Canned Hams
NOTE: The story below is very loosely based on actual events—so loosely, in fact, that if it tried to take a step forward, its pants would fall to the floor and it would tumble down a long concrete staircase. Therefore, I’ve turned it into a (mostly) fictional short story. ___________________________________________________________________________________ It is 3:30 pm. The park closes at 5:00. The sign says the queue length is 85 minutes. But I am determined. . . . Wendy and I are coming to the end of our day at Animal Kingdom. We are both 62. That’s a total of 124 years. As a result, we have difficulty navigating the place, even though we have a good, old-fashioned printed map. Me: “So are we in Africa or Asia?” Wendy: “I don’t know. Look for a sign.” Me: “What’s that one say?” Wendy: “‘Dim Sum and Den Sum.’” Me, after a pause: “Ohhh-kayyy, is that supposed to communicate anything?” Wendy: “I think they sell shoes. Let’s look at the map.” We do so, and then...