Story break:
Why one does not buy direct from Africa.
Times were tough in the store. Sales were low, and so was our profit margin. We had a good rapport with out suppliers, but we really needed something different. it was that time of year that sucks for reptile guys. The new stuff hadn’t hatched out yet, and the only option would be wild caught animals sold third hand from dealer to dealer.
“There has got to be a better way.” I mused as I shot NERF darts at my Partner.
“Not unless we want to pay up big.” He replied using a trashcan lid as an impromptu shield and adjusting the colander he was wearing as a helmet. - did I mention that business was`slow?
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You Can buy direct from the country but it has to be a big order.”
“Really? How big is big?”
“A thousand dollars minimum plus shipping.”
That didn’t seem so bad to me. After all the prices per animal wold be quite low without the middlemen, and we would be able to ask for whatever we wanted.
“Let’s do it.” I stated. “Worst thing happens we lose half the stock, but we’ll still make out on the other half. Besides, I’m bored. We’re low on stock, and maybe we can get some cool stuff for the collection.”
K. considered this for a while.
“All right, let’s call Ghana.” Call Ghana? just like that? What do we do, ask the operator to connect us to some random number and ask whoever answers if they want to make a few dollars catching snakes today? Noting my confused look, K explained.
“We call up the international dealer. He takes our order pays a bunch of guys some cigarettes and porn to go catch what we want if he doesn’t have it on hand.”
Well that sounded like a plan to me. After all, if random bushmen can’t be depended on to provide us with our every whim what is this world coming to? So the call was made, and order was placed. Mostly we requested the usual African stuff,(Ball pythons for breeding stock, rock pythons, plated lizards and colorful Agamids) and asked for a few specialty items as well. These included a large monitor lizard for a good client, a few juvenile rhino and gaboon vipers, a Sungazer lizard, A few cobras (both regular and the spitting variety), and told the exporter to use up the last 200.00 in “surprise stuff” with the condition that it be made of species other than what we ordered. In retrospect, this was probably an error.
In a week our package arrived at the airport and I was off to pick up the crates. When i got there I was met by not only the usual surly lady at the international mail desk, but by a very worried looking, very, very, big and burly worker. This guy was a man-mountain, a veritable pinnacle of strength and physical presence. He looked down at me and asked:
“You know how to run a forklift?” I’m confused at this point.
“Um…Not really.” I reply.
“Shit.” He looked as if he was about to cry. A strange sight from a man who looked as if he was carved from mahogany wood and could bend tire irons.
“Why? something wrong with my shipment?” I ask, getting worried now.
“You’d better come and see.” he says and leads me off into the cargo hanger. This is pretty cool, it’s a restricted area and there is all SORTS of fascinating stuff waiting to be picked up. We make our way to an open area of floor where three coffin sized cartes are hanging out plastered with the usual stickers: LIVE ANIMALS-KEEP COOL, and VENOMOUS SNAKES-HANDLE WITH CARE. This is nothing new, he’s dealt with these shipments before, even helped me load them into the car. I’m wondering what could possibly have him so shaken up.
That’s when I saw it.
One of the crates had a significant rupture in it. The sort from the inside. Not only that, but the hole looked as if it had been getting bigger by virtue of tearing and clawing at it, ripping off little chunks of the soft wood the crates were made from.
“Oh Shit.” I said.
“Yeah, Shit.” He replied. “You KNOW what could do that? That damn thing says poison snakes on it, man.” He looks for all the world like a small child told that not only is the monster under the bed real, it is now decided to get over it’s agoraphobia and come up for a chat and some of the bedtime snack. Time to think fast, this could get bad quick, and it’s only my good relationship with these people that prevented them calling in the authorities and making my life a living hell of paperwork.
“Don’t worry about it, probably just a monitor lizard. Nothing venomous could do THAT. They claw at the bags and make a mess sometimes, it’s not biggie.” I should get an oscar for this performance. He looks significantly relieved.
“Promise? Don’t fuck with me man, that shit gives me the willies.”
“Promise. No Venomous snake could do that to a box.” That is true enough, but there is only og knows what in that crate WITH the snakes and apparently it was annoyed enough to get out of it’s section and bust up the crate.
I decide not to tell him that.
We load the other two and it is time for the mystery box. I decide that I can probably load it onto a pallet jack myself since he seems really frightened. As I pick up the crate, a sound like a truck tire deflating comes from the crate. A hiss so deep, low, and loud that it sends harmonics right to your monkey-brain and tells you to climb a damn tree-now. The worker hops back about ten feet at the speed of sound, and I freeze. Okay Acid, think. What could make that noise. Big monitor maybe, a huge viper?, a crocodilian… Yeah…that sounds about right. Fuck. At this point I’m assuming that not only do I have a damn crocodile in my crate, but it is pissed off, eating the crate, and illegal. We don’t HAVE crocodilian permits… Better get it loaded fast and deal with it later.
I give the crate another yank, and another hiss erupts from the inside, accompanied by some serious scratching. Keep moving, ignore it. I get the crate loaded into the car without further incident and drive about as fast as I dare to get back to the shop. We pull out the other crates and unload the animals, finding amongst other things, two loose lizards and a very angry spitting cobra that nearly caught me in the face as it was moved to it’s new home. We also received several scorpions that were unable to identify at all. I’m starting to regret this. It is now time for the mystery crate.
“dude there is something serious in there” K. announces. " I am getting a hook."
That means K. Thinks that whatever is making that explosive hissing is either venomous or very big and dangerous. “Get the pry bar and open it up towards me. If it’s hot I’ll handle it. If it’s a monitor be ready to tackle it. okay?”
“It sounds like a bloody crocodile.” I reply.
“Don’t be a baby.”
“Fine. Dickhead.” I pry open the crate a bit and the hissing commences full bore. Even K. Hops back a bit. I open it a bit more, and K begins laughing. “What?!” What is it?!" K. Continues to crack up, nearly crying.
“Go on open it up and see!” he gasps through spasms of laughter. I Pry the top off grumpily and come face to face with…
A turtle.
A big, angry turtle who puffs out his throat, fixes us with a foul stare and hisses like Satan himself. I start laughing as well which does not seem to be improving the turtle’s mood. It gives us a rather hurt look as if offended that it’s intimidating display is not having the intended effect.
Suffice it to say, we wrangled him out of the crate and into a proper home where he happily devoured anything we fed him. Still, we decided that it was WAY too much stress to order direct again.
