You know that movie Snakes on a Plane? Basically, that’s my family’s life.This morning while I was skyping with my parents, they told me this story. Yesterday, they were pulling into the driveway of our house in the family mini-van, that American classic, and as they pressed the garage door opener, they realized there was a four foot black snack curled up in front of the door.
My mother first tried to close the door again, but before she could, the snake slithered into the garage. They got out of the car and started to panic. Our house, you see, is being painted because it’s on the market. The door from the garage to the house was open to let the fumes air out. And the snake was headed for the house we’re showing on a daily basis. Can you imagine a realtor walking buyers through the house and trying to downplay the possibility of a huge snake lurking under the furniture, waiting to pop out at any moment? “You know, it’s really a great space… ignore that hissing sound…”
So my father tried his hand at snake herding instead of just killing the thing. I don’t know why he didn’t just grab a hoe or a saw or a shovel or something, since we have plenty of dangerous stuff lying around our garage. The funny this about this strategy, and my father’s normal approach to animals, is that my dad is a fairly intimidating looking man who stands six and a half feet tall, has a deep voice, and scares the living daylights out of most guys who have been to my house. Unbeknownst to my poor friends, he’s also the type to have basically made a pet out of the demonic and oversized squirrel that eats our porch. He named it Herman (it’s a female squirrel, I think, by the way). He protects it from our pellet-gun shooting neighbor and talks to it through the window panes. Total softie.
My mother first tried to close the door again, but before she could, the snake slithered into the garage. They got out of the car and started to panic. Our house, you see, is being painted because it’s on the market. The door from the garage to the house was open to let the fumes air out. And the snake was headed for the house we’re showing on a daily basis. Can you imagine a realtor walking buyers through the house and trying to downplay the possibility of a huge snake lurking under the furniture, waiting to pop out at any moment? “You know, it’s really a great space… ignore that hissing sound…”
So my father tried his hand at snake herding instead of just killing the thing. I don’t know why he didn’t just grab a hoe or a saw or a shovel or something, since we have plenty of dangerous stuff lying around our garage. The funny this about this strategy, and my father’s normal approach to animals, is that my dad is a fairly intimidating looking man who stands six and a half feet tall, has a deep voice, and scares the living daylights out of most guys who have been to my house. Unbeknownst to my poor friends, he’s also the type to have basically made a pet out of the demonic and oversized squirrel that eats our porch. He named it Herman (it’s a female squirrel, I think, by the way). He protects it from our pellet-gun shooting neighbor and talks to it through the window panes. Total softie.
Samuel L. Jackson (hero of Snakes on a Plane)
My dad (hero of Snakes on a Van, with his lovely sidekick, my mother)
Predictably, the herding idea didn’t go over so well. The snake did indeed turn away from our house. Where did it go instead? Up the tire of the van and into the underbelly of the vehicle. There is now a snake inside my parent’s car. They drove around for about an hour and speed over speed-bumps trying to dislodge it, but no such luck.
Now, I wasn’t there, but I can pretty much imagine how this scene went. There was a lot of:
My mother: “VERN! VERN IT’S GOING INTO THE HOUSE! MY CLEAN, PAINTED HOUSE!”
My father: “Oh no, little snakey-wakey, don’t go that way!”
My father: “Oh no, little snakey-wakey, don’t go that way!”
My mother: “IT’S GOING INTO THE CAR!”
Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, but I think it was along those lines. There was a lot of shrieking and squealing (that is, if my little sister was also there). There was a lot of panicking. But most importantly, there was a lot of laughing. If there’s one thing my family is truly talented at, it’s laughing in the face of inconvenience, discomfort, embarrassment, awkwardness, invasions by potentially venomous critters, and at ourselves. I think my ability to laugh at my own ridiculousness must run in the family. We collectively have a somewhat twisted sense of humor, but there’s never a dull moment. I admire my parents for many reasons, but most of all for their humor, no matter what situation they find themselves in.
Now the question that remains is if this renegade viper can get from the undercarriage of the car to my feet next time I drive it. Oh, and if it is in fact venomous. Yikes.
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