category archive: fiction

Well. I finally got together with Kurt Bill, from Mind Grapes Recruiting. He’s not based in the Twin Cities, so I figured we’d work through email and phone conversations to get things started, but he insisted that we had to meet in person to kick things off. Then he seemed to have problems getting travel plans and expenses approved by his uncle, Winston J. Thorpleton III.

In the meantime, I kept asking for resumes and information on prospective guest bloggers, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said they were working hard on setting up their franchise process and I’d “just have to be patient.” And while I was impatient on behalf of my legions of faithful readers, the delay has been okay because I’m busy with a new job and summertime stuff.

And then Kurt called me right in the middle of my vacation this week and said he was in town and we had to meet ASAP. Like, right now! So I interrupted my long-planned project of building new …

At last, some news on the guest blogger front!

It’s been a month since we lost Fritzi, and I want to apologize for being slow to start the search for the next guy. (Or “gal,” of course, but I think we can agree that guy is inclusive of anyone and anything, right?) Life has been intervening, as usual, and there was a certain amount of fatigue from the whirlwind tenure of Fritzi.

I haven’t been looking forward to all the interviewing and evaluating and decision-making. Having a guest blogger was supposed to make things easier. I want to sit back and let them do the work. The hiring process is just more work for me and tedious work at that. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork around here for acquiring headcount.

But! I’m committed to delivering you quality programming. For free! So I’m back on the job.

I decided against going the advertising route this time. Instead, I’ve retained the services of Mind Grapes Recruiting. (Although don’t let me fool you …

Well.

I hoped to hear from Fritzi by now, but she appears to have dropped out for good. No new posts, as you can see. No tweets since yesterday. She hasn’t answered my emails. (Not that she was very good about that after getting her author access.)

Let’s hope she’s okay. We don’t know that Hildi has anything bad in mind for her, although the woman seemed just a bit unhinged. And let’s also keep the other spiders in our thoughts. That Nolan guy is probably well over the edge and bent on mass spider murder, now.

Despite her deception in securing the guest blogging spot, I appreciated Fritzi’s contributions. She did the job I “hired” her for, which was to post more frequently and liven the place up. She had a “quest for freedom” that I could relate to. I think some of my regular readers enjoyed her tale also.

Great job, Fritzi. You’re welcome to come back anytime, if you can extract yourself from your current predicament, and have anything more …

The man and woman walked into the kitchen, and the woman immediately came over to the jar. “There you are! How are you doing, little earth mother?”

The man rolled his eyes. He said he would be right back, and went upstairs.

I thought: I’m in prison, you daffy broad. You put me here.

I still didn’t trust her. Lots of happy-happy earth-friendly talk, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find she had plans for mounting me in a display case on her wall. She leaned on the counter and was about to say something, but then the man returned with his laptop.

“I have something to show you,” he said, setting the laptop down on the counter.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I found this interesting web site last night.”

“Okay…” the woman said. She seemed wary.

“Now, I just want you to know that I was okay with keeping this spider around,” he said. “Not thrilled, but I was willing to try it, for you.”

“But…?” she said.

“Well, just see what I found. I really like you, Hildi. I don’t …

The man came downstairs, all cheerful and singing “Whistle Stop.”

“Hi, Spider!” he said to me. It was really too much. (I think the cat agreed, but for different reasons.) “Guess what? Hildi called.”

Hildi?

“She’s coming over right now!”

Apparently the woman’s name was Hildi. What kind of human has a name like “Hildi?” I wondered why he was being so chatty. Were we suddenly best buddies? Was he trying to get on my good side to win favor with the woman?

After feeding the cat, he went to make tea!

(Finally!)

He filled the kettle with water and put it on one of my rigged front burners. I almost did a jitterbug, thinking about all the dried up beetle parts and sawdust waiting to combust.

With his hand on the igniter, he took a step back, and appeared to be leaning away. What was this? But still, he turned the knob!

