Arachnophobia

Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
"Hey, look!" My coworker finally gets my attention. I trail off in the middle of explaining that no, I can't help him; he's got entirely the wrong company to help him, why the hell was he calling me?
Spider.
Small, black, probably harmless, size of a thumbnail.
Everything freezes. Can't hear anything.
Calm. Calm.
Pick up large flat plastic pattern-piece.
Slow, still.
Thwack!
Crumpled up, broken, tiny.
Thwack-thwack!
Dead, crushed.
Sound returns.
Can't focus.
More of them?
No. Probably not.
I don't care about your problem, there's a spider.
Don't say that out loud.
Finish explaining who to call.
Under my chair, no, under the desk, no, behind the computer, no, no, no.
He's gone, type something basic, don't care, going to lunch half-an-hour early, need to calm my nerves. Don't even care.
Spider.
Fuck.
So, hey, I'm a bit of an arachnophobe.
Yep.