Only Two Things Come Out of Backroads: Fears and Peers

Tap tap tap. Is this thing on?

Greetings, jury of my peers. I address you tonight while still reserving the duties of judge and executioner for myself. No need to give up a power position to mere peers, when I can keep it to use for my advantage.

I stand before you to present my case. A case of good intentions that took a twisting turn. Please refrain from passing judgment until you have all the facts. On the surface, this may appear to be a case of dereliction of duty. But I shall show you otherwise. Please excuse me for a moment while I slip on a long white wig. Because I can.

All right. Get your quill pens and your parchment paper ready. I plan to show that the behavior this morning of Val Thevictorian did not violate any statutes regarding the care and instruction of high school students. Her intentions were good. The instinct to protect her charges is strong in this one. Don’t let the fact that Spiderzilla ran unchecked through her classroom sway your opinion on Mrs. Thevictorian’s fitness for teaching. Let’s begin with the pertinent information.

At approximately 10:25 a.m., Mrs. Thevictorian observed an arachnid the size of a 50-cent piece skittering across the floor, between her own desk and the second row of student desks. Mrs. Thevictorian’s first instinct was to KILL.

Having nary a vintage pump sprayer of insecticide, nor a pocketful of lizards, birds, wasps, or scorpions…Mrs. Thevictorian did what any selfless protector of empty vessels yearning to be filled with knowledge would do, and jumped into action. She grabbed a Puffs With Aloe, sprang to her feet, and took three quick strides across the brown speckled industrial tile to stomp the intruder and scoop him up while the students, in the dark, watching an instructional video on volcanism, were unawares. Only to gape in horror as that eight-legged Kennedy-head-coin-sized interloper scampered out from under the sole of her intended instrument of death and scurried right toward the closest student, who was tapping his heels with the excess energy of adolescence. The prey darted under one pistoning heel. Mrs. Thevictorian inhaled the deep beginning of a huge sigh of relief, only to watch her foe shoot back out with not a hair on one of his eight legs harmed.

Mrs. Thevictorian had two choices. She could scream, “SPIDER!” and risk injury of her charges as they leapt from their chairs, perhaps toppling them, ramming their growth plates against the bottoms (heh, heh, I said bottoms) of their desks. Or she could slink back to her desk, Puff still clutched in her hand, so as not to be noticed hovering behind the anticipated spider-squishing pupil in the dark like a stalky creeper. She chose the latter.

Spiders, after all, roam through people-populated areas all the time. It is not their modus operandi to crawl upon a human and sink their fangs into flesh. That is their defense mechanism. Spiders don’t eat humans. Humans eat spiders. At night. As they sleep with their mouths open. So the students should be fine with a spider on the loose. Right? And if it’s spotted, an outcry will arise, and Mrs. Thevictorian will have another chance to be a hero.

No harm. No foul. Everything’s right with the world. Students and spiders may occupy the same space with without issue, because they don’t occupy the same niche. They should be able to peacefully coexist. Right?

Case dismissed. Mrs. Thevictorian is free to leave.

Oh. Excuse me. You’re the jury. Do you need to retire to the conference room to deliberate?