The first one of them to speak is a kid, wearing a school uniform, who points right at him and says "What's THAT, teacher?"

It's not in a language he recognizes but somehow this fails to prevent it from being a language he knows.

[EMPATHY]:  The child is curious and inquisitive, but look at the posture of the adults. They're tense and afraid.  Of you.  Put them at ease.

Harry straightens and smiles.  "Hello!  I am an officer of the Revachol Citizen's Militia.  Please remain calm."   

Pause. 

"Did any of you see a large snake?"

No one is put at ease by this at all! The teacher, a redhead with a pack of redheaded children, stares at him with if anything more alarm.

"I saw a large snake!" volunteers another kid, this one's hair so violently orange it would be camouflage among basketballs. "In the reptile house!"

"Why are you in with the prairie dogs?" calls a kid whose hair is a more apricot shade.

[LOGIC]: Okay.  The giant snake is clearly gone, provided it ever existed.  We require two things out of this situation: first, we have to know where we are.  Second, we need a phone so that we can contact the police department, which will send us a car to take us back home, likely after several minutes of hurtful mockery.

[EMPATHY]: The child asked the question that everyone is thinking.  The adults will not be put at ease by a response that you accidentally teleported, even though this is factually an ability you have.

[AUTHORITY]:  Conduct yourself with the dignity of your office.  You are the law.

"I am in the middle of police business, small child.  Extremely important, extremely private police business."

Harry looks directly at one of the adults.

"Citizen, in my official capacity as a police officer I require the use of a phone.  Please direct me to one."

"You're not a police officer!" yells Basketball Hair Kid. "They don't dress up like aliens or go in with prairie dogs!"

"They really don't," says the teacher, after a little more openmouthed gawping.

[SUGGESTION]: The child is rebellious and is relishing the opportunity to call out an adult.

[DRAMA]:  My liege, we must make of this muddy enclosure a stage; that we may become its star player!  The child desires theatre, a release from this pedestrian and humdrum trip to the zoo! 

Harry gives a conspiratorial wink.  "That is correct, child!  Unless, say, he were to be conducting an important undercover investigation where he didn't want to look like an officer.  Why, then he might look like anything at all."  He slips his hand into his bright-green coat. 

No badge. He checks the pockets of his trousers.  Nothing.

[LOGIC]: There is a 90% probability the badge is in our other jacket back at home.  

Shit.

Harry coughs.  "Now then: lead me to a phone, if you would."

"Why don't you have your pocket everything?" demands Basketball Hair Kid.

"I'm going to call zoo security," says the teacher, "speaking of."

None of these peoples' responses appear likely to lead to him gaining access to a phone from which he can call the station, and besides which, the child is clearly unimpressed with him, which feels bad.

[SUGGESTION]:  Children love to feel important.  Respect to kids is like a drug that they've always been addicted to, but never once had.

Harry walks to a few feet away from Basketball Hair Kid (still on the other side of the fence) and kneels down until he's at eye level.

"Listen. I'm going to level with you, because I can tell you're not one of these— these regular children. You see things. I see things too.  And between you and me, the grown-ups around here are idiots, and I need someone with eyes on the ground.  Eyes that can see a telephone.  You in?"

"I don't have a pocket everything of my own," says the chosen kid. "Why do you keep calling it that? Are you a time traveler?"

"We're all traveling through time, kid.  Every last one of us."

"Whoa," comments a different kid.

The teacher, meanwhile, has reached zoo security. "Security, there's someone dressed like a maniac, with brown hair, claiming to be a police officer, in the prairie dog exhibit."

The teacher is speaking into a thing in her hand.  It's not really obvious what the thing is, but she's speaking to it like it's a telephone even though it's not connected to anything.

[SHIVERS]: Her posture and facial expression-- periodically glancing our way, closed body posture, avoiding eye contact-- match precisely the signature of someone calling security on us.

[AUTHORITY]:  We shouldn't have to leave.  We are the law.  They should have to leave.

[HALF-LIGHT]:  GET OUT.

Harry straightens up.

"Hey, Basketball Hair Kid.  Name's Harry.  Gonna find a bar nearby, meet me there if you want a job."

Without waiting for a response, Harry hops the prairie dog fence, stumbling just a bit as he lands, and strides past the children toward a nearby cluster of buildings.

The kids give him plenty of space. (One whispers loudly to another one, "He stinks!")

The nearest buildings are labeled RESTROOMS and UTILITY SHED and VENDING STATION.