‘The niche success earned by a handful of ‘dining in the dark’ eateries has had the unfortunate effect of inspiring several businesses with less suitable models to turn off the lights and hope for the best. For most, this spelled the embarrassing end of an already-failing enterprise but ‘Ma’s Midnight Petting Zoo,’ with a name better suited for a swinger’s club, has proved the plucky underdog of the bunch.
‘Ma’s’ survives, in part, by cultivating an air of mystery, mixing a little ‘peeled grapes are eyeballs’ in with their ‘interacting with nature is important’ mission statement. This also serves to downplay the real mysteries. Who is Ma and how does she maintain an omni-presence on all tours? How are so many animals represented in a building that, judging from the outside, couldn’t allow for more than a thousand square feet? And what exactly is the nature of these animals, given that nobody has ever seen one enter or exit the zoo?’
‘Ma’s Midnight Petting Zoo’ opens with an airlock-type room, a room that you enter and are stuck in until the door behind you shuts and casts you into darkness before the door in front of you, leading to the lobby, unlocks with a subtle click.
‘This is fun,’ I tell myself, fumbling forward to the second door, ‘This is part of the experience.’
With the second door closed behind me I stand, in further darkness, and breathe quietly until I notice the breathing of someone else in the room.
“Hello?” I ask, and young woman’s voice responds.
“Oh!” she says, “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in!”
There’s a second’s pause before she speaks again.
“We’re trying that joke out. How was it?”
“Apt,” I tell her, toeing my way forward, “But it might be better to let people know where you are.”
“That’s what I said,” she continues, “Let me sing you to the counter.”
The woman sings a nursery rhyme I don’t know and I follow the voice with my arms outstretched, grasping at her like some malicious, creeping spirit. I stumble several times on obstacles that are not there but always manage to catch myself in the spinning darkness. Eventually I bump into something solid and the woman ends her song.
“Did you bring a friend?” she asks.
I reach back behind me, suddenly, sure that the stranger is there.
Nothing.
“It’s just me,” I tell her, “Why?”
“Pleasantries,” she says, “That’s fifteen dollars, then.”
I have my credit card halfway out of my wallet when the woman stops me.
“Cash only. We have a sign here but, well…”
I put the card back and try, in vain, to suss out differences between the bills by touch alone.
“You can just hand some to me,” the young woman offers after a polite silence, “My name is Elle, by the way.”
“You’re wearing night-vision goggles or something?” I ask, blindly holding the money ahead of me.
“No,” she says, “See?”
Elle’s hand appears on mine and she brushes her face across the underside of my wrist. The unwelcome intimacy is relieved, in part, by a quick return to business as she plucks the bills from my hand and types loudly on a cash register.
“Your eyes adjust,” she says, leading my fingers to the change, “It takes a while, but your eyes adjust.”
Elle sings me to the entrance of the zoo, a less intuitive process that involves my keeping her voice exactly behind my back as I move toward another door. When I find it, Elle’s singing drops off and she yawns.
“There’s a guide rail just inside and to the left,” she says, “Keep your hand on that and move forward. Ma will catch up to you in there and give you a little information about the animals.”
“Are there normally more people here?” I ask, but she does not respond.
“Elle? Hello?”
No answer.
I take a breath and exhale.
The heavy smell of a barnyard greets me on the other side of the door. I find the guide rail and wait, uncomfortably listening to the small noises of a hundred living things. When I tap my finger, something huffs in the dark nearby and I feel the inquisitive sniffs of some creature on my hand. I recoil, and am lost.
“That’s Henry,” a voice says, “He’s our resident goat. Must like what you had for lunch.”
“I haven’t eaten lunch,” I say.
“Must like you, then. Why don’t you find the rail and we’ll continue.”
It takes me a moment, the guide rail seeming further away than I moved. Back in position, the invisible goat takes to sniffing my hand again and Ma lets me stand there, experiencing it.
“Why don’t you give old Henry a pat?” she says after a while, and I oblige. The goat takes to dodging my hand, relatively uninterested in it as an active entity. “That’s good,” Ma says, “Walk a little further.”
It’s impossible to tell where exactly in the room Ma is speaking from. It doesn’t sound like a PA system; her voice comes softly, always a step ahead or a step behind -far enough that I raise my voice when I speak to her, close enough that I worry I’ll step on her feet.
“This is our bunny box,” Ma says, stopping me again, “The softest thing you’ll ever feel.”
I reach forward and feel around to no avail. I’m about to speak up when a familiar snuffling appears on my hand.
“Henry?” Ma asks, “What are you doing there you silly goat? Are you looking for another pat on the head?”
Ma is quiet for a long time before I realize she’s waiting on me. I pat Henry’s head and continue.
“We like to have a little laugh early on,” Ma says, “A couple’a friendly jokes before we get to these scaley fellas. It’s mostly families through here, not big guys like yourself who probably don’t worry so much about putting their hand in a box of snakes in the dark. Just little garters, that’s all.”
I reach forward and immediately feel the head of a curious goat.
“Well! Our friend Henry likes your pats like he likes his carrots- plentiful! Speaking of which, we’ve got some carrots waiting there if you want to give him a little treat. Just a little to your right and about waist height on a tall guy like yourself.”
I grope around, frustrated, until I find the box and reach inside. Something there moves across my fingers and I jump back.
“There’s those snakes!” Ma says, “Guess poor Henry will have to go without for today.”
“I think I’m ready to go,” I say, addressing the room at large, “I’ve… got to be somewhere.”
“You don’t want to meet the others?”
“How many goats do you have in here to meet?”
“Well!” Ma scolds, “If you’re going to be a sourpuss go ahead and follow the guide rail a little further, turn left when it splits and then right again following that. It’s the shortcut we use when the little ones need the restroom.”
I navigate the dark maze of guide rails, a process that seems to take a long time, that winds me through a place that seems too large. After a while, Ma cuts in to guide me again.
“Slow down, now,” she warns, “You’re just about there and we wouldn’t want you to run smack into that door! The release lever is in the center, a fire-door if you know the type. Just a press on that and you’re home free!”
I try, for several seconds, to find the door but my outstretched fingers reach nothing so I take a few careful steps forward. After another second, I feel a sniffling on my fingertips.
“Henry!” Ma exclaims, “You little trickster!”
I am trapped, here.
-traveler
