Can You Believe That?

“Can you believe that?” asked Mike, as he pulled away from the curb.

“What?” asked Stephanie.

“Bob tried to tell me I shouldn’t drive home,” answered Mike. He snorted. “Like I can’t handle my liquor!”

“I don’t think it’s the booze,” said Stephanie. “We’ve been partying all night. Michelle didn’t want us to drive home either. She offered us their spare room.”

“The guys are coming over to watch the game,” said Mike. “It’s a four-hour drive. I’m gonna’ need at least a short nap before they arrive. Hey! Can you pass me a beer? They’re behind your seat, under the blanket. I don’t want to lose my buzz.”

“Maybe I should drive,” said Stephanie, as she opened the can for him.

“I suppose you agree with Bob,” said Mike after taking his first drink.

“I didn’t say that!” said Stephanie, defensively. “You’re always picking fights with me when you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Now I’ve had too much to drink, have I?” asked Mike belligerently.

“Look,” said Stephanie crossly. “I was only offering to drive so it’d be easier for you to keep drinking – never mind.”

“You’re just as drunk and tired as I am,” said Mike. “Find a decent radio station and shut up.”

*****

“Steph!” shouted Mike. “Hey! Wake up, Steph!”

“Wha?” asked Stephanie, groggy and starting to feel hung over.

“Jeez, babe! I need another beer,” said Mike. “I was gonna’ ask if you heard that ad for the African Wildlife Sanctuary, but I guess not. You got a little drool …”

“I can wipe my own face,” said Stephanie, as she pushed his hand away and reached behind her seat for another can of beer. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“I haven’t been there since I was a kid,” said Mike, nostalgically. “You ever been there?”

“Tenth birthday party,” said Stephanie. “It was pretty cool.”

“We should go!” said Mike, suddenly. “We’re going to be driving right by.”

“What happened to needing to get home?” asked Stephanie. “I thought you needed a nap before the guys come over.”

“OH – MY – GOD!” said Mike. “What are you? The fun police?”

“I don’t care whether we go or not, Mike,” said Stephanie. “I just thought that –”

“That’s your problem,” said Mike. “You need to let me do the thinking. We won’t get out of the car – just do the driving part. It’s the off-season and it’s not exactly a warm day. They shouldn’t be too busy.”

Stephanie knew it would be pointless to argue. She also knew it would be equally pointless to tell him that she was starting to feel queasy. So, she didn’t.

As Mike pulled up to the ticket booth, he whispered to Stephanie, “Make sure those beers are covered.”

“They’re not the cops,” countered Stephanie, although she was doing as he’d asked.

Mike rolled down his window, “Hey! Two adults, just for the wildlife reserves. We won’t be going to any of the shows or other exhibits.”

“It’s the same price either way,” said the young man behind the plexiglass. “Nice ride! ’87 Camaro Z28 convertible, right?”

“Yeah, man,” said Mike. “V8 305 TPI engine, 215 hp, and alloy wheels!”

“Manual transmission?”

“The only way to drive, man!”

“Sweet!” agreed the young man. “You taking the tour bus?”

“No, bro’,” said Mike. “We’ll be fine.”

“That’s a soft top,” said the young man, as he picked up a cue card and began reading. “If you want to take your car through, it’s at your own risk. Soft tops are easily damaged by the baboons. You are strongly cautioned to leave your car in the parking lot and take one of our complimentary tour buses.”

“That’s okay,” said Mike. “They won’t hurt the car. It’ll be a hoot!”

“Okay,” said the young man, pushing a sheet of paper and a pen through the gap below the plexiglass. “Sign this waiver, to clear the African Wildlife Sanctuary of any liability, in case of damages. Signing the waiver indicates you’ve been warned about the potential damage that can occur to your car – particularly the top – and you have decided to drive it anyway. Don’t do it, man.”

“Kid!” shouted Mike, as he grabbed the pen and paper. “It’s my car, and I said we’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself,” said the young man, as he retrieved the signed waiver. “Keep the top up.”

