Ah, Labor Day! That annual holiday celebrating the hard work of so many men and women. And to honor them, we get to sit on our duffs and do absolutely nothing. Like me. Three straight days with nothing planned, prescribed or penciled-in, aside from sitting down with a good book in a comfortable chair and a beer the temperature of an arctic ice flow. Almost too cold … until I remember I live in Florida, and there is no such thing as “too cold!”
So, I just plop down, flip open my page and … huh. That’s interesting. There. See it? Hanging from the ceiling fan. Swinging from some translucent rope. Like Tarzan on a vine. Is that a … SPIDER!!!
Oh, well, I’ll just have to take care of that. I can’t sit here and read a book knowing that’s right there above me. I might try to concentrate. To tune it out. To say things like, “Cold beer makes problems go away.” But I know arachnid Tarzan would still be up there, watching me. Knowing that my ambivalence is a sign of my weakness. And that he can just invite all of his friends over to laugh at me and mock me and build webs that spell, “You look ridiculous in your little L.L. Bean slippers, silly human with only two arms.”
No, this won’t do. I have to take care of it. I’ll get the ladder from the hall closet, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just … hmmm. Um, that’s a little unexpected, isn’t it? You hear that? How the hall closet hinge squeaks like that. Squeals, really. Ear-piercing! That’s new, alright. Can’t have that – ear-piercing squeals. What if it’s in the middle of the night? Go in there to get the card table – because I just have to do a puzzle – and “ERREECKEREEEKEREEEEE!” Hear that? It’s horrible.
OK, I better take care of that. The WD-40 is in the shed. Spider can wait. This will just take a moment. Better get that out first and … Oh Lord! How did this happen!?! An avalanche of pecan shells. Stupid squirrels! How did they even find so many pecans? And why would they store the leftover shells in the rafters of my shed? They don’t live in the shed, and best I can tell, they don’t eat in there. They have a whole yard they could have thrown them in. Did they cart them in here like it’s some kind of squirrel garbage dump!?! My shed is so sad and lowly that while squirrels won’t live in it, they WILL use it to toss all their filth into? Well, I have never been SO insulted in my life! Oh, this just won’t do. Those selfish, un-thoughtful, ungrateful little tree rats!
Now I’ve got to get the broom and the dust pan. All the way in the laundry room. And then I’ll … are you kidding me?!? A pile of termite poop? The size of the Pyramids of Giza!?! Here on my laundry room floor. At least the squirrels had the common decency to go … wait a minute! DO THEY GO TO THE BATHROOM IN MY SHED, TOO!?! Never mind … these hooligan, wood-eating heathens just think they can do their business all about my house. “Say, you know what will be funny? Let’s eat up all this chap’s wood and then relieve ourselves on his laundry room floor. I mean, he’s going to step in it for sure. Won’t that be hysterical? Har-har-har!”
Well, I’ll show them. Got my special termite-killing spray. The kind that if you squirt it with this special straw into a hole full of termites, it will foam up and kill the whole lot of them. Keep them from laughing at me. Only, who has ever got that straw on properly? Or got it lined up with the termite hole? No, it always shoots back out … squirting me in the eye! Remember that? How it burns? How I started seeing spots? Termite-shaped spots?!? And when I read the warnings on the can, It explicitly said: “ABSOLUTELY DO NOT GET IN YOUR EYES!!! IT CAUSES BLINDNESS AND THE TERMITES WILL LAUGH AT YOU.”
Wish I had read that first. Better get the goggles before trying that again. Still don’t have any peripheral vision. Back to the hall closet, past the dangling spider doing his best Tarzan yell, and open the squeaking door, and reach behind all of the things I promised myself I would organize and put away. So many things! Look at them all! Screaming to return to their rightful places. I can’t just ignore them and not …
Which reminds me: I haven’t written my column yet this week. That thing is due! On Labor Day. Shoot! Forgot about all this other stuff. I better get crackin’. Sit down at the computer and come up with something. Labor on Labor Day, I suppose. Isn’t that the way it always is? Always something to do. Calling to us. Demanding our attention. Anyway, there’s always next year. Won’t be anything planned, prescribed or penciled-in. I’m sure of it. My book will collect a little dust, and my beer will be a little warmer, but at least that spider won’t around to watch me. (Unless, of course, he has kin.)