The beginning of Mr. Dash

He had been listening to hold music for at least twenty minutes when his cellular phone began to ring, for the fifth time, in his pocket. He ignored it, I’ve too much to get done this morning, he thought as the florescent lighting buzzed overhead, and he watched his coworkers hurry past his open office door. His office was a magical land of stacked paper towers and neatly filed manila folders placed not so neatly in slotted organizational bins containing the days, weeks, and years of policy holder information and agendas to be completed.  The hold music slid softly into his right ear as he typed away his latest quote for home owners insurance. Almost done and its off to shop for the wife, his mind was not on his work, and his phone, which started ringing in his pocket again, was not helping.
    “Honestly, if I don’t answer then why keep calling back?!” he said in an annoyed tone pulling the ringing device out of his pocket and looking to the view screen to identify the caller. BLOCKED. What is so important, I hate blocked calls. Then the phone in his hand began to ring again, except this time it was beginning to get hot, and the caller ID began blinking, first red, then green, then yellow, and it read ANSWER ME MICHAEL, VERY URGENT INDEED. He did.
    “Hello?” his voice was calm with a note of surprise.
    “Ah, you answered.” The other end began. “Took you long enough boy, now look, I need you to get over here and help me with this thing right away. I’ve simply not got the time to waste, and I know you are just sitting there entering data and looking over the internet to seem busy.”
How could he know that? That was exactly what he was doing too. 
    “Who are you, what’s this all about?” he said.
The line went quiet for a moment, and then he could hear sounds like the phone being dropped and a scuffle going on. It sounded as if there were animals in the background, elephants sounding, a roar, a lion, and a monkey or two too perhaps. What the hell is going on?
    “For god sakes, who the hell is this?” he yelled into the space on the other end of the line.
A coworker poped his head in the office, "Everything okay?"
    "Fine, go away!" he yelled.
Suddenly the line came alive again, full volume, a Lion roared followed by the piercing screech of a chimpanzee.
    “Well good heavens, I have not even introduced myself. My name is Reginald Cunningham; I am your father’s friend from long ago. You see, it seems that he and I are in a bit of a dilemma,” he coughed, “and need your help. Can you get to Asheboro Zoo straight away?”
    “Asheboro Zoo? My fathers friend? But sir, my father is dead!” Michael was beginning to sweat and the buzz of the over head fluorescents were beginning to grow louder in his ears.
    “Oh no, my dear boy, dead, your fathers not dead. He is just in another time.” The voice of Mr. Cunningham rang delightfully on the other end of the line as if this was not a troubling sentence at all. “Come now, meet me here in three days time, I shall send the address here on this, err, phone device-majigery. Good to hear your voice again Michael Dash. See you soon.” And he hung up.
Michael sat astonished. Again. My father. A zoo. What the hell is going on.