The Spider

Clarence Wendleton began to dismantle his carefully packed lunch piece by piece on the picnic table on the backside of Wilshire Hills’ shopping center. Clarence was slightly perturbed; he was already two minutes behind schedule, having already been held up at the time clock by his repulsively casual co-worker, Richard. His brow was still furrowed from the encounter, and the noon-day sunlight broke at his thick eyebrows as he began his rigorous process of dining.
    There was a stout hoagie wrapped in wax paper, a small can of cocktail fruit with a pull tab, and a plastic tub of fried potato wedges that boasted, “Sealed tight for freshness!” on its lid. He arranged everything at perpendicular right angles on the tabletop, upset by the fact that the worn wood was uneven and splintered in some spots. He began unrolling his sandwich after being satisfied that everything was in order.
    As he unfolded the wax paper, a small brown spider the size of a dime crawled out from between the layers of meat and cheese. It stopped a few inches from Clarence’s pudgy fingers, and seemed to stare up at him with some sinister hidden agenda.
    It took Clarence a moment to digest the sight of the tiny intruder, but his bewilderment quickly turned to shock and disgust as the spider began waving its legs in the air at him.
    It seemed to be mocking him.
    Clarence checked his watch. It was 12:06, with only twenty-four minutes left on his lunch break. He surveyed his food spread, enemy territory now held by this miniature monster, and helplessly looked back at his watch as the 6 changed to 7. There was a rising imperative churning its way up in Clarence’s mind. He tried to rationalize that he could still eat the fruit and potatoes, but remembering the meticulous time and effort he’d put into preparing the hoagie only served to further his resentment of this horrible little creature.
    The spider scuttled across the wax paper towards the small can of fruit cocktail, as if reading Clarence’s thoughts. His heart caught in his throat, and he slammed his hand down to try and squash this hanger-on. He winced at impact, and slowly lifted his hand to inspect the wreckage, but only became more enraged at the sight of the dull wood underneath his palm. Frightened that the creature had escaped into a crevice of his side dishes, Clarence hurried to open his peppered cubes of fried spuds. They were clear of the enemy combatant, and he quickly lifted the can of fruit and plastic tub, searching the vacant table in vain.
    He sat them both down slowly, and turned again to the hoagie, peeling its layers apart for inspection. He sat back, and began to wonder if perhaps he hadn’t imagined the tiny nuisance altogether, when he felt a tickling on the back of his hand. The spider sat half on the table, with its two most forward legs testing the skin of Clarence’s left hand as a child dips a toe into unsure waters. He wheezed and jerked his hand back, blowing the spider into the splayed out contents of his dissected hoagie, where it burrowed and hid amongst thinly sliced turkey, cuts of roast beef, two layers of cheddar and pepper jack cheese, and pleated romaine lettuce leaves.
    Clarence began to sweat, and checked his watch again. 12:14 now. He pursed his lips and began to tear at the pieces, relinquishing the idea that the sandwich was in any way salvageable. Into the nearby trashcan he tossed first the toasted bun, then each slimy layer of meat and pungent cheese, until all that remained was the creased wax paper and a few rudimentary crumbs.
    Clarence was panting, and undid the top button of his collar. He leaned back on the bench seat, feeling as though the day was slipping away from him. His stomach grumbled in protest, and he groped absently for the potato tub in surrender. His eyes darted over the surface of the table as he took a silver fork from his lunch sack, but upon seeing nothing, he stabbed a few small cubes and took a bite.
    He chewed slowly. His paranoia had begun to settle as the greasy potatoes were turned to spiced mush in his mouth. He poked for another bite, but when he moved aside a rather large spud, the spider crested the hill of fried squares and looked up at him.
    Clarence spat out his food and threw the plastic tub back down onto the table, standing up and catching his legs on the teetering bench beneath him. He was knocked sprawling to the ground. He lay there dazed for a moment, but his commitment to routine directed him to again check the time, with his watch now reading 12:21.
    Invigorated with a newfound urgency, Clarence stood up, his face now a tightened mask of resolve.
    The spider stood its ground, glaring at him unhidden on the surface of the table. Clarence reached for the tin can of fruit carefully, and once in hi grasp he brought it down in one swift motion onto the brown demon with all the force he had. On impact, the can dented and burst, and Clarence was covered in a sweet, thick syrup. He was panting as he slowly lifted the can.
    Under the pulp of smashed fruit, two wriggling legs lay submerged in the mess. The rest of the spider was absent to his eyes at first, until he saw the crippled arachnid trying to scurry away at the end of the table. He lunged, and smashed the can so hard against the wood that the last board of the tabletop cracked and then split. The front of his shirt was now covered in yellowed patches of fruit juice, but he paid no mind as he again checked for a kill. He chuckled at the oozing guts of his afternoon tormentor now embedded into the table, and felt relief at last.
    He threw away his ruined lunch, and after wiping his face and shirt with a linen napkin he checked his watch and started to walk back to work. It was 12:29, and Clarence was right on time.