I felt like Harry Hamlin in Clash of the Titans.
The tremendously terrifying scorpion snapped at me. 1-2. Pincer pincer.
Unlike Harry Hamlin, I had not a shining sword to slay the fell beast. Just a long broom to send that sucka on his way. Or her way. I did not get a gander at its egg sacks.
Revisiting my 27 Netflix worthy travel experiences, I want to share the tale of how I evicted a large, impressive-looking scorpion from the house in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
He was cute. Really. Hence I named him Scorp-e. Term of endearment.
I was cool-maxing in damn hot Northern Thailand one fine evening. Netflix marathon viewing session.
I noted movement out of the corner of my eye as I looked slightly askance. Something big. Something hefty. Something with pincers. Something fierce.
The movement occurred on the patio. A good 20 feet from the dwelling.
On approaching the slightly angry arachnid I saw it working the perimeter of the patio area, patiently poring over the pavement and surrounding garden area for prey. I had not seen as big a scorpion in person since we spent a month in Koh Lanta, Thailand a few years prior.
Made sense we’d see him around. Huge cockroaches along with a wide range of potential scorpion breakfast/lunch/dinner subjects (prey, not dinner guests) worked the grounds. Mainly because we lived beside Doi Suthep National Park for this 2 month stretch. Lotta forest. Lotta critters.
This guy looked up at me. Froze. Then he slowly but steadily tried to work his way around me as I stepped left, then right, impeding his progress.
Eventually he gave up. He headed toward the garden. I headed inside. Netlfix beckoned.
Until 5 minutes later when he done went and entered the kitchen.
Far from flying in like a bat out of hell, this aware arachnid cautiously crawled into the house.
I grabbed a broom. Headed toward Scorp-e. Placed the broom in front of the guy, gently nudging him toward the back door.
He didn’t like that.
Scorp-e instantly snapped his pincers in my general direction and curved his tale toward me, readying his stinger for a dangerous dose of venom. I could feel the guy. If Paul Bunyon tried to gently shoe me away with his ax I’m doing my darned-dest to defend myself against this behemoth of a beast. Only he defended himself against a Biddulph of a beast.
He walked left. I stepped left. Like a duo doing the Thailand Tango, I matched his initial movement, blocking his path with the broom.
Each time I gently nudged him, the pincers flew forward along with his stupendous stinger.
This guy meant business.
Maybe not as much as the centipede or bird-eating tarantula I saw in the same house but he was a tough customer nonetheless.
The action picked up as he repeatedly attempted to attack and sting the broom with his claws and stinger, coiling up and striking out with lightning speed, not unlike the spitting cobra I battled in Jimbaran, Bali. The swiftness of his strikes alarmed me. Sans broom, I was a goner.
Eventually he bored of this tiresome game. The scorpion retreated toward the back door, resigned, frustrated, or plain fed up with my farang shenanigans. I seized the opportunity to deftly and gingerly sweep his arachnid ass out of the back door onto the patio.
He got the hint. Because after 2 to 3 casual forays toward the house the scorpion meandered toward the garden. Where plenty of unsuspecting pray made itself readily available.
30 minutes after he migrated garden-side I picked up some mixed vegetable curry takeaway from the delivery man. Sure enough, the scorpion positioned himself in the garden foliage, waiting for an unsuspecting insect to fall prey to its rugged pincers and paralyzing sting.