Last week's question of the week. (While students are researching for persuasive papers.)

Um, Ms. Prokott, can you tell me what fecal matter is?

You bet I can!

Happy Monday.

In first block today, a student came up to me during work time and stuck his foot out and stamped it a little, like an aggravated horse. His white tennis shoe was covered in brown and green shit, along the side, on the front, into the laces.

I have to go to the nurse, he said, because I just realized that I stepped in some dog poop in my yard before school.

ONE MONTH LATER

In the 10 minutes I have left of lunch when I should be grading, I will write a list that will somewhat explain what I've been doing for the last month of my life but will likely not be all inclusive:

• Some greasy maintenance man is "letting himself in my unit" right now and will fix the oven that doesn't work; it hasn't worked since I moved in at the beginning of August, but three days ago was the first time I tried to use it.
• The Good Doctor and I share a gym membership. I've been average about going. The Good Doctor and I have gone about the same amount of time; he has lost six pounds. I have lost zero pounds and have developed some weird rash below my eye.
• Two days ago, a student, a girl with Asperger's, said to me: wow you have a huge gap between those teeth up front. That student disappeared today during a test. She was supposed to have gone to the testing room but didn't show up. She is presumed dead.
• The same day another student, non-Asperger's, said to me: Do you watch Project Runway? Because you look just like the Gretchen girl on that show. Everytime I watch it I think of you. And when I see you I think of the show. I mean, it's awesome! She's so pretty. Right on, student. A.k.a. new best friend.
• I almost died in front of my class, literally, choking on a sucker. A student had his arms around me, Heimlich ready. It was humiliating. I mean, I assumed I would die while eating candy, but not in front of my students.
• My bathroom pass is a mannequin head with hair so greasy it is becoming dreads.
• Today a student wrote this metaphor (non-mash): His hand is a crushed peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the bottom of my backpack. And I freaked out because I really like it.
• Another moment: in an assignment, a student wrote: the birds depart from the trees, airplanes from terminals.
• In a descriptive essay, a student wrote: A smile spread across his face like the Bubonic plague. What?

Some people just don't like dogs.

I sort of hate my new apartment. I hate that my phone doesn't work there even though it did two weeks ago, I hate the fruit flies that love my still-fresh bananas, I hate the way it smells, I hate that on my lease the landlord said they'd be by to fix the "starred items" and have done no such thing, and I really, really fucking hate the guy who lives below me.

Nay, lives in his garage.

It's difficult to explain this. My apartment is a four-plex. Next to the four-plex are three individual garages, and I have the middle garage. I live on the top left corner. A nurse-in-training named Olive (who I heard has kids but have not seen them) lives across from me. I don't know, nor have I seen, the person who lives in the bottom right (or even if anyone does), and the man who lives below me, whose name I have forgotten, is a disgusting, annoying old man who smokes disgusting, shitty cigarettes and has turned his garage into a shop where he houses his old carpentry tools, a TV, and a stool that sits on all through the evening and night so he can watch his TV. He is Nasty Downstairs Guy.

He has a mustache and he ways about 100 pounds. He has disgusting fingernails that are hard and yellow and look like they should be the exoskeleton of a desert beetle. Whenever he smokes in his apartment, the smoke crawls through the vents like an apparition, permeates my room, probably weaves itself into the fabric of my curtains.

An order of events about what has happened with Nasty Downstairs Guy:

1) When I was looking at the apartment to rent, NDG was in his garage with all of his shit; it only made sense that I assumed that garage belonged to the person who was moving out. Plus, as I later found, the lease says garage may only be used for parking cars and not for storage.

2) When David and Matt came over to see my apartment in a brief visit, NDG was in his garage watching the Twins. When they pulled up, NDG stood up from his stool, in the middle of the garage, and stared them down. He didn't stop staring, and David and Matt said that with the light behind him and his hands on his narrow hips and his staring that he looked like Michael from the Halloween movies. He should've been holding a machete or a chainsaw with that looking-down look.

