We have an incredible zoo here in DC. When the weather’s nice, it’s a lovely place to go and walk. The animals are enjoyable as well. I head to the zoo to pick up my next passenger. It is someone named Wynn.Blanche directs me into the back entrance to the zoo. It is a windy, narrow road. I slam on my brakes as a giant squirrel/possum runs across the road. It is too late. The giant, fat squirrel/possum creature is now a thin flattened pancake. I have NO remorse.I am not a fan of squirrels nor possums.I arrive to pick up Wynn. He reminds me of Crocodile Dundee. He is in the same kind of get up. All he needs is an Aussie accent. He hops up front and says “G’day” check for the Aussie accent.(I have the urge to shout out:”A dingo ate my baby!”)He tells me he works in the zoo in the Endangered species area. He informs me that an endangered marsupial called a Leadbeater possum has escaped the zoo, and we are going to drive around and find it. I let Wynn know that I am no fan of any rodents endangered or not. I also tell him that if it’s a possum good ridence! Also, I point out that I do not see any sort of cage to contain this creature if we do come across it. Out of his leather pouch, Wynn pulls out a contraption which looks like a weapon from Games of Thrones.I ask Wynn why doesn’t he just throw the boomerang which I am positive he must have in his pouch and knock out the possum with that? Wynn looks dumbfounded. He demands to know why I assume that he has a boomerang on him, just because he is Australian?I ignore him and ask him if the possum is endangered why is he going to kill it with that weapon? Wynn becomes incensed and informs me that the medevil device he is fondling is a rustic dart gun. It will not kill the creature but knock it out for several hours.We drive around the windy road. I roll down my window and start to whistle like I am calling a lost dog. Wynn asks me “What the hell am I doing?”I let Wynn know that I am no Jack Hannah. That I have never been on a National Geographic excursion before. I round the corner where I ran over the fat squirrel/ possum. I am just about to share this with Wynn when he screams out for me to stop the car!Wynn leaps out of the car like a savage.He runs to my roadkill and fall’s to his knees. After inspecting the flattened pancake mess, Wynn begins to sob.I am embarrassed for Wynn. If he carries on like this over roadkill, I can’t imagine how ridiculous he must behave over a Lifetime movie!Wynn is about to become roadkill himself. Cars are flying up on the road and swerving around him. I shake my head, I don’t get paid enough for all the nonsense I go through with some of these passengers!I walk over to Wynn and help him up. He is doing the ugly cry and it is not pretty. I walk him to the hood of my car. He leans against it and then rests his head down. I really have to pee, for a moment I consider heading into the woods. My dilemma is disrupted by Wynn who is now inspecting the grill of my car and cussing like an Aussie pirate. I look at what he is pointing to. There is matted fur and dried blood from that fat rodent I hit earlier.Wynn is now glaring at me, and demanding an explanation!I ask Wynn “What’s the big deal? I ran over a fat squirrel”.Wynn begins to shake and turns towards me. He lectures me by screaming that I killed the last male Leadbeater possum in captivity! Apparently, he was set to mate with the female Leadbeater this week. I joke that Wynn is a possum pimp! His face becomes beat red and he lunges towards me shouting that I have ruined the Endangered species of Leadbeaters. My reflex is to karate chop Wynn in in his family jewels.He winces and bends over, pointing his Game of Throne weapon towards his crotch.I hear a pop and Wynn fall’s over.A dart is sticking into his crotch area. He has inadvertently tranqualized himself! Great! How am I supposed to get him back into the car? I stare at Wynn and do my best National Geographic narrator voice:”Here we have a rare marsupial called a Wynn. They are normally found in the Outback. They suffer from narcolepsy and randomly fall over.I film this with my phone and crack myself up. Of course my PWPBS flairs up. I drag Wynn who is completely passed out to the side of the road. I see some bushes and hop behind them with my handy napkins which I pilfer in large quanities from where ever I stop for lunch or a coffee. I pee and step from behind the bushes. A crowd of motorists have gathered around Wynn. They eye me suspiciously. I ask two of the biggest guys to load up Wynn and pop him in the trunk for me. The crowd murmers and I find myself explaining that Wynn is mad at me, I am afraid that once he comes too he may hurt me. If he is in the trunk I am safe. A woman steps forward and asks me if I am afraid of my husband? I don’t know what Confused husband has to do with this scenario? I tell her, he is anything but frightening! She shakes her head and says with purpose:”She is in denial! A victim of domestic abuse!Trying to kill him off and bury the body! Lets help her!”I try to explain that tranqualized Wynn with the dart sticking out of his crotch is not my husband, but to no avail. I am handed a divorce lawyers business card, a domestic abuse hotline number, a plumbers card and an IT card. I feel like one of those glass bowls near the cash register that people dump their business cards into.The men standing around refuse to put Wynn in the trunk. The woman are all for it. They compromise by loading him on the backseat. Wynn is out cold. I say my goodbyes and head out with Wynn.I am hungry and decide to eat at a little café near the zoo. Surprisingly, I find a parking spot and pull in it. I sit at an outdoor table so I can keep an eye on my car and Wynn.A cheerful waitress comes over. I order a glass of wine and a salad. Across the street at the zoo, there are tons of news trucks and reporters.I wonder if another panda has been born? My salad comes and with it, comes a HUGE bread basket. I ask the waitress if I could have a doggy bag for Wynn because I am sure when he wakes up he will be hungry. She asks me what breed is he? I tell her from Australia. She asks how big is he? I tell her about 180 lbs. Her eyes get HUGE and she says she better pack a giant doggy bag! I find her questions rather peculiar!I continue munching on my salad and sipping my wine. The crowd at the zoo is growing. The waitress comes back with my doggy bread bag.I ask her does she know what’s going on at the zoo? She says she heard something about an escaped endangered animal and it’s murder!Before I can respond, I see Wynn banging on the window of my car. He looks like a crazy man! Disheveled, disoriented, and mad. I jump up and open the back door for him. Wynn tumbles out of the car onto the sidewalk.He still has the dart sticking out of his crotch. My cheery waitress now does not look so cheery. She says: “That’s a person! I thought you had a dog?!”I tell her I do have a dog but what does that have to do with my doggy bag? How long has she been in the food business? Doggy bags are really for people. Note to self: Google how to start a petition to change the term “Doggy bags” to “Human bags”.