it was literally raining arachnids in the Land Down Under.
Billions and billions and billions of the multi-legged terrors falling from the heavens and covering the ground like a creepy crawly blanket of horror.
OK, perhaps I enhanced the numbers somewhat, but it really was raining spiders.
It would seem the spiders – called money spiders for some reason - create little silk parachutes that catch the wind and they float to wherever it carries them.
One man said there were so many of them it looked like it was snowing. I have seen pictures and it is one of the creepiest things I have ever seen.
Where they poisonous spiders? Were they big spiders?
Who cares. They were spiders, thousands of spiders falling from the sky and covering the ground, literally, like a blanket of snow.
Does it really matter how big they were? They were spiders falling out of the sky – it does not get much worse than that (except maybe a surprise visit from the inlaws.)
One local said it was a beautiful site, convincing me some Aussies are not all there.
I can not even begin to describe how creeped out I would be if I were caught in a spider storm of such proportions.
I had one little spider land on my head the other day at work and it freaked me out for the next 16 hours.
It doesn't matter if it was a few large spiders or thousands of little ones they are still spiders falling out of the sky (I can not state that enough).
In my younger years, I had a girlfriend (yes, I had a girlfriend and she was a real person and everything) who had no fear of arachnids.
She did not know about my near paralytic fear of the spawns of hell and I was fine keeping it that way.
But one day, just for fun, she flicked a massive spider at me.
I mean this thing was larger than a chimpanzee and twice as hairy.
It was a gargantuan spider and I still have visions of it sailing toward me, its bloated body blocking out the sun as it made a direct hit on my manliness.
In a situation like that, manliness goes out the window and I jumped around and flailed my arms wildly in what is known as the spider dance while making a sound typically reserved for small scared school girls.
She, of course, thought it was the funniest thing she had ever seen and she laughed and laughed.
“Yea, he-he, good one. That was great, now if you will excuse me I have to change my underwear. Yup, that sure was funny.”
I was only a teen, but I am pretty sure I suffered a minor heart attack that day. I know I suffered a major arachnophobia attack.
For the next few minutes I did the spider twitch – where you frantically brush certain parts of your body as your brain “feels” a spider on your persons and you slap the imagined eight-legged freak out of your hair, off your arm, out of your shirt...you get the idea.
Now, if one big ol' spider can induce such terror in yours truly, can you imagine what thousands of them falling from the sky would do.
I am doing the spider twitch now just thinking about it.
If I were to be witness to such an event, or even worse, caught in the middle of a spider storm I would never leave the house again.
Unless there was a spider in it, of course.

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

Keys lead to dopey adventure

As the crow flies is a great way to get around – if you are a crow that is.
But for us non-winged beasts, it is not quite so simple.
The age-old term basically means going from point A to point B in a straight line. In other words, birds can fly from here to there, soaring over any impeding obstacles.
Many years ago, I locked my keys in my truck. The Missus was working, cellphones were a thing of the future and I had no access to a spare key, so I weighed my options.
I could smash the side window, retrieve my keys and then come up with a really good excuse as to why I smashed the window, or I could walk to where my wife worked and get her keys so I could get my keys.
I opted for plan B.
It was a warm summer's day and while feeling foolish for having locked my keys in the truck, I was still rather chipper as I headed out on my quest.
A couple blocks into my voyage I could see where my wife was working – it was only a kilomter or so away – if you were a crow that is.
I would have to go down a very steep ravine, cross the valley floor and then back up another steep incline, but from where I was standing it did not look that bad.
Besides, it would save a lot of walking over the conventional way of following surface streets so I opted for the route of adventure.
I snuck between a couple of houses and came to the ravine's edge.
Hmmm, it looked a little steeper close up, but I had spent a lot of time climbing mountains in my childhood so I figured I could handle one little clay cliff (of about 150 meters).
The second step I took down the slope resulted in me sliding about five feet. Perhaps getting to the bottom was going to be a lot faster than I thought – good news indeed.
So for the next few minutes I stepped and slid my way down the clay incline, feeling pretty darn happy with my progress, until...
Until I reached the bottom of the ravine and the mass of dried, prickly weeds and shrubbery that looked so small from up above were actually over my head.
OK, that is not so good.
They were also a lot deeper up close than they looked from above as well and I had at least 10 meters of thick, prickly, bug and snake-infested, 10-foot-tall weeds to get through.
There was no way around as the weeds extended as far as I could see in either direction. Going back up the way I came would be near impossible, so I decided to charge ahead. I located the narrowest area and took a running leap into the mass of weeds. I penetrated the tangled mess about eight inches and was stopped cold.
I then pushed, pulled, wiggled, squirmed and in general forced my way through the mass of prickles. I emerged from the other side covered in small cuts, thorns and pieces of plant, but I made it.
I then looked up at the hillside I had to climb and realized this little adventure was far from over. While not as steep as the other side, it was hardly a walk in the park.
I trudged my way to the top and emerged at the back of the building where the Missus worked.
I tracked her down and the look on her face said it all. I looked like I had been run over by a herd of raging wildebeasts with an attitude problem.
To say I look disheveled was to say Elvis had a couple of hits.
I explained what happened to my wife and she looked at me and asked why I didn't just climb through the canopy of our truck and get into the cab through the rear sliding window that didn't latch.
I, um, er, ah...well, you see I um, er, ah...
What else can you say?