3) At first things, were fine and I was friendly--I asked him about where he got his cable and internet service, he gave me some information, I asked him where the garbage went, he told me where and that the recycling comes on Mondays. Good to know. If you need anything, I'm a carpenter, he said, and let me know if you have any questions about the place.

4) The mailboxes in my building are really complicated with the key. One day I ran into NDG in the tiny foyer and asked him how to open the mailbox. NDG tried to explain it to me as I worked the key, but the box is really crappy and I couldn't get it. For some reason, then, NDG decided to put his hand over my hand so I could get the feel of it. He said, no, no, let my hand do it, just get the feel of it and I was so in shock and close to throwing up that I didn't know what to do or say, and as he stood behind me, I contemplated whether this was harassment or some social problem or some NDG trying to be nice but instead being, well, nasty as his name implies. I felt dirty all day. At one point, he was even frustrated with me when my hand wasn't working with the key and he said no, no, no get the feel of it and then turned my hand again. This is when I noticed his beetle-backed fingernails, so hard it seemed that two other nails had just grown over the first nail.

I will ask for nothing else from NDG.

5) NDG told me that he was getting kicked out of the four-plex after having lived there for seven years. He said that if I read the lease, I'd see the rules he'd broken--not supposed to have a boat, not supposed to have a dog over 30 pounds. He said he was looking for another place. I wondered whether this was true.

6) NDG has a German Shepherd that digs holes in the front lawn. It's a pretty dog, but it's huge, and I'm not scared of German Shepherds normally, but I am scared of German Shepherds that are owned by NDG. I think the dog's name is Buddy. NDG says he found Buddy when he was up in the Boundary Waters and couldn't resist bringing him home, even though he knew the lease wouldn't allow such a large dog. He ties Buddy to a rope outside, so everytime I back out of the garage I'm afraid that I will run him over. I also fear that Buddy will trip me up in his rope, or bite me, or scratch my car when I leave it outside because I'll only be home for a little bit before I leave again, anyway. I also don't like that he is a crotch-smelling dog, and that when he crotch-sniffs the lipstick of his penis shows, which disgusts me more than it should, because he's just a dog and probably does not tend to be a reflection of Nasty Downstairs Guy.

7) Yesterday, the cable guy came to install cable at my house. After he left, I had to drive myself to urgent care* and when I went outside, NDG was fiddling with the spot where the cable is tethered. He said to me YOU NEED TO CALL YOUR CABLE GUY BACK and I said why, and in a rushed way because I needed to get to the doctor and he said BECAUSE HE LINKED YOUR CABLE INTO MY CABLE and I said, fine, even though I didn't know what that really meant, and then he said and another thing--when you leave your car in the driveway, you need to pull it up a little further because people can't get in the roundabout and I said, sure, fine, and drove off, remarkably pissed the fuck off. When I came home about three hours later, my cable wasn't working anymore, and even though I can't prove NDG fucked with some cable that he wasn't supposed to, I'm pretty sure he did something to it. And now, I have to wait until Monday to find out what the fuck is going on with it, and I'm really, really getting tired of this technology bullshit, especially since my phone doesn't work in my apartment and I've been to Verizon 4 times in the last couple of days and they say that can't do anything, but if I want, I can first 1) purchase wireless internet and then 2) pay $100 for a signal extender. I say that I had phone service in Elgin, Minnesota, and it doesn't work in Wayzata? and they say we don't guarantee service, ma'am, or well, a phone tower costs $5 million dollars, and we can't just put one next to everyone's house or they just text their boyfriend the entire time they're supposed to be helping me and say oh, just a second, my boyfriend wants to know if we can get food later.

8) When I got home from the doctor yesterday, NDG had the same visitors he normally does--someone with a hefty chocolate lab that chases Buddy around the yard and all over the driveway (have I mentioned how fucking trashy all of these garage parties and dogs with rope for chains looks? I live in a pretty nice neighborhood next to lots of ginormous houses and this guy is killing property values all on his own) and a couple who have a giant bulldog/lab (?) that's as large as the other dogs except is seriously obese. When I got out of my car yesterday, sick and tired and frustrated, I walked straight to the four-plex door without making eye contact. The bulldog ran toward me, and I walked out of its path and didn't say anything, and the bulldog's owner pulled back his chains and said, now, now, some people just don't like dogs.

