UPDATE: Oh My God, NO WONDER I Can't Go To The Zoo!

I can't go to the zoo.  Bad things happen. 

The dear Betty Fokker posited what might be the obvious cause of my misfortunes: Was the zoo built on an ancient Indian burial ground?

The answer? Yes. YES IT WAS.

It turns out southern Wisconsin was a bit of an epicenter for Native American Effigy Mound culture. And the zoo - the zoo where...

.... My car was parked in by a school bus for 7 hours in a series of events that culminated in the breaking of my toe....

.... On a second occasion, I misplace my car for 36 hours due in part to the consumption of a questionable hot dog....

THAT ZOO is part of a park that is built on no less than 8 effigy mounds.  A bird effigy, a linear mound and six conical mounds.  There were two other conical mounds and another bird mound, but they were destroyed.  OF COURSE THEY WERE.

So, no more zoo for me.  Going back would be like asking for my car to become possessed with demons.  I already shelled out for four new tires the other month - I'm not paying for an exorcism too. 

Remember That Time My Van Was Stolen At The Zoo, Except It Actually Wasn't? No? Me Either.

I visited the zoo again.  I should know better; this never ends well for me.

I was in good company at the zoo.  One of my dearest friends from college was meeting us there.  After college, Husband and I moved to another state, and then we moved to a different state, and then my friend moved to a different state, and we thought that was that.  Then somehow the planets aligned and we both moved back to the state - nay, CITY - where we first met. Now we are able to see each other EVERY DAY if we want, at least for another year or so after which Husband and I will depart to see the great big world once more.

So, I met my friend and her two children at the zoo.  All went well.  We looked at animals.  I ate a questionable hot dog.  But when we said our good-byes and parted ways, something strange happened.  She went home and wrote a beautiful Facebook post waxing philosophical on the value of friendship.  I, on the other hand, started to feel all cold and shaky-like.  I was glad to retreat to my van.  I wanted to arrive home as soon as possible, and convince my children to nap at the same time, so I could lie down too.

Now, this zoo has a ridiculous parking lot, so to avoid all that tomfoolery I parked on a side street a couple blocks away.

I headed down the street to where the van WASN'T  parked.  Hmm... I thought.  Was it the street over?  I walked around the block.  No van.  Hmmm.... I thought.  Was it the block over?  Off I traversed, pushing Toddler in the stroller with Preschooler in tow.

After walking all the way around four blocks, I did not find the van.  By this time Toddler was asleep in the stroller, Preschooler was exhausted and cranky from walking, and I was pretty sure I was going to die right there on the sidewalk outside a beautiful Tudor home.

I called Husband and sobbed that I was not going to take one step further and he had leave work to come pick me up right then and there or so help me God I was going to have some sort of nervous breakdown and the owners of the beautiful Tudor home were going to have to scrape my remains from the sidewalk and deposit me at the local mental health institute, which at this point sounded like some sort of Nirvana.

One hour later, Husband came to pick us up.  "Where was the car?" he inquired.  I had no explanation.  Either it was stolen or it had been towed.  The latter was more likely.  I had parked in a "two hour" zone, and while overstepping that time limit might not be a big deal elsewhere, the authorities in my town were pretty anal about ticketing and towing.  Home we went, where I could be sick in peace and privacy.

The next morning, I called the police station and towing company, but no one had any record of towing my car.  Uh-oh.  Was it actually stolen?  It was a remote possibility, but I figured that since my car's empty fuel light was on, the thieves couldn't have gotten far.  Suckas!

We decided to take one more cruise around the neighborhood just to make sure, before declaring the van stolen.  Off went zoo, where we found the van.  One block away from the zoo.  WHERE IT SHOULD'VE BEEN IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Oops.

Now I'm not allowed to go to the zoo by myself EVER AGAIN, which is probably for the best.  If I go, I will be eaten by a carnivorous giraffe, and then who will clean our bathrooms, WHO? No one, that's who. 

It's for the best.

This Is Why Doing Things Is Not In My Best Interest. PART ONE.

Monday morning dawned a little on the chilly side, but sunny and bright. 

“I know!” I thought.  “I should DO THINGS.”

This shall be known as mistake number one.

