Barf-field Zoo

I was chosen via the rigorous lottery system at Liberty Elementary to be a designated chaperone on the 2nd grade field trip to the Brookfield Zoo. This is old hat to me, seeing that our family has a membership to the zoo and I was also a chaperone last year. No big deal. (Well, to Sophie, who claims I NEVER volunteer for anything in her class. Not true, I mentioned the lottery and it's for real. At this age, every damn mom in the class longs to chaperone field trips, organize crafts, and plan games/crafts/goodie bags for holiday parties. It's not like we're getting to be Madonna's personal assistants for a day. We are hanging out with the same kids who drive us to the brink of insanity as soon as that bell rings at the end of the day...)

So I got to school and filed in with the 2nd graders. Sophie wavered between excitement that I was coming with her class and disdain that I was hopelessly uncool. The mind of an 8 year-old is more complex than you think. I was assigned 5 girls to supervise, listed on my handy note with a map of the zoo and emergency cell phone number of the teacher. Just in case something bad happens. What could happen on a simple trip to the zoo? I donned my overstuffed backpack, heavy with 5 kids lunches plus my own, and headed towards transportation.

The bus ride was cramped and loud. I didn't know 2nd graders knew "We Will Rock You" by Queen so well, complete with clapping and stomping. I was crammed into a seat with my daughter and another child who decided touching and tickling me was hilarious. I was not laughing. At all. We tried to decipher the blurry photocopied map and decide where we should start. Of course, my least favorite animal of the entire zoo, which scares the piss out of me with it's creepy-crawliness, is the bat. The bat house was chosen to see if it would cause me to freak. Damn I hate bats.

Other than reeking of piss and shit, most of the exhibits did not make me freak or even flinch. Well maybe the Pachyderm House, which made me realize that male rhinos not only have really wide, short penises but they use their appendage like a firehose to spray their own urine wherever they damn well please. This results in an odor that is rank, pungent, and will make you tear up quicker than Paula Abdul when George Michael sings. The bats stunk, too, but I was relieved to see they were behind a metal mesh wall. No drama from me, much to Sophie's dismay.

The kids acted like they hadn't eaten in three days so we had to scramble to find a picnic tables. We were now a group of 9 kids and two adults, having merged with another group. The kids mostly ate their lunches until they discovered wandering geese who were more eager for their leftovers than I was to get the hell away from those bats. One little girl layed her head on the table, ate little, and declared she had a stomach ache. Uh-oh. That is NEVER good. Field trips and stomach aches bring me back to one vivid memory...

First grade. Field trip to the planetarium. A boy I will identify as Mike sat by me and ate his lunch. His mom packed Cheese Nips, a bologna sandwich, and red Kool-Aid. But she didn't own a thermos so she put the Kool-Aid in an empty peanut butter jar. Nice touch. My meal was irrelevant, just note Mike's mid-day meal selections. We filed silently into the planetarium. We were seated closely to our classmates. It was pitch black. Dead silent. Then Mike spewed his lunch in a gagging wretch extravaganza one seat away from me. Do you know what Cheeze Nips, red Kool-Aid, and bologna on Wonder Bread smell like when barfed up? It makes you gag a little bit just thinking about it, doesn't it? And guess what? We had to sit through a 45 minute solar system presentation as the tangy smell of puke wafted to everyone's nostrils. The fact that there was not a massive peristaltic domino effect of gagging, and chunk-blowing was miraculous, like fat-free Pringles miraculous. But back to the zoo..

This little girl began to get pale, then a little green. Her mom, a chaperone, waited for a call from her husband to pick them up. We had to use the "emergency number" to reach the teacher, located with her group half way across the park. We merged, decided to combine my group, her group, and the strays from the fleeing chaperone's group. Then her daughter went Yack-O-Matic in front of us all. The teacher turned away quickly, stating she doesn't do well with puke or the mere sight, smell, or mention of it. One down, group of 13 giggling girls and two adults to go.

We struggled to choose our next exhibit as thirteen 2nd graders cannot compromise well, especially with kids who have slightly dominant personalities (i.e. my Sophie). The shyer girls were quiet but visibly annoyed with the choices being made. Speak up, you little pussies. Sophie became Supreme Dictator and declared we were trekking to see the wolves. We got there and guess what we saw? No damn wolves. The girls became enthralled with the room in which you can hear howls of would-be wolves. One little girl sat on the ground since she complained of a tummy ache since witnessing the last hurl session. I no sooner heard the "Don't Do Well With Puke" speech from the teacher when I glanced to our little sitting princess. Her stomach started doing rolls not unlike the way my cats prepare to blow a hairball on my dresser. With a wince on her face, she blew her lunch like a fine textured, orange Glidden paint all over 5 square feet of the entryway floor. Are you KIDDING me??!! The teacher took her immediately outside and I had approximately 58 seconds before the Wolf Howl Posse broke free of their room to cover the evidence of more puke. Paper towels? Zoo staff? Squeegee for Christ's sake?!! Nope. So I grabbed a trash can, ripped the plastic bag free and layed it on top of the chunks 'o' fun. I placed the trash can on top of it and vowed to notify a park staff member as soon as I saw one. As the squealing remainder of 2nd graders with normal stomach functions busted out of the exhibit, we gathered to leave. Then came a rush of more field trippers, stampeding in the room as if they were going to get to pet a real wolf. Suckers. They were knocking the trash can about and stepping in the pile of yack, despite my best efforts to warn them. Fuck it, I'm out. If they slip and slide in it, so be it.

Two more girls declared they had stomach aches now. Did someone lick their hands after taking a dump? I mean, seriously folks. Stomach flu does not jump from one person to the next that fast. I ran to a gift shop and scored some plastic bags and paper towels from a sympathetic clerk. She tried to give me tips on how to avoid motions sickness.
"Just keep looking at the horizon!!! Don't watch things passing by, it will make you sick!" Thanks, Granny. Little too late but thanks. After water breaks, dry heaving from a couple kids, and a slow-ass walk back to the buses, we fearfully boarded for our journey home. Would there be more puking? Some kids huddled next to the bus drivers trash can. Others cradled the plastic bags I got. I noted the "Bodily Fluid Waste Removal" box above the driver. Let's call it like it is, sister. It's "Bye-Bye Hurl In A Box", now isn't it? All I can say is "We will, we will BLOW CHUNKS!!!" I'm not entering the lottery next year.