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Snakes and Spiders
Aug. 21st, 2006 08:54 amTeri spent most of Saturday helping a friend with her yard sale, so Sebastian and I went to a reptile place we'd read about in a local free magazine: Regal Reptiles.
The pictures in the magazine did NOT match the reality.
The place is located in Providence, and as we got closer to the address I started to have some serious doubts. It was in a terrible neighborhood - huge potholes in the streets, graffiti everywhere, a scary part of town.
Sebastian knows a little about Providence, including that he was born in the hospital there. Our return to his birthplace inspired some questions:
"How did the doctors get me out of Mommy's stomach?"
"Um...well, they got you out. It would be hard to explain..."
"Did they cut me out?"
"Well, no, although some babies do get cut out...but that's not really the best way to do it, and most babies don't get cut out...[a sinking realization that I am digging myself a deep hole here]...anyway, they didn't cut you out."
"How did I get out, then?"
"Look, there's the building we're supposed to turn at!" [whew!]
Fortunately he left it at that. :D
When we finally reached the location I had to blink in disbelief - could this REALLY be the place? It looked like a dingy, broken-down warehouse. There was a six-foot pothole right in the entrance to the tiny parking lot, which was surrounded by a an eight-foot-high rusty chain-link fence. There was a door standing ajar in the side of the building, but a large sign said "NO ENTRANCE". So we peeked around a little.
A door in the front said "OFFICE", but it was kind of dark in there; it didn't really look like the entrance to a magical land of reptiles. But apart from that, the only other entrances were a couple of over-sized garage doors. One was closed, and the other was only open about two feet; so we went back to the "OFFICE" entrance.
It was dark inside, and smelly, too. Which wasn't surprising; we were in a small pet shop. The place seemed empty, so I started looking around. Large bugs were skittering around loose on the floor.
There was a window in the wall, and eventually I found a woman sitting out of sight behind it; she was coughing, and seemed quite sick and out of it. She confirmed that we were in the right place, though. Admission was $7 for adults, $5 for children. I had printed out the $1 off coupon from their website (which incidentally was the single lamest "coupon" I've ever seen, just a few lines of text to be printed out with no graphics or colors of ANY KIND), so it cost us $11 to get it.
There was a pause.
"Um...where do we go now?"
*cough* "Down there."
There was a door standing open at the end of the shop. I led Sebastian there by the hand, and we entered a world of magic and amazing reptile adventures.
Well, actually, we walked into a dark, dingy warehouse which had been set up to display some reptiles. There was a large sawdust-floor pen with low wooden walls containing perhaps fifteen large turtles or tortoises (I can't tell the difference between them, sorry), some nearly three feet long. Here's a photo:
There were cages with snakes, an aquarium and large fish-pool, and an alligator pond:
They brought out a couple of snakes; boa constrictors or pythons, I can't remember. One was rather small, perhaps three feet long, but the other one was much bigger; probably at least seven feet long, and with most unusual coloration. It was an albino, pure white with bright yellow markings. One girl called it "Lemon", although I don't know if that was really its name.
The handler mentioned that the snake had skin mites, but assured me that they didn't transfer to humans.
In the next room there were more reptiles in glass cases, a HUGE snake (Sebastian called it "The biggest snake in the world!"), and a lot of spiders. Here's the only good picture I was able to get, of a scorpion and a spider each of which was as big as my hand - and I have big hands:
Teri thinks these were fakes. I can't tell, myself. They did look sort of fake, but I didn't see any obvious manufacturing marks. They certainly didn't move at all.
All in all, the place was kind of seedy. The people working with the reptiles were young, in their teens or perhaps early twenties; they seemed bright and knowledgeable. But whoever owned the place was extremely cheap. I'll bet he doesn't pay them much.
How cheap was he? Well, the advertisements said that children could feed the reptiles. And they can. You buy plastic tokens at the front desk for $1 each. Each token can be exchanged for precisely one stalk of collard green, which can be fed to a turtle; the process takes a minute at most.
Or you can redeem your token for a very small quantity of live, squirming grubs, which can be fed to fish.
Your child can get a photo with a reptile, or even feeding a reptile. Cost: $10. They use a digital camera. Plus $1 for the reptile food, of course.
Or you can take a picture of your own child using your own camera. Cost: $5, plus the food.
That's right. They charge you five dollars to photograph your own child with your own camera.
A woman nearby freaked out a bit over that policy, rather loudly. I agreed with her and tried to calm her down. "I'm glad I didn't make that rule!" I said. The handler agreed with me, but said that it wasn't up to him.
I didn't pay for these shots, of course, but Sebastian wasn't feeding or touching any reptiles in them anyway.
Incidentally, there were large containers of hand sanitizer by the door, as well as signs advising us to use the stuff; the reptiles do carry a fair number of germs (salmonella, for one). So I made sure we both did a good job of sterilizing on the way out.
Sebastian loved it all, and when we got home he told Teri that he wanted to go to Regal Reptiles (he mispronounced it cutely, but I don't remember exactly how) every day. Based on my description, Teri doesn't even want to go once. :D
[Note: I have three other posts I'd like to make, when I can. Or maybe - probably - four. Tonight, if possible.]