Excuse me, I fucking love dogs. I just don't love your dogs because of all the abovementioned shit and because I have no fucking reason to interact with your stupid fat dog. However, what I really "just don't like" is fucking NDG sitting in his garage all day making my apartment building look trashy when it's not, or making me feel really uncomfortable whenever I come home, or telling me how or where to park my car when he is the one breaking all of the rules of his lease. What I don't like is old men harassing me in the foyer or giving me dirty looks or thinking they own the place when they've just been leasing for seven years; what I don't like is my apartment and the entire building foyer stinking like smoke so that I fear when I leave this place all of my fabrics will reek. But I fucking love dogs.

*In addition to the stress of my phone not working and nobody being able to fix it, and the first-year teacher's workshop (so stressful) and NDG and my cable not working, yesterday I had a severe allergic reaction (or stress reaction?) and broke out into the worst case of hives I've ever had. I feel like a leper (except I just Google-imaged that and feel guilty for that hyperbole) and my body is covered in red splotches that itch tremendously. Plus, I couldn't breathe through my nose. This happened after teacher training yesterday. When I was at Verizon, the splotches were beginning to form on my face; when I got home it was out of control. I imagine that the flirting with the cable guy would've been much better if I wasn't covered in a severe rash that was finding its way up my neck.

Anyway, after much stress about trying to figure out which clinic to go to--after getting "office not open" messages from Medica and the phone internet not working to guide me on the website, (I had to run two blocks up the street to make a phone call) I found that the closet urgent care would see me. And that my insurance through Hutchinson will hang with me for another week, until next Tuesday, when I've made a "normal physician" appointment to see if I can get tested for allergies. Good to take advantage of my insurance on the last day of the policy. They said they'll take the claim; we'll fucking see.

I have to take a lot of Benadryl to get rid of this, but it's not really working; the doctor also gave me a steriod and said it should be gone in two days; still I have new splotches (although others have gone). So, I'm tired, I'm supposed to be putting my classroom together, but I really just want to go to bed. Also, I would like to get to the gym, but I don't think they want rashy people all over their machines.

Argh! said Charlie Brown. And then his head fell off his neck.

Last night! Oh, it's the last night.

Leaving Hutchinson is very easy. Leaving anywhere is very easy when you spend so much time packing. You're just like: I want to get the fuck out of here. Get me out, now.

I'm taking a break from packing at the time--my landlord is showing the apartment. The more I clean it, the more I realize that my dad was sort of right when he called it a dump. It's just old, and old houses never feel like they're clean. I can scrub, scrub, scrub, and it still looks dirty.

But what really makes it easy to leave is the basement. Since I've started pulling boxes from the downstairs, I've realized a couple of things:

1) something is leaking, water, and it caused shit to fall from the ceiling, over a bunch of my shit--ruined my boots, destroyed the ottoman, made me glad I didn't have anything down there I'd be upset about losing;

2) mice, mice, mice, fucking fucking mice.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw a little poo on the dryer, I swiped it away, convinced myself it was just a dark piece of lint. Then, with a box I'd brought upstairs, I noticed a little piece of poo; convinced myself it was leftover poo from when all of the things were in James' shed.

But when I started moving the boxes around, really, I found a whole lot of poo. There was a corner near the staircase where this mouse had just shit his brains out, and another corner that he'd turned into his personal toilet--or like a small grass field, if he were an entire herd of cattle. There was so much shit, it looked like someone had spilled a box of shit on the floor.

So, I convinced myself that the mouse had just been there in the winter, he and a couple of his friends had just decided to hang out because it was cold outside. I mean, there is nothing in the basement for him to eat, and there is absolutely no evidence of a mouse upstairs (not a poo to be found, praise the Lord) so it only makes sense that a mouse use the basement to stop from freezing to death. There's no mouse down here right now! I said stupidly to myself. It was months ago, and the poo is just still here! I mean, the basement must be an awesome place to shit for him. He just comes in to take a dump. Just like the special bathrooms Christina found at MSU so she could poo and nobody would bother her.