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

Remember kids, safety first this Halloween

It's a wonder the human race has made it as long as we have.

What with all the dangerous activities we indulged in during our youth, it is amazing any of us survived.

There are more rules, regulations and safety precautions now than ever before in the history of mankind.

When I was young – which was a long time ago – we only wore helmets when we played hockey. No one had even thought of wearing a helmet when riding a bike, but now they are mandatory.

I am not saying it is a bad thing as helmets do save people from injury, but it is just another sign of how times have changed.

Take Halloween for example. The third coolest day of the year is coming up (Christmas and my birthday are the coolest days) and the list of how to have a safe Halloween is growing ever longer.

Again, I do understand the need for safety, but the list gets more detailed every year and with each item added a little chunk of the carefree fun is taken out.

When I was a kid we wore those smelly, plastic masks that got all sweaty when you breathed to the point you had condensation running down your chin like you were a St. Bernard.

Of course, the eye holes were just big enough to see straight ahead, but not to the sides, top or bottom, perfect for running around the neighbourhood in the dark.

But every store sold them and a lot of kids wore them.

Back in the day, I do not recall officials of any type passing on safety tips about anything other than to let your parents check your goodies before you eat anything in case some lunatic stuck a razor blade in an apple.

I assume that must have happened at some point, or the warning would not have been issued and we were all deathly afraid of apples and homemade treats that could be laced with something nasty.

But we never heard a peep about the masks we wore, our costumes or most of the stuff they worry about these days.

The other day I was emailed a very extensive list of safety procedures everyone should follow this All Hollow's Eve.

People are advised to wear reflective vests and armbands over their costumes.

“Oh look, another vampire construction worker.”

I know, safety first, but some of these rules must have come from desk of Capt. Obvious.

Children should wear a costume that fits properly and be flame resistant.

Really? I was going to send my daughter out in my dark-blue, oil-soaked coveralls, work boots and gloves - with a mask that blocks her vision of course.

Children should not run back and forth across the street.

"But, officer I am going as a jaywalker this Halloween, and you wouldn't want me to break character.”

Never get in a car with a stranger is more of a year-round safety advisory I thought, but it was on the list of what not to do this Halloween.

Parents should be aware of the route their children are taking.

Ya, good luck with that.

Parents should accompany children as they trick or treat.

When I was a little guy, my parental charges would escort our Halloween adventure, but when I neared the double digit years they accompanied me to the front door, said if the police bring home I will be in more trouble with them than the cops and told me to be careful.

These are just a few of the 30 or so Halloween safety tips that I received.

I agree safety is paramount, but let's not stifle our children so much they can not have any fun, or eventually they will all be going dressed as the bubble wrap vampire, the bubble wrap Frankenstein, the bubble wrap...you get the idea.

Copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh

Spiders, spiders everywhere - eeeeek

Just reading the story freaks me out.
There is a family in the U.S. who bought a house that was already occupied.
No, there was not a hillbilly family living under the stairs, it was something much more horrifying – spiders.
Not just a few spiders, not even a few dozen spiders, but thousands of spiders. Thousands of brown recluse spiders - a very poisonous and dangerous spider.
It was estimated there were up to 5,000 of the creepy crawlies living in the walls, cupboards, closets, bathroom and every nook and cranny the house of horrors had.
The owner said the walls were 'bleeding spiders' there were so many of them. They would come out of every opening they could find, they would fall on people in the shower, they would...sorry, I had to stop typing for a second to do the spider dance where you twitch and jerk and brush away imaginary spiders that your mind is convinced are crawling all over you.
Just thinking about that many spiders is enough to give me the heebie jeebies and make me feel like they are crawling down the back of my shirt and...sorry, spider dance again.
The family has moved out and successfully sued the former owner for failing to mention the unwanted guests.
The former home owner immediately filed for bankruptcy, leaving the current owners stuck between a rock and a house full of spiders.
When we first moved to the area, my wife and I rented a home that had more than its fair share of arachnid activity.
Their numbers may not have been in the thousands, but a handful is more than enough to keep you awake at night wondering what is crawling into bed with you.
There was an extremely low vacancy rate at the time and the slumlord, er, I mean home owner knew it, so he had little interest in making improvements to the 1940s abode that had not seen an upgrade in many years, meaning we were left to face the hell-born beasts on our own.
After smashing more spiders than I ever thought possible, I bought a can of bug killer spray and hosed down the entire house. I sprayed every nook, cranny, opening and any area that might possibly harbour one of the messengers of terror.
Once the spraying was done, it was time to get out of there for a little while.
We took the dogs for a walk and when we came back it looked like a horror movie with dead bugs everywhere and...sorry, spider dance again.
We cleaned out their remains, but we knew the spiders were anything but vanquished.
They would be back, oh yes, there would be more.
But by this time we were at peace with the spider realm and shared our home with God's multi-legged creatures, living in harmony and happiness – yea, right.
Nope, we smashed every single one we could. After the chemical attack of doom, there were fewer spiders, but even fewer spiders is still too many spiders.
Zero spiders is the target number of spiders I am willing to share my home with.
We called that house The Addams Family home because it was just as creepy as the home of the TV ghouls who enjoy stuff like that.
We did not enjoy it, but there was really no where else for us to go. At the time, we were so broke a homeless guy gave me 25 cents, and we could not afford to move for several more months.
In all, we lived in the spider nest for 15 months before we had saved up enough to buy a modest town house – a spider-free town house I might add.
I look back on those early years of our marriage with fond memories – except for the spiders of course, that I look back on with terror and...spider dance.

Bugs: the bigger they are the more I hate them

Anyone who has read my ramblings knows I have a slight aversion to spiders.
And by slight, I mean the multi-legged spawn of Lucifer himself scare me stupid.
The technical name for it is arachnophobia, I call it spiders are icky and I don't like them-phobia.
As a full-grow, rather large human being, it does put a dent in my veneer of masculinity to utter a high-pitched, school girl-like scream when a spider actually manages to touch my skin.
God forbid one of the eight-legged monsters should somehow end up in an article of clothing where I could feel it wriggling around – just the thought makes me shudder.
The horror is simply too much to imagine.
But I am proud to report I had a very close encounter with a spider the other day and I did not panic, I did not freak out and I did not squeal like a pig caught in a combine.
Nope I casually looked at my tormentor as it crawled up my arm and calmly brushed it away.
Step aside Chuck Norris, the new icon of macho is here.
OK, that might be getting a little carried away because the spider was just slightly smaller than a kernel of corn.
But hey, it was still a spider and spiders are icky and I did not freak out in the least, so I am claiming that as a victory for the spider wimp crowd, of which I am a chartered member.
But it would seem my wimpy-ness is not reserved just for arachnids.
I was going for a leisurely stroll through the park on my lunch break the other day when something flew into my right ear.
It hit with a thump and had this horrific, deep buzzing sound as it fluttered around my ear region.
I knew it was large and at first I wondered how a bald eagle managed to fly up my ear, but deep down I knew what it was: a big, nasty, ugly, scary bug of some sort.
But I was not panicking, or freaking out. I just casually – some might say frantically, but what do they know – brushed the beast away. However, I missed.
As if terrorizing me with its kamakze assault on my ear canal was not enough, it then dropped straight down – into the collar of my shirt.
OK, now I was panicking. I had a monster bug of some sort trying to get way too friendly with me and I had no idea what kind of bug it was.
There really are only two types of bugs in this world: ones that will hurt you, and ones that won’t.
I did not know which type of bug it was, but I automatically assumed it was the painful type so I went in to full blown panic mode and danced around while frantically pawing at my collar to get rid of the horror movie stand in, all the while waiting for the pain of a bite, pinch, small arms fire or whatever else the beast had in its arsenal.
A split second later, this massive black form took off, the thrum of its eagle-sized wings echoing in my conciousness.
I watched it fly away and I was right, it was big and ugly and nasty, but apparently it was not a biter. Or if was, it took pity on me and flew away without inflicting any pain – any physical pain that is.
The psychological trauma lasted for several minutes as I relived the horror of the attack over and over again.
A cold shiver ran down my back, but at least it was not a warm feeling running down my leg.
So yes, it is more than spiders that make a 250-pound man jump around like he has electrodes attached to his nipples.
It is pretty much any bug that is big, ugly and nasty, and folks, that is a lot of bugs.

Copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh

Terror lurks under the deck

It was not a good job for someone with arachnophobia.
The fear of eight-legged creepy crawlies can be terrifying at worst (and at best actually, because I really do hate spiders.)
Nothing in this world ― not a visit from the inlaws, a trip to the dentist, not even other bugs, scare me as much as a spider.
So with that manhood-shriveling fear in mind, you can understand why I was so reluctant to clean under the back deck of my humble home.
When we moved in to the house, the space under the deck was open and really not good for anything, so I put my vast array of carpentry 'skills' to work and enclosed the area with  two-by-fours and plywood.
The first thing I needed was tools and thanks to a watchful eye, I spotted several much-needed pieces of equipment in local flyers, the discount section of hardware stores and yard sales and soon I had an arsenal of mass construction. 
All of this was purchased with my wife's consent – more or less anyway.
Eventually I had everything I needed from a compound mitre saw (my favourite new tool) to a framing-finishing-gun-air-compressor combo (my second fav tool.)
Feeling like a real carpenter, I even bought one of those little pouch thingies carpenters wear to hold their hammer, nails, pencil, measuring tape, sawdust and what ever else happened to land in all those pockets.
The job didn't take long, and before I could say 'Why won't this stupid board fit, I measured it three times,' the job was done.
I was pleased with my mastery over wood products and the prowess I possessed in building such a fine enclosure.
Three walls, two doors and a window were all done by someone with marginal carpentry experience. 
Next came filling the newly created enclosure with stuff I wanted to store. First were the kid's bikes that could finally be kept under lock and key. After having three bikes 'liberated' from my yard it was becoming rather tiresome, but since I completed the addition to my home not a single bike has wondered off.
As time crept along, more and more items ended up under the deck, some of which had not been moved for years.
But along with the structural addition to my home came another addition: a breeding ground for spiders. At first it was not too bad, but after a few years there were more spider webs in that little space than moustaches in Mexico.
It was also getting full of leaves and dust and clutter, so I decided it was time to charge in and clean it out.
The first task was to move everything out of the area. Actually that was the second task, the first was to get a good pair of leather work gloves so I would not run the risk of my skin coming in contact with an arachnid.
When I moved a box and saw a wolf spider – that was actually larger than a real wolf – scurry away, I knew it was time to call in the heavy artillery: my shop vac.
With the longest tube extensions I possessed, my peak 5.5 horsepower spider killer was ready to go. I would move items with one hand and vacuum with the other. I sucked up roughly 2,347 pounds worth of spider webs, or something in that range anyway.
I also caught up to that wolf spider and I actually heard it make a clunking sound as its enlarged body entered the cold chamber of my shop vac.
I am still shuttering.
It took a while, but a decade of spider build up has been cleaned out. 
I also learned a valuable lesson that day: when doing a job that involves spiders, webs and other forms of ickyness – make my son do it.

copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh