In all fairness, the lighting of the fire came after the man sprayed the spider. The light bulb in the room blew out, inspiring him to light a match (and ensure the deadness of the arachnid)—and then blow himself up. He wasn’t blown to pieces, thankfully; just to the point where he suffered severe burns.
The scary thing is, this could easily be me. For one thing, we’re almost the same age, so that’s hugely coincidental, right? Seriously, though, I’ve sprayed spiders with aerosol cans before—usually air freshener, but pretty much anything—cleaner, whatever—I have on hand will do. I’ve sprayed plenty of other creepy crawlers, too—my madness is not limited to spiders. Believe me, I know it’s stupid, but when you have the big recluses and wolf spiders we have in our area, you don’t even want to touch them with an extended object! (Then again, it could simply be sheer laziness.) I’d like to think that I wouldn’t light a match after ward, though I wouldn’t be sure until the light bulb blew out above me.
(Knowing me, I’d run to another room, speculate on the spider’s demise, and then just be scared he survived for a week every time I enter the room…)
I remember when my daughter first came home from the hospital and in a fit of primitive, motherly rage, I savagely murdered a spider that dared to enter her nursery. My mother was horrified to see me in a cave woman stance, pounding the thing to death over and over again, screaming in outrage at the thoroughly dead splat.
And to think, I used to collect spiders! As a kid, I’d keep them in Pringles jars, releasing them in our yard when I came home. I even dangerously had a “pet” black widow who lived on our shed. And today, now that my child is older (and has a love of spiders herself), I find myself more laid back, even preserving the small spiders in our kitchen window to converse with them rather than kill them.
It just goes to show what happens when fear motivates people.