Between A Pipe and A Spider

Do Blonds have more fun? Well . . . that depends. On their occupation. If they happen to work for Orkin Pest Control, probably not.

If you have ever worked for Orkin, you know part of the job involves scuttling under folk's houses in search of . . . BUGS. Now, Orkin provides a brown zoot suit that protects your clothing, while you slither around in the dirt, but they draw the line at providing hats.

If you live in Oregon, you already know most houses don't have basements. They have crawl spaces under the ground floor which serve as basements.

Crawl spaces, which may have started out as much a ONE FOOT HIGH, have pipes. All kinds of pipes: water pipes, gas pipes, stove pipes, bagpipes, and corncob pipes which are wrapped in enough insulation to trap the polar airstream in the Artic Circle and NEVER let it get to Alaska . . . unless it pays a toll fee, of course.

To barricade that much cold air, you need a LOT of insulation. Enough to raise the flooring which is why some people's floors have a ripple effect.

What this means to a pest control person who is crawling on their belly in the dark with only a flashlight to dimly penetrate the black cavern under the house, is that when an insulated pipe crosses your path, you SOMEHOW have to squiggle under it.

OK. So you've got the bug detecting tool which looks like an enormous screwdriver sandwiched between your teeth, a flickering flashlight in one hand, notepad and pen in the other hand, and you try to squirm under this grossly overdressed pipe, by pulling yourself along with your elbows.

Suddenly, you are stuck. Your legs push frantically from behind the pipe. You drop everything, including the flashlight, so your hands can tear the ground apart in front of you. Visions of death by starvation waffle through your mind.

The flashlight's beam flutters on and off, and you just know Orkin's batteries are the discount variety. If they'd used Energizer that little feller who makes batteries work would just keep going, and going, and going . . . .

As the light sputters off, you notice, there to your immediate right, about a spider's leg away, is a DEADLY POISONOUS Black Widow. It's eyes are not only blood red, they are sizing you up as their next Oscar Meyer Wiener.

There are some moments that make no sense. It's like someone cut the movie reel and spliced it back together in the wrong place. One moment you are stuck forever under this fat pipe. The next moment you are free and clear. Your head hits the foot-high ceiling. Your arms and legs gyroscope at a speed exceeding the speed of a blender.

Without conscious thought you are out from under that house faster than an olive can sink to the bottom of a martini glass.

And there stands the owner of the house, posing as a model for the dapper-dresser-of-the-year award. He probably took a shower while you were stuck under his pipes having a meaningful conversation with his house bugs.

"Any carpenter ants?"

"Uh-Huh," you mumble around the spider webs spun between your nose and lower lip.

The man has a keen eye which focuses just over your left eyebrow. "You have crawly things in your hair."

Suddenly, your flesh quivers, you itch uncontrollably, every hair molecule tweaks in a different direction and you can F-E-E-L creeping millipedic arthropods walking along your scalp.

"Wasn't your hair blond when you arrived?" The Neiman Marcus Suit flicks a piece of lint from his lapel. "Sure looks black now."

How do you spell relief? Forget the Rolaids and go straight for the shower. Then, buy a cap. Maybe one with a cute motto printed on it: Bug Lady At Your Service. A sturdy leather cap with a chin strap.

Or better yet, find another job. Maybe as a planer in a sawmill. I'll bet you a doughnut, the wood chips will match your hair color better than Black Widow spiders.
Between A Pipe and A Spider © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan