Nina In New York: There's Probably Really A Snake In My Boot
A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.
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By Nina Pajak
There are certain inalienable truths in this world, under whose tenets I have operated my whole life.
1. Beer before liquor, never sicker.
2. Don't touch your face, it'll make you break out.
3. Living in New York City means not having to worry about natural disasters like earthquakes (usually), tornadoes (mostly), scorpions (definitely), and snakes.
4. Two cookies at a time is an iron-clad serving size that no mere mortal may override.
Sure, we have rats and spiders and cockroaches for days, and crazy people who might spit on you and public defecation and bed bugs and sky high rents and pigeons and all manner of nasty blights, but short of escaped pets who took a wrong turn at the toilet bowl, we're not too big on reptiles. Or so I thought.
Earlier this week, a snake that many rude, unsympathetic people have callously and offhandedly described as "just a harmless, little one" decided to slither into our place and hang out in the basement. I don't know if it heard that I've been on a Gilmore Girls binge lately or if it just really likes the smell of old tax returns and gift wrap supplies, or if maybe it got the memo that Halloween is coming up and it's time to scare the living crap out of an unsuspecting citizen. But there it was. And I promise you, there is no such thing as a "little" snake when it's in your house.
Obviously, it's time to move. If anyone knows of a decently sized two bedroom in a family-friendly neighborhood under an impenetrable dome which has been swept of snakes and other shocking intruders, please email me.
In the spirit of honesty, I wasn't in the house either. Thank God. Someone else was, and she texted me a photo and then called to swear a blue streak and yell at me for not being home and cry a little, and then we both decided she should somehow dash outside to call in some help from a construction crew working nearby without ever losing sight of our cold-blooded intruder. She succeeded, and two out of three of the guys willingly entered our apartment, where they did battle with the snake for an excruciating number of minutes. In the end, man remained at the top of the food chain and this poor, serpentine soul is in snake heaven now, if such a thing exists (and it isn't totally antithetical to their long-maligned existence).
If this upsets you, I'm sorry. I really am. I do feel a little badly, in a way I wasn't expecting and have never felt before with other pest run-ins. I keep imagining the snake as an ancillary sidekick-type character in a Disney movie, cracking wise and sneaking through holes in walls to eavesdrop and keep the hero abreast of important, plot-driving details. What if it was on its way to finding its long lost parents from whom it was separated when emigrating from Russia to America? Or what if its best friend was a friendly, germaphobic rat, and they were on an adventure across New York to eat at every Zagat-starred vegetarian restaurant (dumpster)? These thoughts are plaguing me, and I fret that I will never find peace until I've reconciled my true detestation for vermin with the confusing, emotionally-wrenching anthropomorphizing with which the Disney corporation has filled my head.
Then again, in most of those movies the snake is some hideously nightmarish incarnation of a psychotic, magical villain, or it's a simpering lackey to an evil overlord. And furthermore, uuuugh. And eeeew. And eek! And bleah! Listen, I'm an animal lover. But I'm also a bug/rodent/creepazoid hater, and I feel strongly that if an icky-crawly of any kind invades my space, it must be destroyed. I think this is more than fair. Likewise, if I were out camping and a snake crawled into my tent or cabin or whatever campers sleep in, I would think, "well, I'm in snake territory and have no right to expect anything less, so let's respectfully get the eff out of here, whose stupid idea was it to go camping in the first place?" But this is New York City! What in God's name is a snake doing here at all, let alone in my home? Since when do they break and enter? Since when do they appear anywhere in urban environments other than within horrifying children's books and Samuel L. Jackson movies? Whatever pact we had with them has been trampled, I'm sure of it. It's all so, so wrong. How can I ever trust any law of nature again? If snakes are skulking around Queens all of a sudden, all bets are off.
What's next? Sandstorms? Pythons? Brown recluse spiders? Dingoes? Flying monkeys? Volcanoes? Mole people? L. Ron Hubbard being proven right? I honestly don't know anymore. I guess I might as well go for that third cookie.
Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!
