You know, I'm pretty respectful of other people's phobias. If someone is terrified of dogs, I'll keep mine away from them. I won't question your fear of heights or your inability to be in public. There's no logic behind phobias, and I realize that, just as I recognize that nothing I say or do will change your mind.
So, I was in class today, dutifully taking notes, when a spider the size of, oh, say, a small house begins the perilous ascent from underneath my desk to on top of my desk. It was like a horror movie -- the only thing I saw were three legs suddenly clamped on the top of my desk, terrifyingly close to my travel coffee mug, as the anxious music climaxed and I was screaming and jumping away from my desk. After a few seconds of realizing that I had just interrupted a 40-person classroom and was now cowering behind the hoodie I had clutched in my hands, I glanced at the 80 eyes staring at me in bewilderment. I pointed and said, shakily, lamely, "There's....a spider."
I swear, there was a collective eyeroll. I was near tears and hyperventilating at the thought of exactly how long the spider had been crawling over me and my stuff and the grad student teacher was just like, "Uh..." I just stood there like an idiot, unable to explain exactly why I was unable to move until I knew the exact location of the spider (which had since disappeared) when one of the girls sitting next to me calmly flicked it onto the floor with a pen and stepped on it. Still fighting back tears, I apologized and sat back down as far away from spider territory as possible and shook uncontrollably until class ended.
I need to get a bracelet, like for people who are diabetic or allergic to penicillin: "Arachnophobic. Please excuse in case of eight-legged emergency."