“Thanks,” said Mike, as he put up his window. “I’m not an idiot!”

“He’s just doing his job, Mike,” said Stephanie.

“Pass me another beer.”

*****

Mike had been right about the crowds – or lack thereof. The queue to go through the wildlife reserves wasn’t long and they were soon on their way. In the first reserve, llamas and cows with long, pointy horns stood and chewed their cud, lazily, unconcerned with the slow-moving vehicles that meandered past them.

Mike stopped his car next to a llama standing beside the road. “I wonder if they like beer,” he said, as he powered the window down.

“A drunk llama,” laughed Stephanie. “Ooooooh! He’s sticking out his tongue!”

“You’re going to scare him off,” whispered Mike, as he poured beer over the llama’s tongue.

Suddenly the llama made a sound like a squeaky toy and spat some green-tinted goo into Mike’s face, before trotting off toward the pond.

“Son of a –”

“There are napkins in the glove compartment,” said Stephanie, suppressing a giggle. “Just a sec.”

*****

In the second reserve the lions were sleeping. “We didn’t pay to watch a nap,” grumbled Mike.

“I was hoping we’d hear one roar,” said Stephanie. “It’s supposed to be really loud.”

Mike applied the brakes and laid on the horn, hoping to antagonize a lion into roaring, while yelling obscenities out of his still-open window.

“It’s okay, Mike,” said Stephanie meekly. “Really, I don’t need to hear one roar.”

“Naw,” said Mike. “You wanna’ hear it; I can make one roar.”

A small truck painted like a giraffe crossed the road in front of the Camaro and stopped at Mike’s door. The window rolled down and a brunette with a ponytail smiled at Mike.

Mike stopped honking his horn.

“Is there a problem?” asked the staff person.

“They’re sleeping,” said Mike. “That’s boring.”

“They sleep a lot. Roll up your window, keep it up, don’t blow your horn again, and move along,” said the staff person, still smiling – yet not happy.

“Don’t know who pissed in her cornflakes this morning,” said Mike, after the window was safely up.

“The monkeys are next,” said Stephanie. “They are so great! That’ll make up for the lions.”

“Sure,” said Mike, still disgruntled. “How about another beer.”

“Last one,” said Stephanie, as she opened it.

*****

“Look at their bare butts,” said Mike, howling with laughter as he shifted the car into park.

“Oh my gosh! Mike!” squealed Stephanie. “One is climbing onto the car! I told you they were great!”

Mike looked up and saw a slight depression in the car top. “Watch this, Steph!”

“What’re you gonna’ do?” asked Stephanie.

“Just watch,” answered Mike. He cracked his knuckles and reached up to touch the slight sag. Then he pushed as hard as he could. “Damn! They’re heavier than they look. I thought I could bounce him.”

As Mike and Stephanie watched the soft top, it bulged where Mike had pushed the baboon butt.

“He’s pushing back!” said Stephanie.

“Awesome,” said Mike. “Let’s play a game – like whack-a-mole. Let’s see if he can catch my hand.”

Mike pushed up near the baboon butt and the baboon pushed back right away, but Mike had already moved his hand.

“You’ve got his attention,” said Stephanie.

“But he’s way too slow,” boasted Mike.

As Mike was reaching for the soft top again, a clawed digit poked through the vinyl.

“Shit!” shouted Mike. He shifted into drive, accompanied by the sound of vinyl ripping.

Stephanie screamed as the Camaro shot forward.

“Gotta’ get the little bastard off the roof!” exclaimed Mike.

“What if he gets in the car, Mike?” shrieked Stephanie.

Had Mike been able to hear Stephanie over the screeching of the baboon above him, he would have ignored her. He was too intent on dislodging the baboon by zigzagging back and forth across the road. However, his erratic driving had only caused his unwanted passenger to hold on tighter, shredding more of the vinyl soft top with each change in direction. Little white fluffies were floating around inside the Camaro, liberated by the baboon’s destruction.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” shouted Mike. “He’s shredding my roof!”