Lots of spiders, though. Loooots of spiders.

Nonetheless, whenever I went to grab a box for more packing, I still shoved the broom at it first. Like poking a sleeping dragon just to see what it does. Nothing ever ran out. Very little evidence of poo in the boxes, just mostly on the floor.

So the just-in-the-winter theory definitely worked.

But then, this morning, after I'd spent yesterday stabbing boxes and sweeping up shit, I went downstairs to put in a load of laundry. And there were three poops right there, on top of the washing machine. Poops that were definitely not there a couple days ago.

Who the fuck shits on a washing machine. There's plenty of floor to be had, but the little bastard has to shit on the washing machine. Just to be a fucker. Just to say hey, Jean, have fun being in the basement, because I'm not a winter mouse. I'm an all-year mouse. And I might be down here somewhere.

Little fucker.

So. Starting with Winona, I had: centipedes (at King Street), then in Mankato: centipedes at SW and centipedes/moths at Highland, then in Minneapolis: centipedes, then in Elgin: mice, and now in Hutchinson: mice.

I have to be honest, I'm pretty excited not to have a basement next year. Second floor, here I come. Please, vermin, leave me alone. You've made a stronger woman, but I just want to go back to being a girl.

Bloodborne.

Today, this morning, I went to my HR orientation with Wayzata, and like most orientations I've been to, when photo IDs were required, I had not washed my hair.

I had an Ambien hangover, David and I both did this morning, but the drive was short because I stayed with him in Minneapolis last night. And when I packed for this meeting, it never crossed my mind that I should dress nicely. It just crossed my mind to pack pants.

So I was surprised this morning when I was the only one wearing jeans, the only one with greasy hair, the last one to show up who had to crawl over people to the back of the room, the only one who had to leave 10 minutes into the meeting to go clog her runny nose with tissue-thin toilet paper and then tuck it into the pocket of her purple hoodie.

Fucking fancy-ass Wayzata. And your khakis.

All good news today. A raise already because of a flub in my first contract, insurance that pays me $90 a month instead of me paying anything in, the news that I'll be in two different rooms next year but at least will be able to put my things in one of them.

And typical HR videos, oh yes. But the same thing happened to me that always does in these situations: I think things are funny as hell, and nobody else does, everyone else is too shy or too stuff-shirted to laugh at the funny.

The first video we watched was about Bloodborne Pathogens: 15 minutes of precaution. It was an experience I assume students have when teachers pop-in videos that are made to be accessible and fun even though it's a serious topic! And so the lady with the big teeth said we're going to make this learning as easy as possible for you! And then she discussed how to take off gloves and what kind of diseases someone can get from blood while wacky graphics (kind of like the intro to Saved by the Bell) danced in the background and the sound effect of screeching tires or a needle being dragged off a record (like whoa, what did she just say! That's an important statistic!) interrupted her speech every four seconds.

Also, it was like that science show Beakman's World that I used to watch every Saturday morning, fast-paced and trying to make boring things fun, making me wish I had the materials in my house to try some of the experiments.

There are three types of bloodborne pathogens. One is HIV and the other two are Hepatitis B and C. The video portrayed these as a metaphor, so when the narrator said Watch out for the big three--HIV, HB, and HC! the scene cut to three kids wearing letter jackets. One of the kids' letter jackets with HIV sewn down the side.

Of course, I started laughing. And nobody else in the room did. I snorted, everyone else took it seriously. Dude. He had a letter jacket that said HIV and he pointed at the letters with the same attitude accused-baby-daddy have backstage on the Maury Povich show.

Also, the amount of blood in this movie was preposterous. I think it's a little weird that I have to spend so much time on blood training in the first place, but the scenarios in this movie involved a student with such a wretched bloody nose that it covered his entire face, and a Koi pond size amount of blood in the hallway (that a teacher had to clean up). In fact, the video showed this amount of blood on numerous occasions. To myself: well, I guess there are a number of things we need to consider when it comes to those school shootings. I mean, who the fuck is going to clean that shit up? Obviously teachers in business skirts with latex gloves. It was like she was frantically cleaning up after a murder.

