¡AH! La Serpiente se Escapó
Part
of my high school Spanish experience required the listening to and repeating of
dialogues performed by enthusiastic, if goofy-sounding, actores. Usually we considered them to be a little corny. I
remember part of one in particular, where a concerned mom (la Señora Gómez)
wonders what her little boy is carrying in a bag. The 40 second exchange ends
with:
Sra.
Gomez: ¿Qué tienes en esa bolsa?
Roberto:
Una culebra.
Sra.
Gomez: (GASPS loudly)
Roberta:
¿Por qué haces esa cara mamá?
Of
course, the attempted humor of this dialogue is based on what is,
unfortunately, a pervasive and seemingly instinctual fear of snakes. It’s the
same sentiment that allowed Indiana Jones to growl “I hate snakes” without creating
much of a social backlash (imagine if he said “I hate dogs” and then doused a
room full of cute puppies with gasoline before sending them to a fiery end.) Last week I got to see this fear put into
action in a big way.
My
classroom is the biology class with all the critters. I have two little tortugas (red-eared sliders to be
precise) named Pedro and Rosadelia, two fancy-tailed goldfish that belonged to
my son until he lost interest in them, a golden axolotl (a strange salamander
naturally found in only two lakes in Mexico) and, up until four days ago, a
ball python named Hamilton. Unfortunately, my three foot long snake decided to
test his boundaries and successfully pushed his way out of his tank. Apparently
the screen cover was no longer heavy enough to resist him.
When
students and I discovered that he was missing, I felt obligated to tell the
other teachers on my floor. There was a slim possibility (pardon the pun) that
he squeezed under a door and, in the middle of the night, entered a different classroom.
My fear was that someone would discover a serpent under their chair and launch
into an explosive panic. A few emails later word spread como
un reguero de pólvora. By
lunchtime I had two assistant principals, a security guard, the dean of
students, and an animal control guy all in my room helping me search high and
low. The atmosphere was a mix of giddiness and a nervous case of the willies. By
the late afternoon, my cluttered room had been thoroughly inspected. I had even
removed countertops to search in hidden spaces. Alas, Hamilton was nowhere to
be found.
On the next
day, my principal popped her head in and asked if I’d like to be interviewed
for the news. I declined without hesitation. Nonetheless, by lunch time a news
crew from Seattle’s channel 13 arrived to create a story. This was followed, an
hour later, by two other news crews that simultaneously interrupted my 5th
period biology class. The cameraman roamed my room taking shots of stuffed
specimens and live critters while my giddy pupils tried to get into the
camera’s view. Others took cell phone pictures with the reporters they must
have recognized from T.V. I still refused to go on camera and further embarrass
myself. The whole thing was mortifying. Was this really a news-worthy event?
And it wouldn’t end. Even an hour after school was out I got a surprise visit
from a reporter of a local newspaper. It was truly a media circus.
I was
embarrassed by my own potential negligence and felt exploited by the media. I
told them I preferred to remain anonymous, and yet one reporter filmed his
animated commentary right outside my door with my name plate clearly in view
(and balancing out the rule of thirds as one observant student pointed out.) Students
were accosted after school as they left the campus and were asked for comments.
One of my kids told me her car was stopped as it was leaving the parking lot by
a reporter darting in front of vehicles asking for students who had Mr. Robles.
By the end
of the week I was emotionally exhausted. I couldn’t walk down a hall without
having to field questions from concerned colleagues. A running email exchange
throughout the school took a humorous life of its own. The story reached across
the state and into Oregon and, as of this afternoon, a Google search for
“python in Issaquah” brought up 25 separate news stories over the reach of five
pages. All the while, my students are mystified as to why this made the news in
the first place. It’s just a pet snake for crying out loud.
The best
part of this story is this. After almost six days of worrying, searching,
gossiping, and the whole media circus, I returned to my room after making
copies at 6:20 in the evening and, lo and behold, guess who’s lying on the
floor right inside my room. That’s
right, El Señor Hamilton. He had
emerged from his hiding place, seemingly tired of the ordeal, and was waiting
by the door like a faithful dog awaiting his master’s return. I could have
kissed him. I settled for letting him wrap around my arm to absorb my mammalian
warmth as we reclined in my teacher chair and reunited. I’ve never been so glad
to see that stupid snake.
But here’s
the kicker. Three television stations and over a dozen newspapers covered the
story of Hamilton’s escape, addressing the incident with the same earnestness
required of a true natural disaster. But now that he’s returned, how much news
will that generate? What reporters will pop into my room to see Hamilton safe
and sound? Is good news newsworthy?
Palabras
profundas
La
serpiente
La
culebra
El
pitón
Linkos
Here’s
just a taste of the story:
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