There was the tick, tick, ticking… and — a flash of flame! But that was all, and now the burner was running normally. The man …

Nothing major to report and I’m still trying to conserve battery life, but I had to vent some frustration.

After the man and the cat went to bed, the other spiders started coming by the jar. At first I was excited about the prospect of getting help, but they only wanted to enjoy a little schadenfreude and tsk-tsking. They seemed satisfied that the situation had “resolved itself.”

They didn’t want to hear my plans for getting me out of the jar. They definitely didn’t want to hear how they could help with those plans. No one would go outside and find the house number and street name so I could call outsiders in to help.

This is upsetting. I’m a part of this community. Maybe not the most popular member at the moment, but still. I would do anything to help a fellow spider sister or brother in need. I have been doing everything in my power to help them get rid of the man. But they’re too cautious and small-minded to appreciate …

There was quite an uproar in the shelter after the woman said she liked spiders. I argued that she would stop him from waging all out chemical and conventional warfare on us. Boris said I was a fool, that the man would surely dump her.

He also pointed out that it was clear the man hadn’t forgotten about the “spider problem,” which caused several people to nod in agreement and scowl at me.

Someone called out, “Let’s throw Webber out of here right now!” Yikes. You don’t want to run into an angry spider mob. That’s the worst kind of mob. I also heard: “Who knows what else she’ll do? She’ll get us all killed!”

No, no, no! I was trying to save them, the ingrates. I thought of the stove, still waiting with its incendiary payload, and wondered if and when I should warn them about staying clear. Not quite yet.

But what if the woman did prevail on the man to leave us alone? What luck to find such an ally. She …

Oh my goddess! The man brought his date back here last night!

They watched movies. They writhed around on the couch, which the cat observed with obvious distaste. (Especially when the woman sneezed a couple of times, mentioning cat allergies. Oh, the cat did not like that.) Then they went up to the man’s bedroom.

She’s still here this morning. The entire community is atwitter about it. He never has guests. What did this mean, we wondered. Would the woman come to live here? Would she be prejudiced against the arachnid community like him?

Boris said female humans are much worse when it comes to speciesist attitudes. Especially against us. What if the man told her about the incidents of the past few days? She might want to deploy pesticides against us, Boris said. He made a point of looking my way, as the source of the incidents and the danger to the community.

I felt some urgency in seeing my latest plan succeed, knowing that no one else would act, and realizing that …

The man is home from work, but my plan has been foiled (temporarily!) by an unexpected event. The man is a creature of habit. I was counting on him to reliably follow his normal routine. On Fridays, he always has tea after work. He likes to make it in a kettle on the stove.

Do you remember those old PSAs with the cartoon barbecue grill named Fiery Fred? Fred would appear to be sleeping peacefully while unsuspecting spiders crawled on him, but then he would wake up and flames would shoot out of his “mouth.” The announcer would say in a deep voice, “Be careful, kids. Gas grills might look like fun places to play, but remember Fiery Fred. You never know when he will wake up!”

And of course the news always has stories about idiots moving into a grill’s venturi tubes, thinking they will be safe there, away from the mouth part. Sometimes they cause a fire, with occasional spider fatalities. It’s sad, tragic, and unnecessary, …

The man came home very late last night, empty-handed.

The cat was going nuts. It was long past dinner time. The man apologized, saying he had been out to happy hour. He claimed to have called to explain, but that the cat hadn’t answered. (I don’t remember the phone ringing at all.)

He was acting peculiar. Was he “drunk?” Maybe more like: giddy?

The man is almost never late, and as far as I know, he never goes to happy hour. An unexpected turn, but it seemed a good thing for me. Even Boris acknowledged that this was a positive sign. He said that people usually don’t hold grudges for long against spiders. But then he added that spiders usually don’t go to such lengths to “freak out the homeowner.”

He further observed that, maybe, if the man didn’t see any evidence of spiders for a few days or weeks, maybe we’d escape from pogromatic activity. The others all sighed with relief, as if suddenly Boris was a respected village elder and the source …