Faucets, Crawlspaces, and Spiders

Thanksgiving day started with me in the shower getting the previous day’s filth off of me. God knows how gross you can get sitting on the couch watching hours of Netflix. My goal for the day was to vacuum this pigsty I call home and do some food prep for the big turkey day, but, as with all my big plans, the allure of endless browsing for films I’ll never watch in my instant queue, wins out over tedious home cleaning and general grown up responsibilities.

Anyway, my shower is done and yet I can still hear that distinct hiss coming from under the house that indicates the water is still running somewhere. Probably the faucet out back. I head out to the garage to go out the back door of the house. I throw open that door and it’s an icy blast of winter “fuck you” that makes you want to curl up and cry for momma. It’s like 20 degrees, just in my garage! Dammit, this could only mean the freezing weather broke my faucet again. Might’ve been my fault, I forgot to take the hose off. Argh!


This means I’ll have to crawl under the house. Through this nasty little entrance…


I really don’t want to do that! It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s fucking dark. So, naturally I do the only thing a man in my situation can do…I blew it off. I spent the rest of that day baking and roasting and boiling and reducing and whipping all the various food stuffs that were needed for my Thanksgiving extravaganza.


Four days later I feel I’ve built up my man powers and decide to tackle this inglorious task. I grab my head lamp, previously scene on my Epic Ride, and a pair of garden gloves. The crawl space entrance covered in wet leaves and doesn’t look like fun at all. I dive in. It’s not so bad. The space is dark, bone dry, and quite warm, with only a few insignificant cobwebs hanging down. Not enough to trigger the fight or flight, or in my case, PANIC instinct. I crawl on my hands and knees under the main drainage pipe to where the faucet pipe is. My dog has now decided to join me down here. He’s running around as if he’s done it for years, the show off! I find my pipe and pull out my tape measure. I scoot along on my back and reach in there to measure the faucet segment when BAM! I giant shiny bulbous black widow leaps out of the shadows of the pipes. I swear the thing was hissing at me. It was the size of a goddamned black olive. I pretty much pissed myself! Fuck that noise, I’m outta here. So here I sit on my couch, man powers stripped from my being. I wonder what’s on Netflix…?

A view in the crawl space from a few years ago.

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About heartajack

I'm a graphic designer and occasional filmmaker that recently discovered the awesomeness that is the Can-Am Spyder Roadster. In recent years I've become obsessed with food and learning how to prepare it. I make the best damn ribs...EVER.
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