Disclaimer: The following story is true. Although some of it seems exaggerated, it’s the way I care to remember the events unfolding…okay!!???

This story takes place in my apartment in Sydney, Australia, while I was on tour with Cirque du Soleil, and it goes something like this…

I suddenly don’t think I like Australia very much, having just been introduced to one of it’s natural phenomenons, the ‘Huntsman Spider’, which somehow managed to scale the outside of the building to my balcony, on the 17^th floor.

I first encountered this oversized ‘infant’ arachnid when I opened the drapes. There it was, slumbering at my eye level on the other side of the balcony’s sliding glass door. It wasn’t a pretty sight. It had more hair on its legs than I do, and its underside resembled a jar of squished arseholes, with a face that only a mother spider could love. 

I was totally befuddled about how to deal with this 8-legged trespasser, so I reluctantly tapped on the glass door with an 11 foot pole…because, heaven knows, I wouldn’t touch that evil looking thing with a 10 foot pole! 

Seven of the Huntsman’s eight bloodshot eyes opened slowly and glanced towards me. I couldn’t help but wonder if he lost that one closed eye in a barfight. He took a deep, satisfying drag off his cigarette and with the putrid second-hand smoke drifting out from behind his crooked, decaying fangs, he blatantly snuffed the butt out on the glass with his left side second-from-the-back foot. Sneering at me, he spit and nonchalantly told me to “fack off!”. Yes, he had an Aussie accent. 

I gulped nervously and dialed 000, Australia’s ‘911’ emergency services number. They said they were too scared to respond, so I ventured downstairs to the lobby of the apartment building and recruited the building’s concierge. I told him that there’s a viscous looking spider that’s the size of a small dog loitering on my patio door. 

The concierge instantly sprang into action, casting aside his unsolved Rubiks Cube and radioing for backup as we hurried towards the elevator. Our ascension to the 17th floor, though, seemed to take forever. Even though our hearts were racing, we were almost lulled to sleep by the elevator’s recorded female catatonic voice, “The elevator doors are closing”….”The elevator is going up”…”17^th floor”…”The doors are opening…”. 

Finally arriving at my apartment, I pretended to be brave and crept in first, leading the front desk’s one-man SWAT team towards the pestiferous spider on the glass door. At first peek, the concierge leapt back in horror, “Crikey! That’s the biggest, ugliest spider I’ve ever seen!” 

“That’s your reflection.”, I said. I feebly pointed towards the other glass door and whispered, “…He’s over there.” 

When he saw the spider, the relieved concierge nervously laughed out loud and cried. “Oh, that’s just a little one.”, he said. “It’s a baby Huntsman!”. 

“Wh-wh-what???”, I blubbered, “This ‘baby’ already has an 8″ leg span!” With that inseam, he could probably wear my pants by the time he’s 5!” 

“Naahhh! No worries, mate, he won’t kill ya. These guys don’t have any venom. If they bite ya, sure, it’ll hurt for a while, but ya won’t die. You still gotta be careful though, ‘cause these guys can really jump!” 

My face froze with a look of stunned horror. The concierge attempted to console me, adding, “Well, they don’t jump far!” 

“OK, thank-you, ‘Spider Dundee’ “, I thought, “I feel much safer now!”… wondering again why this species is called a Hunts-“Man”.

Then the concierge whips out his phone while gleefully telling me, “I’ll show you a spider that’ll kill ya, mate!”. 

He rapidly scrolls through countless mugshots of a spider version of ‘America’s Most Wanted’ and stops at a close-up photo of a smaller, ugly black spider that appears to be biting a pencil in half. 

“Now, if this guy bites ya, you’ve only got about 40 minutes to get to a hospital. Or you die.” 

Just then, our ‘backup’ arrived, urgently entering the apartment before he even finished knocking on the door. It was the building maintenance man wearing goggles and a respirator and armed with an oversized can of bug spray. The spray can had a cartoon sized cone-shaped nozzle resembling something that you’d put on a Chihuahua’s neck to keep it from licking its stitches. Obviously, they’ve dealt with a ‘baby’ Huntsman before. 

Hoping to stay out of its jumping range, Rambo stealthily approached Charles Manson the Spider, and at two arms lengths away let him have it with a full nozzle spray, engulfing the spider in a grayish-yellow fog. The baby Huntsman responded with a phlegmy cough, then muttered, “C’mon, ya Sheila, is that all ya got?” 

Possessed by the ‘thrill of the kill’, the maintenance man once again pulled the trigger, spraying intensely as he cautiously moved in on the stunned and crippled arachnid. He held his fire momentarily, then leaned in closer and grumbled, “Are ya feelin’ lucky? Punk!” His respirator made his voice sound like Darth Vader on helium. 

The Huntsman irreverently ‘flipped him the bird’ with 3 of his gnarly hands. So, Rambo doused him some more. 

The spider leapt off the glass door and made a break for it. His baby Huntsman feet sounded like tap shoes on the tile floor. He upended the sofa and tripped over the coffee table before finding himself trapped in a corner with one foot caught inside the wastepaper basket. It took the full can of bug spray, but the Huntsman spider finally succumbed, pathetically wheezing his faint and final plea…” Heeeelllp meeeeeeee…”. 

The coroner took the body away and now I’m safe once again, or so they try to reassure me. But tonight, I’ll be sleeping with one eye open and all the windows closed…with a cricket bat beside my bed. Welcome to Australia, mate. G’day!