This Boy

So there we were, fourth-grade field trip to the zoo. It smelled like a mix of tide water and feces, which was probably because we stood between the otters and the capybara. The aristocratic scent of obscenely-priced churros wafted from a stand. It was pure heaven I wandered over to said stand and proffered up a handful of quarters.

"One churro please," I said.

"Seven dollars," said Churro-Stand Man, his voice muffled by his large mustache. I started to count out quarters. My math-minded readers already know that at these exorbitant prices, I would need 28 quarters.  And my elementary-school fashion-minded readers will remember that cargo shorts hit the big time around 1999. My pockets could carry 20 quarters, max. I had some nickels mixed in there too. Needless to say, I came up short. So I scooped my quarters into my hand, and then funneled them back into my pocket. Then the teacher called my name and we moved into the monkey house. That churro smell still slipped through the wire fence, and sidestepped past the angry orangutans and found its way into my nostrils. I needed 8 quarters, badly. Even though I'd have to clutch them in my hands (all pants-pockets were at capacity). I scoured the floor of the monkey house and moved on to the snake house. I found some pennies with gum on them; they weren't worth it. I also found a couple beads. 

Long story short, I never found two dollars that day, but I recently had a cream-filled churro and it was totally worth the wait.

Who likes churros?

This Boy.