The next video was about harassment (hilarious before it even starts). At one point in the movie, the characters (a group of employees discussing their employee handbook in a conference room) were reluctant about the importance of harassment rules. (Duh, harassment is important, you guys! Don't be fucking stupid!)

My second-favorite part of the movie was when the black guy used the word "Oriental" to describe Asians, and the others were like Oriental is not the appropriate term and he was like: do they even care if you call them that? How do you know? Does your cat get mad when you call it Siamese?

And my favorite part of the movie was during the "gay" part, when the men in the movie were chided for talking in effeminate voices about decorating their offices. (By the way, not okay, everybody.) The person offended by these voices was a straight man, and in order to highlight this, the movie cut to an interview with the man (a la Real World with him talking to the camera) and he said I just don't think it's okay for the guys to act like this--I mean, I just found out that Susan who works with me is a lesbian.

And then the video cuts to Susan in an interview setting. She has overheard all of these inappropriate gay comments. Susan is not happy. She is an angry lesbian. Susan is wearing a plaid work shirt, no makeup. She talks in a deep voice and her curly hair is pulled back in a lazy unwashed fashion. If I could've seen it, I'm sure her hair was tied back with twine and she was wearing calf-length socks that had lost their elasticity 2 years ago and hung around her ankles like hair scrunchies.

I accidentally guffawed, and since I was in the front for the movie (they were on a screen in the back of the room), I turned around to look at the "crowd" with a stupid grin on my face that said Oh, man, can you believe this guys! This is the most ironic thing in the world! And a bunch of straight mouths faced back at me.

And then I felt very conscious of my jeans and flipflops.

au revior le Hutch. OR The Big Waterfall Road Trip.

My incessant boredom over the last three weeks would lead one to think I'd be blogging everyday, writing about the nothingness that goes on in Hutchinson with basic cable, a wall air conditioning, and 85 degrees. But boredom, somehow, leads to laziness, and I have been too lazy to blog. I have been too bored to blog, too lazy.

The countdown to Operation: Get the Fuck Out of Hutch has reached its final week. I'm leaving on Saturday. I've been slowly packing for awhile, mostly buying bins everyday and letting them sit in my living room. Then buying more bins. I have a load of boxes to give to Goodwill. I'm throwing things away. The He-Man blanket, I'm sorry to say, has reached its last leg (perhaps a child will experience an unfortunate pricking of the sewing needle Shannon once lost in there), as have a bunch of my clothes, the comforter on my bed (but I love the new one), the Psychology textbooks with USED stickers on the side I thought I'd hold onto for the rest of my life to remember that I once was 19, some random desk items like a paperweight and those desk lights from Ikea that I once thought were so amazing, stainless steel bowls that came with my pots and pans (from the second year of undergrad) and that I never used, not even once. The dishes with the shallow bowls that are ugly anyway (leaving me with only three or so plastic bowls, but I've decided I like hodge podge dishes and intend to replace them slowly with one or two from multiple sets that I like) are packed up and ready to go, as are the plates I bought to display Christmas cookies (just for that, you know) that I did get use out of during Operation: Bake back in 2007.

It feels good to get rid of this shit. I am a new woman.

It will probably be replaced with other shit. But I'm trying not to do that. I feel like I will finally be settling, and it finally feels good. [We'll see how I feel about this in a couple of months, though, eh? Grass-is-greener-Wayzata.)

Today I ordered $50 worth of pictures from Snapfish. I haven't ordered hard copies of photos since 2006, so I'm pretty excited to hold onto the last four years of my life. [Now that I've said this, I realize I'm missing a bunch. Good thing I have a free shipping password.]

