What It’s Like Trying to Work From Your Bathroom After a Snake Pops Out of Your Drain

The following is a true story about a tiny snake that crawled up into my apartment bathroom and took a shit in my tub. All times here are rough estimates based on text, phone records, and date stamps on pics. All people quoted here are real, though I have omitted their names to protect the innocent. Also, like many true-life stories, this one does not have a satisfying conclusion and many mysteries still remain. 

Now, let me tell you how I spent my Monday afternoon.

1:10 p.m. 

I head to the bathroom to do some post-lunch teeth brushing and, as many of us do, I take a little peek inside my bathtub. Occasionally when I do this, I’ll spot something that shouldn’t be there; a house centipede, a little spider. Not today. Today, there is an orange-and-white striped snake, just casually trying to crawl up my shower curtain. I see it; it sees me. We stare at each other. I’m trying to process what I am looking at. Am I about to die? We’re both probably wondering the same thing. 

I frantically take a picture on my phone, then run to my kitchen and retrieve my largest piece of Tupperware, which is still too small for this guy, who I estimate to be at least a foot long. I’m thinking I can trap it then figure out if this is a pet, a foe, or some benign critter that just needs to be set free outside. When I come back, it has already retreated into the drain, but its head is peeking out at me. Snakelike, it’s flicking its tiny tongue. 

“I don’t know how to help you,” I whisper to the creature, “come out of that drain and we can figure something out.” 

1:25 p.m. 

I post a pic across social media. Half the comments are people freaking out on my behalf and the other half are people telling me it's cute. One friend says I should just burn down my apartment. A science friend tells me it’s probably a milk snake, a pet. Wikipedia, with two full citations, tells me milk snakes are non-venomous to humans. OK, I am less scared now. I like snakes, after all, I just don’t like sudden snakes. Snakes out of context, if you will. 

Still, I don’t know how to get this guy safely on his way. Also, this snake took a shit in my bathtub. I have never seen snake shit before. I am learning things today.

1:28 p.m.

I send a pic to my coworkers via Gchat to let them know why I might be missing sporadically this afternoon. They are confused. 

1:30 p.m.

Well, I guess it’s time to call my rental agency. Maybe they have a secret snake-handling trick?

1:32 p.m.

A few minutes later another person from the agency calls me back. They’re wondering if it’s a plumber’s snake or a snake snake. I tell them it’s the latter. They are not pleased with my response. I joke that I hope they’re not afraid of snakes. “Oh, I’m not the one who’s going to be stopping by,” the man chuckles. I am told two guys will be showing up this afternoon with a bucket. 

1:46 p.m.

Well, it’s a Monday. I still gotta work. I set up shop in the bathroom. I’m sitting on a toilet lid. I’ve plugged my laptop into the wall. I am hoping the snake will come out of hiding. I don’t have any alcohol at my place so I make myself a mocktail. I wish I had wine.

3:30 p.m.

Two maintenance guys and a cardboard box arrive. I ask them if they’re excited. They are not excited. I show them the snake in my drain. They make eye contact with it, too. “Well, I can’t do anything about that,” the (normally very) helpful maintenance dude announces. His coworker has pet snakes, I learn. He confirms that it is probably someone’s pet milk snake; not dangerous. But they’re not going to sit there waiting for the little guy to come out of (partial) hiding. They tell me to put on some rubber gloves and scoop him out of the tub whenever he emerges. I bust out an old aquarium from my closet. I am ready. 

3:40 p.m.

Welp. It’s just me and the snake now. I am having flashbacks to childhood pet hamsters getting stuck under the fridge or in some corner I can’t get to. With rodents, the trick to catching them is to be very, very quiet and lure them out with peanut butter. I gotta figure out what this snake’s peanut butter is. (Sadly, I suspect it might be something related to hamsters.) I turn off the lights and take a seat again on my toilet. 

I am googling things about snakes. I am looking at images of snake poo. Of deadly orange snakes. Snakes from Minnesota. Pet snakes. “The milk snake earned its name through folk legend,” reads a fun fact from the Minnesota DNR. “People thought it sucked milk from cows.” Man, humans sure are dumb.

I learn that milk snakes eat birds, rodents, and other snakes. Well, I am not adding any of that to my bathtub.

Do snakes have ears? I Google next. Turns out they do, but it’s a different, vibrational-based hearing; more of an inner-ear feeling than what humans consider sound. Fascinating! I suddenly realize that my laptop typing is probably giving the little dude a heads up that I am still nearby. Gah!

3:45 p.m.

Some folks on my social media are pointing out that my bathtub buddy looks a lot like Slimey from Sesame Street. Man, I loved Slimey as a kid. 

3:56 p.m.

One of my BFFs sees my post on social media and calls me to give emotional support. She tells me she’s here if I need her. Ten years ago I helped her trap and release a bat that had made its way into her apartment, so she technically still owes me.

4:20 p.m.

Man, #snakewatch2024 is making me hungry. I grab some tortilla chips and munch away as I gaze into the abyss of the drain for the 100th time. The snake is… gone? I don’t see its little face staring back at me. Did it return from whence it came? Is it heading somewhere else? I warn the very nice people in the apartment below me, who I have also been live texting through all of this, that something special might be coming their way.

5:05 p.m.

The people in my apartment need to know that a snake is free roaming through our plumbing system, right? There are some dogs in here and I know not everyone is down with no-context snake surprises, harmless or not. I decide to tape a sign on my door as an FYI.

A neighbor stops by and I show her a pic of what might be coming to her place soon. We laugh. Ah, snakes, bringing communities together. I text my rental agency with the update: No successful capture. It’s still out there, wandering through our apartment plumbing like a Ninja Turtle. My contact responds with a 😳 emoji and tells me to cover my drains. 

And that’s my day trying—and failing—to help out a snake. Stay safe out there, buddy. I am rooting for you to make it out there in this crazy world.