The pictures in the magazine did NOT match the reality.
The place is located in Providence, and as we got closer to the address I started to have some serious doubts. It was in a terrible neighborhood - huge potholes in the streets, graffiti everywhere, a scary part of town.
Sebastian knows a little about Providence, including that he was born in the hospital there. Our return to his birthplace inspired some questions:
"How did the doctors get me out of Mommy's stomach?"
"Um...well, they got you out. It would be hard to explain..."
"Did they cut me out?"
"Well, no, although some babies do get cut out...but that's not really the best way to do it, and most babies don't get cut out...[a sinking realization that I am digging myself a deep hole here]...anyway, they didn't cut you out."
"How did I get out, then?"
"Look, there's the building we're supposed to turn at!" [whew!]
Fortunately he left it at that. :D
When we finally reached the location I had to blink in disbelief - could this REALLY be the place? It looked like a dingy, broken-down warehouse. There was a six-foot pothole right in the entrance to the tiny parking lot, which was surrounded by a an eight-foot-high rusty chain-link fence. There was a door standing ajar in the side of the building, but a large sign said "NO ENTRANCE". So we peeked around a little.
A door in the front said "OFFICE", but it was kind of dark in there; it didn't really look like the entrance to a magical land of reptiles. But apart from that, the only other entrances were a couple of over-sized garage doors. One was closed, and the other was only open about two feet; so we went back to the "OFFICE" entrance.
It was dark inside, and smelly, too. Which wasn't surprising; we were in a small pet shop. The place seemed empty, so I started looking around. Large bugs were skittering around loose on the floor.
There was a window in the wall, and eventually I found a woman sitting out of sight behind it; she was coughing, and seemed quite sick and out of it. She confirmed that we were in the right place, though. Admission was $7 for adults, $5 for children. I had printed out the $1 off coupon from their website (which incidentally was the single lamest "coupon" I've ever seen, just a few lines of text to be printed out with no graphics or colors of ANY KIND), so it cost us $11 to get it.
There was a pause.
"Um...where do we go now?"
*cough* "Down there."
There was a door standing open at the end of the shop. I led Sebastian there by the hand, and we entered a world of magic and amazing reptile adventures.
Well, actually, we walked into a dark, dingy warehouse which had been set up to display some reptiles. There was a large sawdust-floor pen with low wooden walls containing perhaps fifteen large turtles or tortoises (I can't tell the difference between them, sorry), some nearly three feet long. Here's a photo:
There were cages with snakes, an aquarium and large fish-pool, and an alligator pond:
They brought out a couple of snakes; boa constrictors or pythons, I can't remember. One was rather small, perhaps three feet long, but the other one was much bigger; probably at least seven feet long, and with most unusual coloration. It was an albino, pure white with bright yellow markings. One girl called it "Lemon", although I don't know if that was really its name.
The handler mentioned that the snake had skin mites, but assured me that they didn't transfer to humans.
In the next room there were more reptiles in glass cases, a HUGE snake (Sebastian called it "The biggest snake in the world!"), and a lot of spiders. Here's the only good picture I was able to get, of a scorpion and a spider each of which was as big as my hand - and I have big hands:
Teri thinks these were fakes. I can't tell, myself. They did look sort of fake, but I didn't see any obvious manufacturing marks. They certainly didn't move at all.
All in all, the place was kind of seedy. The people working with the reptiles were young, in their teens or perhaps early twenties; they seemed bright and knowledgeable. But whoever owned the place was extremely cheap. I'll bet he doesn't pay them much.
How cheap was he? Well, the advertisements said that children could feed the reptiles. And they can. You buy plastic tokens at the front desk for $1 each. Each token can be exchanged for precisely one stalk of collard green, which can be fed to a turtle; the process takes a minute at most.
Or you can redeem your token for a very small quantity of live, squirming grubs, which can be fed to fish.
Your child can get a photo with a reptile, or even feeding a reptile. Cost: $10. They use a digital camera. Plus $1 for the reptile food, of course.
Or you can take a picture of your own child using your own camera. Cost: $5, plus the food.
That's right. They charge you five dollars to photograph your own child with your own camera.
A woman nearby freaked out a bit over that policy, rather loudly. I agreed with her and tried to calm her down. "I'm glad I didn't make that rule!" I said. The handler agreed with me, but said that it wasn't up to him.
I didn't pay for these shots, of course, but Sebastian wasn't feeding or touching any reptiles in them anyway.
Incidentally, there were large containers of hand sanitizer by the door, as well as signs advising us to use the stuff; the reptiles do carry a fair number of germs (salmonella, for one). So I made sure we both did a good job of sterilizing on the way out.
Sebastian loved it all, and when we got home he told Teri that he wanted to go to Regal Reptiles (he mispronounced it cutely, but I don't remember exactly how) every day. Based on my description, Teri doesn't even want to go once. :D
[Note: I have three other posts I'd like to make, when I can. Or maybe - probably - four. Tonight, if possible.]
