‘The ‘West-Kentucky Man Zoo’ is either a joke or a century-spanning crime. It is, as the name suggests, a place to peruse men and women in captive habitats, painstakingly constructed to resemble living rooms or office cubicles or fast-food restaurants. The ‘Zoo’ layout maintains a modicum of tact in typing exhibits by personality trait rather than physical characteristics, though it does rely heavily enough on the negative aspects of the human experience to be ‘just a little preachy.’
A photo history of the ‘West-Kentucky Man Zoo’ is available near the gift shop, revealing the establishment has been owned by the same family since its inception. Following in the founder’s bitter footsteps, each generation re-shapes the ‘Zoo’ into an overly-critical commentary of the generation that follows making this a site worth visiting once every fifty years or so.’
“Look,” I tell the guy, calling down to him 20 or so feet below, “Look, I’ve got my cell phone right here. I’m going to call the police right now if you don’t give me some sign this is an act.”
“It’s not an act, man. We’re prisoners here! You ever see any of us walking around town?”
“I’m just passing through,” I shrug nervously, “Seriously, I’m not big on the idea of calling the cops but I’ll do it if you’re actually trapped.”
“I’m actually fucking trapped! Call the damn police!”
“It says on your plaque-”
“Fuck the plaque, call the police!”
“Yeah, but it says you’re… uh… a prime specimen of millennial hysteria- a mental breakdown in an office environment. So, I mean, if this is an act…”
“It’s not an act!” he yells, prompting me to key in the numbers, “Call the police!”
“Okay,” I say, my thumb hovering over the ‘call’ icon, “If it’s not an act then how come nobody has called the police before? You’re saying I’m the only one to come through here that’s considered it? This place has been in business for decades!”
“Jesus Christ, they all do what you’re doing now! I’ve been having the same conversation with you assholes for months now. I’ve-”
“You look like you’re falling for this.” A young woman and her daughter join me at the guard rail and she smiles at the scene below, “They brought him on this year. A real pro.”
“Thank god,” I sigh, loosening my grip on the phone, “I thought I was going crazy.”
“She works for them!” the man yells up, “Fuck you, bitch. Let me out!”
“I suppose my daughter works for the zoo too?” she calls back, and the man below knocks over his rolling desk chair in a rage. “Locals get cheap season passes,” she explains, “And Sarah loves the place. I think she’s going to grow up to be an actress.”
“I’m gonna work here!” the kid chimes in with a mouthful of candy.
“Don’t you say that you little bitch!” the man from below screams, “God damn it, man, don’t listen to them!”
“Do you have a quarter, mithter?” the girl says, “I want to feed the offith man.”
“Don’t beg, honey,” the woman says, “That makes you just like the people here.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell her, searching my pockets, “I’m just happy that this… that I was confused.”
(“You’re not confused, fucker! Get me out of here!”)
“Isn’t this a little… intense for a kid?” I ask as the girl puts the quarter in a slot near the rail and turns a crank.
“Nothing worse than what she hears on the radio these days.”
A doughnut rolls out of a machine above the recessed habitat and hits the man below. He shrieks and shakes crumbs from his wispy blonde hair.
“You’re going to be okay?” the woman asks. The girl tugs at her hand, begging to move on to the next exhibit.
“Yeah,” I say, “Yeah… I just got caught up for a second.”
“You’re not the first,” she says, “The police get calls from here all the time, so if it’s going to weigh on your conscience, you might as well give it a try.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, and I pocket my phone to drive the point home.
The ‘Man-Zoo’ is not a good place for me in my current condition. I wait until they’re gone and turn to go back out the way I came but the guy calls from below.
“You still up there, man?”
I peer over the ledge and see he’s collected the broken remains of the doughnut on his desk.
“She told you to go ahead and call them, right? She told you to call the police because they get this shit all the time but they don’t, god damn it. It’s just another part of the play they’ve got. It’s called reverse psychology.”
“I know what reverse psychology is.”
“What’s the harm in calling the police? Either she’s right, and they know to expect this sort of thing, or I’m right and you’re saving a life. You’re bringing down this shithole. What’s the harm?”
“I get what you’re saying,” I tell him, feeling the vague uneasiness return, “But I really can’t get involved with the police right now.”
“Just call them and bail. They don’t need to know it’s you.”
“They can track my phone…”
“So-fucking-what? You’re the hero of this hypothetical. Just call!”
“I’ll… I’ll call from a payphone after I leave,” I tell him, backing away, “That way it’s anonymous.”
“You think I haven’t heard that?” The man’s yelling again. “You think I haven’t heard that same spineless…”
Eventually the man’s voice is too distant to make out or, possibly, he stops yelling. He sold me on the shtick, right? No need to keep up the show after I’m gone.
An actor, I tell myself.
A good actor with a job that pays him for doing what he loves.
-traveler
