While in grad school in 1978, I moved into an old house and took over utility bills for the summer while the usual renter went home for the summer. He loved it because he didn’t have to have all the connections terminated and have to reconnect them in the fall (back then, it typically took about two weeks at the start of the semester to get a telephone reconnected). Rent was $70 per month. The landlord had grown up in that house in the 1910s and 1920s.
I listened to the Indy 500 on the radio that May. After the race was over, I called up the head of the press box at the local speedway and we talked about the race. When I set the phone back down, I saw baby spiders scattering everywhere. Every time I brushed my hand through my hair that evening, more baby spiders fell out.
I didn’t get them all out until I took a bath (the house didn’t have a shower) and washed my hair.
Especially if they are the appropriately named spider wasp. I’ve seen these guys do their thing, and it’s quite an uneven battle each time. The spiders have no hope.
