Scorpions

I never really considered myself a scaredy cat.

Sure, from time to time loud bursts of thunder make me jump. Fine, I occasionally have nightmares about clowns that turn people into cotton candy and suck their blood. And I still think Ernest Scared Stupid was the scariest movie I’ve ever seen... aside from The Ring.

My point is I don’t get frightened driving through the woods in the middle of the night; snakes and small animals don’t scare me; I don’t think there are monsters living in the closet everyone refuses to open. I’ve even overcome my fear of spiders and peacefully co-habitate with giant hairy arachnoids.


But this weekend I discovered scorpions.


The first one we saw was at night, and it looked like a black lobster crossing the dirt path. “Is... is that a scorpion?” I asked Monica, a Texan, as we drove past.

“Sure was,” she replied coolly. She’s seen her share of scorpions and, as she quickly reminded me, the bigger the better.

Still, my blood ran cold.


Later, as I plugged away on my keyboard, I heard shouting from the downstairs bathroom where Monica was emerging from the shower. “Goddam scorpion buried itself in my skirt while I was in the shower for five freakin’ minutes, lil [expletive], [expletive], [expletives].” (Apparently she likes scorpions less when they’re in her clothes instead of on the road.)

While this one was small and red and thus more dangerous, it didn’t bother me, as I didn’t see it. “It’s only a scorpion,” I hollered down. “Get used to ‘em, I guess.” But don’t expect me to use that bathroom ever again.


In the morning I noticed a flattened black shell of a scorpion buried in my tire tracks. Monica told me she saw a small one cross the road. “The rains bring ‘em out,” the locals told us. Great.


Then Saturday night we went to the most innocent of events: a child’s play at the Visitors’ Center. Obviously something of this nature puts you in a cute and cuddly mood, and you naturally feel happier about everything. Until you go to the parking lot, climb onto your bike, and notice a giant lobster with a spiked tail staring at you. Scorpions are NOT cute and cuddly, nor anything to be happy about.

Fight or flight, right? Well I scrambled awkwardly to get into gear, pressing the wrong pedals until I jerked the bike forward and far away. I was silent; no words within me could alert the group of people coming to the parking lot about the giant beast that awaits, ready to induce pain with its miserable stinger. The children—for the Love of God—I failed to warn the children!

But I realized as soon as I regained my voice that I am afraid of scorpions, and if tested in a crisis situation, I would surely fail.