Unlucky spider

Oh dear. I think I just killed a spider with my face.

Am back at work today, where this time I c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y moved several more piles of library books from the car to my office. The research center is locked tight, so I had to swipe my i.d. card to enter the building each time I entered.

The card reader box rejected my i.d. once, squawking and blinking its red light. So I swiped the i.d. more slowly, and noticed a fat spider sitting just next to the card slot. On second pass, the i.d. worked and the door unlocked.

I ran a quick errand and then hurried back to my building, this time inspecting the outside of the card reader before I got near. Call me prissy, but I didn't want to risk a brush with that spider. Relieved that he had moved on, I confidently swiped my i.d...

...right into the spider, who apparently had taken refuge in the card slot. The spider's crumpled body descended —slowly, dramatically— on a stream of filiment. I stared at him a few seconds, willing his legs to unfurl, hoping he might soon recover and scuttle off.

He didn't.

I looked down at my i.d. card and found traces of the spider on my photograph.