Of Lizards and Lisa

No this isn’t a John Steinbeck-style Depression era novel. It is, however, non-fiction.

Lizards and I go way back. In third grade, I went by my given name “Elizabeth” for about a year and third-grade boys being who they are, took the nickname “Lizzie” (given by my friend Laura) and turned it into “Lizard.” Everyone called me Lizard and eventually I gave in and answered to it. Years later in 8^th grade I even had a boy hand me a note that said “Lizard, I like you. Will you go (steady) with me?” It was very romantic. By high school everyone, including my boyfriends were calling me Lisa again. I digress. But I have history here.

Over the years the lizards have seemingly sought me out – probably because we shared something. I’ve showered with them in Mexico, discovered them in my shoes in Bali. But there has been a line we don't cross, an unspoken respect for each other. Until the other day.

Returning from another 15-hour day at the hospital I got to my room and kicked off my shoes. Time for a shower. I went to the corner and started to rummage through my open suitcase only to discover that it had been breached. While I was away for the day, someone had taken up residence.

Now I don’t know about you, but having something scamper across my hand as I reach for fresh underwear isn’t an experience that was on my bucket list. But when it happened, I let out a shriek that could probably be heard for blocks and my little friend, I’m calling him Lloyd, went flipping to another area of my suitcase to hide from what to him could only be a predator. The frantic flailing and tossing of clothes continued for what seemed like minutes (really probably only about 15 seconds total) as Lloyd and I tried to negotiate his exit from my suitcase. Every time I’d yank at another piece of clothing, he’d find another small place in the suitcase to scramble into. Lots of flying clothes and screaming later (no one ever came to check on me so now I’m concerned about the security at this hotel) and eventually he flew through the area and stuck to the wall like a piece of cooked pasta to a refrigerator. He never looked back. No respect, no rent. He booked it toward the closest window and just like that Lloyd was gone. Out of my life forever.

After pulling everything from my suitcase to confirm that he didn’t bring a family, I refolded everything and zipped up my bag. I’ve since realized that’s how to maintain a lizard-free zone. Peace has been restored to Room 208 at the Paris International Hotel.

For the last few days I've waited for Lloyd to return hoping to get a picture of him. But so far he remains shy. He's a shallow guy. He's only interested in my clothes.

 

The scene of the crime where Lloyd took up temporary residence.

Lloyd-free zone. I even lock it now...just in case he's THAT kind of a lizard.