I should have gone to the zoo

Sam had an appointment with his allergist this morning. The office is located at a world-famous respiratory hospital (motto: “#1 Hospital of Jet-Setting Tuberculosis Patients”). To get there, we had to drive into the heart of Denver.

Sam and I were a little early, so we sat in the car talking. He moved up to the passenger seat and poked through the contents of the console. Inside, he found two coffee-stained tokens to ride the train at the Denver Zoo.

“Can we go?”

“No. You have an appointment, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He dropped the tokens and began playing with something else.

We sat in silence and I began entertaining the idea. We were within ten blocks of the zoo. I wouldn’t have to pay for admission because we have a membership. Parking would be free. I could take him just to ride the train. I pictured us walking by the hyenas, kangaroos, emus, cheetahs, elephants, mountain goats, bighorn sheep. We’d stand in line together, watching the train make its oval loop several times. It was always busy, tooting hello, tooting goodbye. Finally, it would be our turn.

We’d get on, sitting near the back to avoid diesel fumes. Built for large kids or very small adults, my knees would touch the back of the seat in front of us and I’d have to make sure my skirt was tucked around under my legs. Zoo patrons don’t want to see that kind of wildlife. Wave goodbye to the waiting crowds, you’ll be next, glad smiles.

Five miles an hour, we’d round the first bend and spy stiff flamingos and flowering bushes. Another curve to a slight incline, Bird World on the right, the carousel on the left with galloping pandas and giraffes, red rose bushes flanking the tracks. Curve and then overpriced hamburgers sizzle on the outdoor snackbar grill. The smoke rises above the great shade trees. Curve. Toot! Done. Off.

Allergies, asthma, eczema trumped my plot to escape for a few minutes on a slow train to nowhere.

We got out of the car and went inside.