I decided the best use of my morning would be to take the kids to the zoo, and have a picnic lunch at the playground afterwards.  I have taken this type of outing before, and it’s totally doable.  The zoo in Madison is quite small (and quite free.)   So if we get there when the zoo opens, by 11:00 or so we’ve seen everything there is to see.  That leaves plenty of time to eat lunch, play at the playground, and get home just in time for afternoon nap.

So, off we trek to the zoo.

Now, the zoo has a normal parking lot.  But farther away, closer to the playground, the parking goes like this:

I decide to park in this parking lot, because I want to make a quick exit when we’re all done.

This shall be known as mistake number two.

The morning progressed quite uneventfully.  We saw animals.  We ate lunch.  We played at the playground.  Tra-la-la-la.

Soon, it was time to leave.  I return to my minivan, only to find...

I’m stuck.

Now, this is not a situation of, “OMG this minivan is so big, I can’t get out even though there is actually a ton of room, I can’t judge distance, please help me not suck at driving.” No. I can negotiate through rush-hour traffic in Chicago with this van.  I can drive to and from work on while snow falls on icy roads with this van. I can parallel-park this van.*

No.  Behind me, on a street that is maybe one-and-a-half cars wide, is a giant school bus.  This would not have been a big deal if I had some wiggle-room on my right.  Unfortunately, parked on my right was one of those big white utility vans.  There was no wiggle-room. I’m parked in.

“No problem,” I thought.  “I’ll just ask the bus driver to move the bus. Usually these bus drivers just sort of wait around the bus until the field trip is over.”  And this is what the bus driver looked like:

Oh, right. There’s nothing there.  Because the bus driver was NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.

“Ok,” I thought. “He’s probably in the bathroom or eating lunch or something. I’ll just kill some time until he returns.”  So back to the zoo we go.  I bribe the kids with some ice cream, and a half-hour later we head back to the van.

Still stuck.  No bus driver.

Now I’m getting kind of pissed.  “Fine,” I think.  “I’ve seen kids running around in these school t-shirts all day.  I’ll just find the leader, and ask that the bus be moved.”

So, I ask around.  The parents were sympathetic, but no one knew where the leader or the bus driver was.  They tried to describe them to me, but it’s hard to pick some one out of the crowd when they’re all wearing the same t-shirt.

“Why Angela,” you say. “The zoo must have a loudspeaker or something.  Why didn’t you just have them call for the bus driver?”  I DON’T KNOW, THAT’S WHY. 

By now the kids are breaking down, so I head back to the van.  Fortunately, we still had the portable DVD player in the van from when we took a road trip a couple weeks ago.  So the kids watch tv, and soon Toddler is fast asleep. 

“Hmmm... I’ll just let Toddler sleep, and by the time she wakes up, surely either the bus or the utility van will be gone.”

One-and-a-half hours later, Toddler wakes up.  The bus is still there.  The utility van is still there.  The drivers of these vehicles are still NOT there.

Resigning to the fact that my day is totally boned, I figure we’ll just play at the playground until some one moves.  I unload the kids, explain we’re going to play, and we head to the playground.  We get not ten steps away from the van, when suddenly the driver of the utility van shows up.  HE can leave, because the bus isn’t parked behind HIM. 

I tried to explain to Preschooler how we have to go back home right now, but she’s not buying it.  I tried to make going home seem like a better alternative than the promised playground, but I still have to drag Preschooler kicking and screaming back to the minivan. “It’s ok!” I say.  “I’m sorry! We’ll go home and have a popsicle AND a lollipop AND we’ll all play outside together in the front yard!”   

This shall be known as mistake number three.

I loaded every one back into the van, and buckled my seat belt, ready to finally leave the god-damned zoo.  But just as I shifted the van into reverse, the utility van left, and another car parked in its space.  OF COURSE IT DID.

Then I did this:

However, this time the car was a station wagon.  And even though the station wagon was one of those older ones with the wood paneling so it was still kind of big, it wasn’t as big as a utility van.

At last, I was able to work my way out of that parking space and we were on our way home.

“Wait a minute,” you say.  “Just HOW did you break your toe?”  Well let me tell you....





*Now before I get too cocky, I will admit that I can’t change a flat tire on this van, and I can’t drive up steep icy hills with this van, and I can’t drive for more than two hours in this van without needing a serious break involving food and a bathroom and maybe a quick rendezvous to a living-history museum.  BUT STILL.