A couple of weeks ago, I cleaned out my classroom, handed in my keys and my ID card (which felt like handing in a badge and a gun) and I had the exit meeting with my principal. He said: even though you're leaving, we don't regret hiring you, which I needed to hear. This was much different than what the "mean one" in the English department told Tessa: Jean interviewed so, so well--we were just floored with her. But then the school year started and she didn't do anything we expected her to.

She's a bitch. I should make it clear that "expected her to do" meant that I didn't follow the in-stone curriculum of the department, that I added my own assignments to the in-stone calendar of the department. Before the new interview the department told Tessa (who has the same "rebel" approach to her classroom that I do): well, it's our fault for not making it clear that you and Jean were expected to do everything we'd written in the curriculum. We'll just have to make this perfectly clear during this interview.

Yes, Tessa said, we should make it clear that there is very little room for creativity in this curriculum.

I have been replaced with "Joe."

So, my room is empty. I don't get to say goodbye to some of the kids I'd like to say goodbye to, and I was nostalgic on that last day. But it won't last long. I love this place for the experience, but I keep putting myself in the position: what if you were here for another year, and my stomach twists like I'm doing an unintentional sit-up. Oh, God. The 95 degree open-house with no air conditioning. Teaching "La Relacion" again. And then I think of teaching Advanced Comp, and the twisty feeling disappears. Then I think of living 3 minutes from 8 coffee shops and 2 bookstores and the twisty feeling disappears.

Hutch, Hutch, Hutch.

*

On Saturday I was feeling claustrophobic and I wanted to go shoe shopping, so I drove to Willmar. When I got to Willmar, it was uneventful and dull. It was Hutchinson, but smaller, and with less water features. I was going to turn around and go back, but then I figured I had a whole day, so I decided to turn it into a day trip.

And the mission of my day trip was to visit cities that had the name "falls" in their city name. Because I anticipated that these places would have some waterfalls, and who doesn't love a good waterfall on a Saturday.

GRANITE FALLS, MINN. ["Don't forget to wipe"]

I turned the Impala southwest and headed to Granite Falls. The little phone GPS took me right into the city, and I tried to find parks or waterfalls or areas of green on the little map. But I didn't find much. While the logo for the town has a big fucking two-piered waterfall on it, there were no sigs pointing to waterfalls, nor brown signs indicating parks, which would indicate waterfalls. So, I drove around for awhile, in those little streets. I drove by a Lutheran church with an 80s SUV out front for an almost-married couple, and in addition to streamers and cans on the back, the windows were painted CONGRATS GOON & SHORTY.

This couple is either really, hideously annoying, or really fucking awesome.

I found a bridge and a clearning near the Minnesota River, and I saw a dam-like waterfall next to an hydro-electric plant. See:

And I thought there is no way this lame, man-made waterfall is the claim to fame of Granite Falls. I crossed the walking bridge, over to a park, full of tall oaks and ankle-length scratchy grass; I walked down a sidewalk alongside the park, following the river. And there was nothing there. From the bridge I saw no waterfall, and from the river-side I saw no waterfall.

But there was a blue porta-porty in the middle of nowhere, and I had to pee. I set my camera on the cement outside, went in, swatted the flies, locked the door, squatted. On the back side of the door, in red paint like blood was sprawled DON'T FORGET TO WIPE. It looked like a message on a mirror in a horror movie. And I didn't forget to.

Anyway. Granite Falls has little, but whenever I see them on the weather map, I can think: ah, yes, Granite Falls. I've been there. If I was a student or a certain MFAer with jazzy prose, I'd said, I'll never take that place for granite.


To get out of town and in hopes of seeing a waterfall, I followed these signs about the Minnesota River Valley:

But Minnesotans think everything is scenic.

REDWOOD FALLS, MINN. ["There is a waterfall here, but we're not making it clear where it is"]

I plugged Redwood Falls into the GPS, and it took me the way of construction, so I drove around until it recalculated and took me along more pink Minnesota River Valley sigs. Very green, very much like Mankato with its broccoli-head trees and hills on the roadways that make it seem like I'm constantly climbing a roller coaster, waiting for the click click clicks to get slower as I reach the top and start to point down.

