Children can smell fear.
I know this because I spent a few years working at a daycare in which every day, I was under siege by nearly a dozen diabolical preschoolers, and only one thing stood between me, and my complete and utter destruction at their crayon-stained little hands – they were unaware of my deep-set and deathly fear of creatures that have evolved to somehow survive without the use of legs.
It isn't natural. I maintain – and refuse to be convinced otherwise – that snakes, worms, leeches, eels, and any variation thereof are unnatural, creepy and utterly terrifying.
The preschoolers at daycare loved digging for worms, however, and I had my phobia contained to the point of being able to resist flinching, shrieking, or vomiting when worms were proudly displayed on the playground for my compliments.
“Look, Melissa!” the children would cry, cupping twitching worms in sandy, muddy little hands, or, on one notable occasion, with one particularly unlucky specimen dangling from a child's gap-toothed grin. “Look at the worm I found!”
Of course it was asking too much that my phobia go undiscovered, because children truly are calculating little creatures, seeking any possible weakness to exploit.
It was bad luck all around that they realized my phobia on the day when my ability to remain steady, mature, and responsible was being studied and marked by a government employee.
I challenge anyone to remain steady, mature, and responsible while being chased by eight fiendish preschoolers flinging bits of mangled worms at you. Forget steady, forget all of that – I fled and left shredded remains of my dignity behind.
The phobia only increases exponentially when it comes to snakes, perhaps because I am not forced to deal with them as often as worms.
One main problem I have with snakes is they tend to go out of their way to torment me, and one glimpse of a slithering snake in the vicinity is enough to send me shrieking and climbing the nearest person in an effort to get away.
On one notable occasion, my two best friends and I were dropped off on the distant shores of a lake in the wilds of Nova Scotia – a shore inaccessible by any means other than a half hour boat ride from the wharf and through some twisty, rocky narrows, and far from any sign of civilization or escape.
Little did we know that we had been dropped off on a beach a few feet away from the home of a large, scaly garter snake – a big one. It was big and brown and thrashed around in the leaves and probably had fangs dripping venom, even if my research prior to being left out in the wilderness claimed there were no poisonous snakes in Nova Scotia.
The thing about this particular snake was I seemed to be the only one who kept nearly stepping on it. You may think this points to the likelihood of the snake being imaginary, but no. The clear reason for this is the snake went out of its way to torment me.
I woke up earlier than my friends our first morning on the beach and went for a walk alone, enjoying the silence and solitude. That's when I had my first encounter with the beast, nearly crushing it beneath my (bare) foot.
The incident led to two important results – 1) I realized our camp was under siege. 2) My friends were woken by blood-curdling shrieks. They weren't pleased.
We named the snake Carlos, and I never walked alone again – very awkward, when there isn't a bathroom or outhouse in sight, but far better than the alternative.
I nearly ran over a snake outside my apartment last week, and then nearly ran into oncoming traffic because I was too busy freezing up and making unfortunate noises, and I nearly missed the stop sign entirely.
All of this goes to prove that snakes – and their legless cousins – are a menace, both to society, and to me.
Which is why I would like to go on the record and say this reptile show that's coming up – I am not pleased. Nor am I pleased that my passionate declaration of the fact there is absolutely no way on Earth I am going to be covering said event got overlooked when my fellow reporter Brandon MacLeod reminded me (with an evil smirk), it happens to fall on my weekend to work.
Luckily, our summer student Emily has bravely agreed to accompany me.
If any offers of “Oh, hey, pet my python” or “put this boa constrictor around your neck, it'll be awesome!” come up, this is me going on the record saying – it won't be pretty. Seriously.
