Wednesday, two days ago (August 11th), Mom and I took the little kids (Bryce and Hunter) to the zoo. We drove down there and unloaded, and spent a pleasant day wandering around, looking at the animals, running about, and harassing Jason. We went to the nocturnal house (one of my favorite places, now called the Day and Night House), we saw the penguins and the lions, the hippos and the giraffes, and I got some great digital pictures. Mom was tired by midday and the kids were tired too, so I checked out the elephants and the Trail of Vines while Mom administered lunch to the terrible two. However, at the end of our trip (in the marsupial areas), I began to become Sad.
You see, in a matter of hours, They Might Be Giants was going to play at the zoo. Woodland Park Zoo offers a variety of concerts throughout the summer in the North Meadow ("ZooTunes") as a zoo fundraiser. Mom had told me about it at the beginning of the summer, and I didn’t follow up on it because I didn’t think any of the bands would be bands I’d want to go out of my way to see. I was sorry.
The concert was completely sold out weeks before I even knew They Might Be Giants was coming to town. Completely. naruvonwilkins managed to get tickets for the Vancouver concert, but I didn’t want to (and didn’t have the time to) go way up there for the show, and besides, I wanted to go to the zoo concert. I was desolate. And there, in front of the kookaburras and the wallabies, I mourned.
It was at this point that Mom administered a swift kick to my depression. "Just stay here and sneak over the fence." She advised (or, alternatively, yelling over to the band, who we could see not far away, next to their motorhome by the band shell). She was so insistent that I just stick around and try to weasel my way in somehow that I finally capitulated, and she left the zoo without me. I had only Dad’s digital camera, a $20, and some my debit card.
So, I wandered down through the Northern Trail exhibit and moped. I moped around the wolves, moped around the grizzlies, moped around the black-billed magpies (yes, we have them in our zoo), and moped around the elk. I moped.
Then I went back up to the north meadow, sat on a bench that overlooked the now-empty lawn, and…moped. Convieniently, there were several security guards standing around nearby. One had a radio on. At some point, I overheard “kchhhhhhhhhhhhh…set up Will Call Booth…kchhhhhhhh…North Entrance…kchhhhhhh.” Will Call booth? There’s a Will Call booth?
I hustled up to the North Entrance and told a sympathetic zoo employee my long sad tale of woe. Because he was bored, he tried to confirm my claim that there were no tickets to be had anywhere on the internet, and I was right. He stamped my hand, and advised me to go check out the Will Call table, just across the crosswalk in the parking lot. I did. I found only a sign, an empty table, and an empty chair. I sat in front of it and moped.
Five minutes later, a frantic dad pulling two little girls in a wagon comes jogging out of the zoo (the employee I talked to having directed him to me) and said “are you looking for tickets to the concert.” Yes. YES I WAS. But he had two tickets that he wanted to sell as a pair, and so I was bereft, and again, moping.
But five minutes after THAT, another guy came out of the zoo with spare tickets he was happy to sell off singly, and I WAS IN. I had only $20 on me, and the tickets were $19. How slap-happy lucky is that? He fumbled in his pockets for change, which I laughed off, then gave the startled man a huge bear hug and bounded into the zoo, oozing glee from every pore.
( I am the luckiest girl in the third gradeCollapse )