On Traveleling Zoos 3: Pythons in Satchels

My first real show was a birthday party held at a community center out in the suburbs, for children ages 1-1/2 to 4. I say this as if I had some sort of ‘practice’ show- no such luck. This was two days after meeting the animals. For the show, we brought an assortment of reptiles, including some of the smaller constrictors, a three-foot iguana, both alligators, and a turtle or two. The Asian girl-who’s name I don’t remember, but whom we will call Cyndi, as she needs a name at this point- was going to introduce all of the animals. My job was to take it after the introduction and walk along the semicircle of giddy preschoolers, and let them pet the animals. Did you get that? LET THEM PET THE ANIMALS. Me. Holding them. I guess iguanas, like most reptiles, are fairly predictable, but still, I can’t say I knew that then. I only knew the thing had inch long claws, and preschoolers are pretty soft. I guess it went OK for the first few times. I was then supposed to put away the animals while Cyndi introduced the next one. It was all going off with out a hitch, and Cyndi must have felt safe enough to start to introduce some of the more unpredictable ones, the ones I wasn’t allowed to handle yet. For this part, she would do all the work: introduction, petting, putting them away.

All I had to do was sit with all the rest of the animals and make sure they didn’t get into any mischief while the rest of the show went on.

You need to know first that snakes are kept in old potato sacks, the sort that hobo’s of the Mark Twain era were reputed to wear. The darkness and the restriction of space are supposed to subdue them. They have a pull tie at the top, like a satchel or a hoodie sweatshirt. I was supposed to knot it closed, but at this point in my life I hadn’t owned a satchel yet, nor a snake, and there really isn’t a need to tighten your hoodie so that your face is hermetically sealed from the rest of the world, except during really cold winters. I just didn’t think about it. I also just thought the weave of the cloth was pretty stiff, and that was why it was sitting rather upright. I did notice that I hadn’t pulled the tie quite tight enough and I grabbed the top of the sack at precisely the same moment that Cyndi cued me to grab the alligator from her, mid-show.

“And so, kids, we are really exited to show you all some other animals.” Said she, as I failed to show up.

The snake in the sack had, unbeknownst to me, apparently seen the Light at the End of the Satchel, and started to eek its way out. It had nearly reached the top when I grabbed the satchel, expecting to feel only slack burlap fabric. It surprised both of us, I think. He was smelling freedom, I job security, and it was alarming to have this yanked so cleanly from underneath the both of us, a result of a simple misunderstanding. I found myself gripping him just below his head in a strangle-hold. He found himself immobilized by an unseen deity, shaming him for wanting independence. I, not expecting to feel a rod of organic snake underneath the burlap, barely managing to not shriek like a demure-looking Asian girl and wet my pants. He choose to freak out entirely, wriggling and convulsing, defiant in the face of a vindictive God.

“Are you guys exited to see the Iguanas?!?” Cyndi was saying.

“YES!”, they squealed.

“You sure can, as soon as we move the alligator off stage.”

She cleared her throat, again.

His head wasn’t quite out of the bag, so the audience couldn’t see it. Nor could Cyndi. The snake was wriggling like a man confronted with immediate existential uncertainty, made all the more fluid by his extra burlap skin. I must have telepathically communicated the gravity of the situation, because she started to box the ‘gator, while the snake I and excused ourselves to the bathroom, satchel and all. I eventually had to lay the bag on the floor, release the anxious snake from my grip, and quickly pull the bag from the back around his head, before he had time to figure out that this was his last bid for freedom. I felt anxious for myself and a little sad for him. I was having waking nightmares about the fabled snake from the New York City sewers coming through the drainpipe up the unsuspecting businessman’s ass, should he escape down the toilet, and it being traced back to me. I also felt a little shame for not letting him realize his dreams, should this be what he aspired to do. It didn’t happen- but it could have.