It was exactly like "Jurassic Park."

The gigantic doors opened, welcoming our tram onto the winding roads through the animal enclosures. They shut behind us with a foreboding thud. The electric fences provided the humming soundtrack to our harrowing adventure. Our lives were now in the hands of the wildlife — lives that were about to get much shorter.

With no doors on the side of the tram, not even the strict no-arms-outside-the-vehicle policy could save us from a proper antler impaling by an oryx. Sure, he looked rather lethargic, but everyone knows that's just an antelopian ruse. The equally enforced no-standing-at-any-time policy could be no match for a fecally focused mandrill with mommy issues.

Here, we, the daring tram-riders, were the endangered species. A simple selfie-stick selfie could ignite a warthog stampede. Everyone knows they're total hams for the camera. And sure, the flamingos look friendly enough, but let's not forget where they get their pink color: genocide, shrimp genocide.

Not that we could be deterred. Sitting four across — with no protection and nowhere to run — we were taking life by the oryx horns and embracing our inner Steve Irwin. Wait; that didn't end well. Scratch that. We embraced our inner Brendan Fraser in "The Mummy." We were venturing off to a world unseen (by most zoo patrons), on roads untraveled (other than by tram), and heading off toward our life-threatening adventure with our heads held high and our arms and legs remaining safely inside the vehicle at all times.

Sometimes, when you gift life with your own presence and confidence, life gifts you back. We passed the towering devil-tongued giraffes without peril. The plotting penguins opted to unleash their fury another day. We eased into the journey and began to feel comfortable in our new environment.

That was a mistake.

Even in "Jurassic Park," the scientists were seduced into a false sense of security. Then, bam! Tyrannosaurus rex! Their gates wouldn't open! The electric fence was down! We lost many good men that day — Samuel L. Jackson, Newman from "Seinfeld."

And now, history was repeating. Our gates also would not open. And this is how it came to pass that 15 strangers found themselves marooned in the terrifying den of the East African gray crowned crane.

"Oh, just a bird," you're thinking.

First of all, the gray crowned crane is not just a bird. The average male stands over 3 feet tall. Show a little respect! Second of all, what exactly do you think those terrifying dinosaurs evolved into? That's right — birds! And just like the dinos in "Jurassic Park," these crowned beasts were learning.

It was not so much that our gates couldn't open; it's that they wouldn't. A large crane stood in the way. The tram driver said the bird was sleeping, but I knew better. He was trapping us on purpose! This was no zoo; this was Orwell's "Animal Farm." And if we wanted to survive, we needed to get out pronto.

The tram driver announced that she would need to call for backup. The animal handlers were on the other side of the zoo, and it would be a half-hour before they could arrive. Sensing imminent danger, the children immediately broke protocol and stood on the seats, flailing both legs and arms outside the vehicle. Irritated by baking in the hot sun, the adults made demands of the tram driver. "Honk your horn!" There was none. "Drive forward until you scare the bird into moving!" She would not. "Rev the engine!" The tram was electric. My dad, an amateur Audubonite, began making his best East African gray crowned crane mating call. The bird looked up, but it didn't move — an incident that will undoubtedly have my dad questioning his manhood for years to come. There were rounds of the theme song from "Gilligan's Island." As the minutes slowly passed, I wondered whether we were destined to live in the crane den forever. Could I hone my inner Brendan Fraser from "George of the Jungle"?

"My life is growing shorter!" an angry passenger yelled.

All eight of the children on the tram were crying by the time the golf cart carrying the animal handlers barreled toward us. They jumped out of the cart and clapped their hands in the tall bird's face. It scurried away, and we were free to continue on the journey.

But I'm still nervous; "Jurassic Park" had sequels.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.