I passed through a Sioux Indian Reservation (with a giant neon sign on the roadside that flashed INDIAN RESERVATION THIS WAY) which seemed a little Casino-esque for not being a Casino, and I pulled into Bridge Street, right into town. Redwood Falls doesn't have a giant river. It has Redwood Creek, and there were a couple of parks around Redwood Creek. I drove the narrow roads near the parks, around the camping signs and the tents and the folks in RVs with orange fires--flames stretching as though they'd just woke up from a long nap and kissing off black smoke--right outside their doors. I found plenty of creek, but I found no waterfalls. It was frustrating, the town being called Redwood Falls. I would like to rename it: There's a waterfall here but we're not making it clear where it is. But then again, Hutchinson is called Hutch and there is no communal Hutch in the city park or anything. There is only a popcorn cart that never, ever sells popcorn and a phonebooth with the phone off the receiver.

In Redwood Falls, I found a zoo. One of those free zoos with chickens in cages as though they're zoo animals and not just jacked from some dude's farm, with deer behind thin wire, with peacocks and goats (meh-meh-mehs) and candy machines that give handfuls of dusty corn for a quarter.

I stretched my legs here (and my feet, which were blistered because of impractical shoes for this impromptu day trip), grabbed the camera, and headed for the buffalo.

The buffalo's heads are as big as my car.

It's a little awkward, being at a zoo by yourself. Sort of child molestery. Parents there had children, couples held hands, I walked around with my keys in my back pocket and my camera strap around my wrist.

I stood in front of the cage. Kids gathered, too, parents made comments about keeping fingers out of cages and how big and brown the eyes were. I stood in front of the big one, camera at my side, just looking.

And the buffalo charged at me. Only me. I was the only one on that side of the fence, and the buffalo rammed his head into the side of the fence. It was like I'd been talking shit about his girlfriend and he was on steroids; it was like Eliot Stabler in the police locker room after a perp threatens his family. Of course, if the fence wasn't there I'd have been dead, but that's why zoos have fences, silly.

The whole crowd gasped and I stood there wide-eyed, and then a man with a paper bag (the zookeeper?) said What did you do to get him to do that? And I shrugged and he said I've been trying to get him to charge all day! And you just show up and he finally charges!

And then he took his paper bag and continued to draw it along the fence in a way of taunting the buffalo and calling out to them. Rattle, rattle, rattle. It made me want to charge him.

Also, he had like four teeth total.

I peeked at the deer for awhile, two babies and a mother; one of the babies really naughty and splashing in the pond, splashing his brother, trying to instigate a chase. Deer are adorable, and I would like one for a pet, please, with its stiff ears and morse code of white dashes and dots on its backside.

I'd grabbed some quarters from my car, so I went to the machine to grab some corn. I fed the goats--they were so excited and cute, little puppies--and when I went back for more, they went away. They went to their goat bridge.

You know, like Billy Goats Gruff. This goat is like: don't take a picture of my fucking bridge. And I certainly couldn't be like hey goats come here because I was by myself, and goats don't like being told what to do, but I noticed a weird crank device where I could drop the corn in and wind it to the top of the bridge. So I cranked, and the goats ate. And then I left, hoping to see some waterfall on the way out, but I gave up and went back to Hutchinson. It wasn't a bad view on the way out, though.

I passed through Olivia, Minn., the self-proclaimed corn capital. And there was a lot of corn, but no more corn than I'd seen the rest of the trip, along with about 400 grain elevators.

The end. That was the day trip, about six or seven hours. I didn't have to fill up on gas, I didn't have to talk to anybody, and I didn't buy anything. But how often do I get to western Minnesota, anyway, and what else are you gonna do. I came home and looked up waterfalls in these towns online: turns out that Granite Falls manmade waterfalls are the big feature (are you serious?) but there are some other falls along the way; turns out I was about 1/2 mile from the Redwood Falls Ramsey Falls alongside the creek. No big deal. Aren't I going to see Niagra Falls in a couple of weeks?

No better way to say goodbye to Hutch than to leave it for a day, so when I came full circle I could call it home, could come back home to Hutch, just once.