Moving In - Chris' Song

So, after much procrastinating and dilly dallying, I've decided it was either this or a screenplay. Since no one would ever get to see the play based on this summer's ridiculousness, I figured this was really the only option.

I have been interning this summer in the great Pioneer Valley and I have to say, despite the heat and lack of A/C, this is a beautiful place. However, it is important that I preface what I mean by "this." I mean the Valley and sure as hell not my house. This blog is, if you don't know me and haven't heard some of the stories by now, my way of documenting the crazy. Everyday I will try to post twice; once with a story from the past few weeks and once with a more recent story, hopefully from the same day. You're probably thinking, "Damn Chris, just how many stories are there?" I said I could write a whole screenplay, dammit.

As we pulled into the driveway I truly had no idea what to expect. I had, after all, resorted to using Craigslist and had not had a chance to see the place properly. I was terrified that upon arrival the tenants would pretend to never had heard of me and turn my ass out on the street, only after having deposited my rent check days prior. In retrospect, I was worrying about the complete wrong thing. Its not until you walk into the house that you realize something might be off, as you are greeted, depending upon where you enter, by rats and snakes or a big ass tortoise named Bob. No matter where you enter, though, you are instantly assailed by an odor that bites the nostrils. Much like a snake would, I imagine, if you tried to sniff him.

By the time I bump into my first housemate I've seen more creatures then the advertised python and two cats. Its The Dude incarnate. He's high and, I didn't realize it at the time, he tries to warn me to get the hell out before its too late. But, I don't listen. Instead, I work my way past the second water monitor and towards my room upstairs. I pass cats, turtles, and geckos. I finally make it to my room and, much to my relief, the room is set up to house only one animal: myself.

When I get back downstairs, I meet the snake oil merchant who got me in this mess. He graciously agrees to show me around the place and introduces me to all the animals. I should sue his ass for conveniently forgetting to show me ALL of the damn animals, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I meet the Argus monitor. Or rather, I meet his housing enclosure; Mr. Snake Oil explains that Argus is very skiddish and doesn't like being seen. Next on the hit parade are the pythons, curiously placed in a loft above a sofa; perhaps to facilitate feeding events. Just sit, doze off, and wake up to Kaa from the Jungle Book giving you a hug. But, again, I'm assured that these are not that big, when it comes to pythons, and very well-mannered. In fact, one of them, the seven foot dude, has been to several parties that Mr. Snake Oil himself has been at. I'm told he's essentially a classroom snake. Every few nights I'm awoken by the same nightmare of the "Bluto" snake picking off kindergartners one by one in a small schoolroom.

Although the tour ended there, it was far from the last of my close encounters with the scaly kind.