Suddenly a jeep appeared on the road in front of them. A male staff person stood up through the sunroof and spoke into a megaphone: “STOP! We can help, but you must stop driving.”

Mike did as he was instructed. He refused to look up as the sound of shredding vinyl continued. He also refused to look at Stephanie. She was crying quietly. Baboons were gathering off to the left, as food was tossed onto the ground in that direction. Their baboon made one last ripping sound and jumped off the car.

“Son of a …” said Mike, although his heart was not in it. He watched as the vandal baboon joined the others. “He took a piece of the roof with him.”

“Please follow us,” said the man with the megaphone, before sitting down in the jeep.

Both the jeep and Mike stopped in a small space between the fences of the baboon and the savanna reserves. The driver of the jeep got out and approached the Camaro. Mike put his window down.

“You had a little trouble back there,” said the staff person. "I strongly advise you to take the slip road and circumvent the remainder of the reserves.”

“There’s no more monkeys,” said Mike. “We paid for the whole tour.”

“They’re olive baboons,” corrected the man. “I would still advise you to leave. Your vehicle has been compromised.”

“I needed a new top anyway,” said Mike, stubbornly. “We’re going through.”

The staff person nodded toward the back seat. “How many of those beers have you had since you got here?”

“None of your damn business,” said Mike. “Not more than I can handle.”

“Someone will meet you at the reserve exit with papers to sign,” said the man. “You have been cautioned.”

*****

The Sub-Saharan Savanna was a welcome change. Giraffes, zebras, and other grazers were close enough to the road to be easily seen, but not so close that any interaction with the car was likely. Mike ignored the fluttering of the tattered vinyl. He still had not yet looked at it. He was determined to salvage this trip.

“Stop blubbering, Steph,” said Mike. “We’re okay. The car can be fixed. Our biggest problem is that we’re outta’ beer.”

“I’m not feeling good,” admitted Stephanie.

“Look,” said Mike. “There’re elephants way ahead. You love elephants. That’ll cheer you up.”

“Sure, Mike,” agreed Stephanie, doubtful that elephants would help.

This was the largest reserve, and driving at the recommended speed took them about twenty minutes to reach the massive pachyderms. On the way they passed a white rhinoceros, some ostriches, a herd of wildebeests, some sheep, and a herd of deer-like animals.

“Here we are, Steph,” said Mike. “At the elephants.”

“They’re great,” said Stephanie, unenthusiastically.

From where they were, Mike could see the exit gate. There was already a park vehicle waiting for them. The “papers” he had to sign were probably for insurance purposes. Feeling suddenly defiant, he stopped the car. There was no need to rush out of here. At this point, the only thing he could do was make them wait. So, he would. Another brilliant idea struck him.

“I think I have half a peanut butter sandwich in a bag,” said Mike, reaching into the back seat. “Got it!”

“Don’t eat it, Mike,” said Stephanie, covering her mouth. “It’s probably stale.”

“It’s not for me,” said Mike. “That elephant is right next to the car. They love peanut butter. I’m gonna’ put your window down. You give him the sandwich.”

“We’re not supposed to feed the animals,” said Stephanie. “I just want to go home.”

“Right after you feed the elephant,” said Mike, not willing to back down.

“Fine,” said Stephanie.

The elephant did indeed eat the sandwich. Stephanie was amazed at how delicately the elephant took it from her. She hit the power window button, but the elephant put his trunk through the window looking for more sandwich. Stephanie panicked. She pressed the button even harder and didn’t stop pressing it, even after the window’s progress was blocked by the prehensile trunk. The elephant’s trumpeting was deafening inside the small space of the car.

“What are you doing Steph?” asked Mike. “His trunk is caught.” Mike pressed the power window button on his door, but nothing happened.

“Ugh! He stinks!” yelled Stephanie, still holding the power window button down. “I’m going to throw up!”

The elephant trumpeted again.

