The Python In the Pizza Parlor

A true story, as told to me by an animal control officer who specializes in exotics.

"Mr. Campbell, there's a snake in the restaurant! A big one! It's gone under the ovens and not coming out!"

The police sergeant's voice was brimming with controlled panic. It was a warm August night and I had just walked in from another call. I was ready to settle in for the evening. But that night, there was chaos in a Ypsilanti pizza parlor. It began when a delivery boy headed out the screen door into the alley. His pizza flipped overhead and he ran screaming back inside.

A twenty-foot, 200-lb python had pressed itself against the door, wedged there, scraping up the concrete steps, and pushing on the screen in an attempt to get into the building. When the door opened, in fell the first couple inches of him, tongue flicking, and into the kitchen he purposefully dove, his immense mottled body sliding across the tiled floor.

The pizza parlor evacuated in a hurry through the front door. There were screams of terror. Someone dialed 911 and three police cars screeched to a halt, lights flashing, in the street as a crowd gathered outside. I arrived in the midst of the chaos. I had the gadget traditionally used by dog catchers - a lasso on the end of a metal pole -- and a big crate. I wasn't surprised that the snake was garnering so much attention, but when I walked in the front door, I was a little taken aback. There were no less than six police officers there, guns drawn in their trembling hands, aimed at the kitchen ovens.

"What is going on?" I said.

"He's in there," one of the officers gestured with his handgun toward the kitchen. "Gawd almighty, he's a big one."

I wasn't sure if the perspiration on his brow was entirely caused by the heat. It was easy to see why the snake had been attracted to the pizza parlor. The ovens were virtual furnaces, emanating the type of heat that spells comfort to a reptile.

I looked around at the officers. Their eyes were bulging, almost unblinking as they scanned the floor for any movement or scaly body part. I walked over and bent to look under the oven. There he was, sprawled out in all his undulating glory, dozing peacefully in the warmth of his sanctuary. The sergeant had been right. He was "a big one".

I turned to the officers. "You guys gotta help me."

They looked at me in disbelief. "ExCUSE me?" one of them brayed.

I held up the lasso. "I can get him with this. I'll tighten it right around his throat so I'll have his head. These guys don't really bite, anyway. He's not going to strike you like a rattler or a cobra. He's a crusher. He wraps himself around his prey. And he will twine around me once I lasso him. So, each of you will have to help me grab a section of snake, and we will have to cram him in this."

I pointed to the extra large crate I had left by the door.

There was one huge officer, easily over six foot four, who was looking at me with suspicion.

"This ain't in my job description," he said. "I don't touch snakes. You're the animal control guy. Ain't this your job?"

"Well, see, he weighs over 200 lbs. And he's pure muscle. We can handle him, trust me. I just need your help."

I took the lasso and I leaned down to look under the oven again. I couldn't see the snake's head, so I poked at him a bit. He uncoiled, stretched, irritated that he had been disturbed. His head swung toward me and his tongue flicked out, reading my scent. His black eyes glittered. I swung the end of the lasso round and quickly snugged up his head. I began pulling, and the snake stretched out long, long, longer as he emerged from under the oven.

"Oh my God!" whispered one of the officers, as his skin paled as white as an eggshell.

The expletives flew around me as the stunned officers watched the snake's coiled and writhing body emerge and skid across the floor. He was heavy and I was pulling with all my might.

"Grab him!" I gasped to the officer nearest me.

He took a step back.

"Come on! Come on!" I urged.

Finally the big guy near the door holstered his gun and came over to valiantly put his hands on the snake. "Hey, he's dry! Not slimy at all!"

When he said that, the others ventured forth. The python's tail was lashing across the floor. I was beginning to picture a section of him wrapping around my leg or midriff. If that happened, the only way to get him off me would be to kill him. They would have to use those guns.

"Hurry!" I said.

Each man lifted a section. All seven of us waddled across the floor, encumbered with that vast coiling muscle, forming a bizarre live train as we carried that huge snake to the dog crate. "Okay," I said. "I'll hold his head. Now just stuff him in there. He will sort himself out."

Some of them began to laugh as each man stuffed a portion of the thick body into the crate.

"Actually, this is pretty cool!' one of them gushed. The big officer glared at him.

The next day the owner was found. The snake lived in an apartment building behind the pizza parlor. He had popped the wire top off his cage and gone through a window and across the alley to find the ovens. The owner paid a fine, and promised to secure the cage, and the python was returned to him.

The one big officer had summed it up pretty well, shaking his head after we had locked the snake away that night.

"The things I have to do to make a buck."