She had the rooms attention now. She continued her self-aggrandizing. boorish diatribe, “I'm Patti LaBell and I'm famous and those are our seats and we're gonna sit in 'em cause I'm Patti LaBelle and who are you to tell me...” and on and on, but I did not hear her, for I looked at Ana. She had slunk down in her chair. She wanted the evil, large woman with the funky snake infested hair to just go away. But I knew the thing would never go away. The things never do. Get rid of one and there are more things waiting, just waiting for their chance to tell everyone how important they are and eat us alive.
I asked Ana quietly if she wanted to just go. If we stuck it out, I told her, I was pretty sure we would end up with a table. She didn't, she said. If the thing won't leave, then it would have to be us. If we had to sacrifice to stop the thing for the benefit of mankind, then so be it. We moved to the back and stood with the other sardines. It wasn't fun at first, but Latin music gets under your skin and before you know it, you're tapping a foot, then swaying a little, and finally you're dancing in the streets. You can't help yourself.
I only have one bit of advice to the survivors I left behind: Please don't feed the snakes.