“Let go of the button, Steph!” shouted Mike.

Stephanie, however, was already emptying her stomach onto her lap, the elephant’s trunk, and the floor of the Camaro.

Mike was speechless as he looked past Stephanie to watch the elephant. The distressed animal sat down on the ground, braced all four feet against the side of the Camaro, and pulled. The sound of the door crumpling followed by the shattering of tempered glass, as the elephant liberated itself, was the last straw. Mike slowly pulled away. It was time to go.

*****

Mike cursed as he came to a full stop on the highway. They were thirty minutes away from their exit. He was barely going to make it home in time for the game, which he no longer had any interest in watching. He could see several sets of flashing lights ahead – police cars, more than one ambulance, and firetrucks – an accident – just great. The Camaro smelled like vomit, made worse by blasting the heat to try to stay warm, with the extra ventilation of a broken window and breached soft top. Stephanie had passed out, with dried vomit stuck to her chin. And he was definitely losing his buzz. This day couldn’t get any worse.

Fifteen minutes later and still no sign of anything changing, Mike decided to drive around the accident. The ditch here was shallow and kept well groomed. With any luck, he would avoid the notice of the police and get home as the guys arrived. He maneuvered the Camaro onto the shoulder of the road, drove carefully onto the verge that passed for a ditch, and crept toward the accident. At least all the damage was on Stephanie’s side of the car.

Hoping the firetrucks parked on the shoulder would shield him from any notice, Mike continued to move at a snail’s pace past the accident – a pile-up involving several vehicles. The Camaro was low enough to the ground, he didn’t want to risk damaging the undercarriage by going any faster. Ten more minutes, fifteen at the most, and he would be able to move back onto the asphalt. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a paramedic waving at him energetically. When he pretended to not notice, the paramedic summoned a couple of police officers. Mike sped up, just a fraction. Something hit the bottom of the car, and the exhaust system took on a deep, throaty sound. Mike swore loudly. The cops were running towards him and catching up. He stopped, turned his car off, and rested his head on the steering wheel.

Mike didn’t move or acknowledge their presence in any way, as one officer walked around his car. The other stood by his door. Stephanie still slept.

“Sir, are you and your girlfriend okay?” asked the female officer, bending over and looking through Stephanie’s non-existent window.

“Wife,” corrected Mike, while lifting his head up. “She’s my wife and we’re fine. She’s not feeling well and threw up. We’ve had a difficult day.”

“She could have a concussion,” said the officer. “Has she been out like this since the accident?”

“Accident?” asked Mike, confused.

“Yes,” said the officer. “I think you should both be seen by the paramedics. Also, if you are involved in an accident, you are legally obligated to remain at the scene. Failure to do so is a criminal offense.” Then she stood up and spoke to the other officer. “The wife is out cold, and the driver seems confused and disoriented. There are empty beer cans in the back, on the floor. We need a breathalyzer and a couple of paramedics. I’ll stay here.”

Realizing what the cop must be thinking, Mike opened his door and got out of the car. “You don’t understand –"

“Whoa! Take it easy,” said the male officer. “You stay here with Constable Melanson, and I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t understand,” argued Mike, as Constable Melanson walked around the front of the Camaro. “We weren’t in this accident.”

Constable Melanson and her partner exchanged a look.

“Seriously,” continued Mike. “We went to the African Wildlife Sanctuary. First a llama spit in my face. Then a monkey, no a baboon, it was on the roof of the car. I was playing whack-a-mole with it, but it ripped through the vinyl. Then Steph, my wife, fed the elephant a peanut butter sandwich. The elephant wanted more. It put its trunk through the window; she tried to put the window up and caught the trunk. The elephant stank and she threw up. The elephant bent the door and broke the window, but it got its trunk out. We were on our way home when we had to stop because of the accident. I just didn’t want to wait … tried to drive around … supposed to watch a game with the guys …”

Constable Melanson’s jaw dropped. She looked at her partner and said, “Can you believe that?”