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I'm a private breeder. I breed an array of animals from amphibians and reptiles to arachnids. A while back, I decided to get a few arachnid specimens that could easily be sold through various sources on the Internet.

After two days of patiently waiting for my tarantulas to arrive, I found that the boxes had been knocked around and bruised, like they were sent to a war zone and used for target practice. Of course, my first reaction was to tear down the boxes and make sure my spiders were okay. I found all but one nestled inside their containers.

Twenty minutes went by as I looked for the missing spider, not noticing that the missing spider wasn't missing after all. Completely distraught about the tribulation, I decided to go to the Post Office and complain about the service I had received. The overwhelming need to settle my predicament compelled me to bypass the long line and walk straight to the counter demanding to speak to the Postmaster about my ordeal.

When the lady came to the counter, I began to calm my nerves, but something was wrong. I could see it in the lady's eyes.

WHAM!

I felt something hard slam into my back. To my surprise, it was a heavy book and the tarantula that I had been looking for was now squashed. All I could do was shake my head as the folks standing in line looked horrified by what took place. I could only guess that somewhere deep down inside they subconsciously thought I deserved what happen. I not only cut the line, but I was a fuming mess.

The final lesson learned was that my pride could sink lower than the lifeless spider that smacked against the floor. What a day!