The Zoo

I had the distinct privilege of going to the Bears game yesterday, and despite the crappy weather, and the fourth quarter "we gave up the game by letting you score 9 points while we sat idly by" behavior, I had a great time.

I'm sure the four cold beers had nothing to do with it.

Shortly after arriving, as the rain died down and the wind picked up, I walked into the ladies restroom, the one that was nearest our amazing 200 level seats in the end zone, and stopped dead in my tracks.

Animal reference intended.

It had a strange smell. I couldn't place it at first, and then it hit me.

The entire bathroom smelled like a zoo. You know the one—the aroma of straw, dirty floors, animal waste and too many people? Yep. That one.

I looked left. Glanced right.

Nope.

No animals held in captivity below the dripping sinks. No zookeeper lurking in one of the empty stalls. No reasonable explanation for the gross stench.

And that was the LADIES room. I can only dare to imagine what fragrance the men can muster.

Needless to say, the smell lingered for awhile, trapped in my four layers of clothing possibly, or maybe drafting over to our seats from behind us. So, I did what any self-respecting, solid, lived-here-awhile-and-now-I'm-tough, Bears fan would do.

I devoured a Chicago-style hot dog, laden with smelly grilled onions, to make me (and everyone seated within a four-seat radius) forget about the zoo smell.

I think it was pretty damn polite of me, personally.