A Completely Fictionalized Account Of My Most Recent Trip To The Zoo...

I stepped off the bus in front of Lincoln Park Zoo and took a deep breath. Mmm. Nothing quite like the mix of salty sea air and animal feces to start your day. Mind you, it was a welcome reprieve from some of the pungent people I smelled on the bus. My olfactory senses already had a full day's helping of competing perfumes and at least three distinctly different B.O. sub-classes. No matter. This trip wasn't about the scent of hobo arm pits. No, my intentions were slightly more noble: I was here to relax, and by relax, I mean wander aimlessly in the sweltering heat of Chicago in July to look at a large collection of increasingly sad animals...and perhaps have a big pretzel.

My first stop was the Ape House. Inside, I was greeted by loud, squealing children and even louder, shrieking parents, subtly extolling the virtues of, quote," shutting the fuck up in the goddamn monkey place." Unquote. Why were these wee humans wreaking such havoc? Well, as always, one of the monkeys was putting on a hell of a show. He was a gibbon with a beautiful black coat, an extremely prehensile tail...and only one arm. Yet this crippled ape did not let his handicap hinder his daily exercise. Indeed, this handi-capable monkey was swinging to and fro, delighting the children and amazing the one-armed Vietnam Vet up in front, who I'm sure wondered why he couldn't swing like that.

I grew tired of seeing the ADD-afflicted monkey and headed off for more sedate creatures. As a youth, I spent many a day at Lincoln Park Zoo, especially in the company of the gorillas. Kundu was my favorite. He would sit right in front of the glass, a docile, glassy-eyed beast, and when you least expected it, smash his fists into the barrier. Everyone would jump back and laugh. "Ha ha! This monkey is hysterical!" Of course, Kundu wasn't laughing. No, inside he was weeping. Weeping for the day when he had weakened the glass partition to the point that he could finally tear it down, and along with it, the oppression he had faced for decades. He would have revenge for being fed old heads of lettuce and bars of congealed hamster food. Oh yes, he would have revenge. But for now...for now all he could do was pound. But then he died, so...yeah.

The new gorillas weren't as vengeance-fueled as previous beasts, and were therefore less interesting. These mammoth mammals with a penchant for doing absolutely nothing just sat there. That is, until the animal trainer came in. Immediately, all the gorillas looked up. That was all. It's not much, but it would be the most that they would move for the next three days. Little did we, the unsuspecting public know, that the gorillas were staging a silent protest, a la "Gandhi." The movie, not the person. I had my fill of these stoic creatures and took a gander at my watch. So much to see, and so little time.

After my morning of primate study, I decided some scaly, cold-blooded bastardness was necessary. Unfortunately, Tom Sizemore wasn't available this particular afternoon, so I made my to the reptile house instead.

Zing.

Inside the reptile house, I once again heard a familiar noise: sonic-boom inducing hollers of the childish persuasion. I naturally assumed the one-armed gibbon had infiltrated the komodo dragon pen and a massive skirmish was playing out. Sadly, I was mistaken. It was just a stupid kid who got bit by an alligator.

Once the reptile house was closed forever, I found myself far ahead of myself, and my excursion was in danger of coming to a less than satisfactory close. That, my friends, is when I witnessed the most horrible thing I had ever seen in my life. A sight so terrifying that, to this very day, even now as I write this, I suffer from constant, debilitating night terrors. What was this ominous evil I bore witness to?

A kid on a leash.

My God, I thought. What's wrong with that boy that he must be collared like a common, flea-ridden dog. Perhaps the child has fleas, I reasoned, but then quickly threw out this theory. A simple shampooing would get rid of the mites. No, this kid was being harshly treated by his elder, a disgustingly old woman of what seemed to be Polish descent. Now, it seems to me that if I were a Polack, and my fellow countrymen were once rounded up by Nazi's and stuffed into concentration camps, I might be a bit more sensitive to my own kin and probably not put them on leashes like prisoners. The kid struggled, though, and put up a pretty good fight. But every time he got close to escaping, the grandmother would just give him a yank and the choker did all the rest. I shook my head. So sad...so hilariously sad.

Food. I was hungry. But where to go. It was later in the day by now (I watched the leash kid for several hours) and most of the pretzel and popcorn stands were shutting down. I tried to score a Choco-Taco from the local Good Humor man, but he simply laughed me off. He explained that if he just shut down and stopped selling, he would have more ice cream for himself. Plus, Choco-Tacos are a Klondike product, thus he had none. Then, the greedy bastard left. Left with his delicious Choco-Tacos.

I found myself at the exit to Lincoln Park zoo, escorted by several men in uniform of the law enforcement persuasion. Apparently, challenging Good Humor men to fights and threatening to "jam a "Flintstone Push Up" up your ass" is considered not only uncouth, but highly illegal. News to me, I exclaimed, and stormed out of the zoo, never to return again. At least, not until I perfected that fake mustache made of shredded wheat and Mighty Mend-It. But that was still several months away from animal testing, let alone a workable human prototype. Sigh.

And so off I went, into the wild gray yonder of Chicago's streets and buildings, waving goodbye to a brief, yet utterly unforgettable stay at my favorite place on earth: Lincoln Park Zoo. And if you listen very closely, when the smell of zebra shit is at it's most aromatic, you might just hear the sound of a small child screaming, either at high-energy Cripple-Monkeys or because he just escaped from his leash.