

After near-missing several children and a hard-won battle for a parking spot, I had to walk what felt like a mile to get into the building. It was almost 80 degrees outside, and every single person in Salt Lake City who wasn’t cruising around pits-deep in lycra was driving bumper to bumper in a long, snaking line through the Mountain America Expo Center parking lot. As a socially-maligned introvert, the scariest part about the expo to me was, in fact, the parking lot.

NEUTRINO CARABINER FULL
Generally, I have no strong adverse opinions on reptiles, having spent my childhood catching tadpoles in ditches, scooping little frogs out of sprinkler boxes, and ditching Mason jars full of garter snakes on my extended family's doorsteps. I watched Anaconda as a kid and to this day I can’t swim underwater at Bear Lake without panicking because the sound of boats crossing the surface sounds like a deep Paleozoic hiss beneath the waves. As for me and my house, we primarily fear reptiles in contexts they have no business being in-like bodies of water. This is an only slightly exaggerated image posted on Reddit in 2016.Ī lot of people are terrified of reptiles (I myself come from a long line of snakephobes, or ophidiophobes if you want to be spicy). I was ready to sign up for whatever it threw down. It reminded me of the Cavalia Era, the last real age of innocence. Everywhere I went, I saw a poster for it. The exciting thing about the 2022 Reptile Nation Expo was the way it was plastered in all caps on bright yellow posters with very little detail up and down the Salt Lake Valley.
