Yesterday's post brought several emails commenting on my job as mall Easter Bunny, so I thought I would share a little more.
My life as a bunny started in high school, where our school mascot was a "Briar Jumper." (I'm sure this was emasculating for our football team. Ooh! The Big, Bad Bunnies!)
At some point, I tried out to be "Cecil," the mascot who got to wear the plush costume and generally act the fool at all the games.
This is called, My Dream Job.
I had it all. I was bouncy. I was bubbly. I could do cartwheels. I was energetic. I had school spirit. There was only one thing standing in my way.
The cheerleaders were doing the judging. ~shudder~
This was not my ideal judging panel.
Now, I've got nothing against cheerleaders. (In fact, I desperately wanted to be one and get to wear a short skirt and have guys drool over me.)
It's just that, well . . . popular kids tend to eschew unpopular kids.
(This is a polite way of saying, "chew them up and spit them out".)
Now, I can just hear a bunch of you saying, "But Mammarino, it couldn't have been that bad."
Y'all. I was in the VIDEO CLUB, for cryin' out loud.
Not to mention the Art Club.
Heck, if I'd just joined the Chess Club I could have hit the nerd trifecta.
Back to the tryouts. My only real competition that I could see was Chuck. He was a shoo-in because he was already cute, popular and was the class clown. And, I have to admit, he was the perfect Cecil.
I wasn't too worried, though, because they had to pick two or three Cecils. Surely they would see how good I am and I could snag a spot.
Long story short, I was cast as an alternate. Better than nothing, right?
Still, I was dejected. A naughty part of me that I only talk about to God (and, apparently, to the hundreds of people that read this blog) secretly wanted Chuck or someone to get sick just once so I could fulfill my dream of being Cecil.
I got my chance. Good old Chuck and his comrades never even had to catch so much as a cold. It seems that because the task of playing Cecil was so exhausting, they had to schedule two Cecils per game, switching at halftime. However, there was a slight problem with this arrangement.
There was only one costume.
By halftime, that costume was dripping with sweat. You could have wrung it out, filled a 5 gallon pickle bucket, and wrung it out some more.
Just imagine putting on a heavy winter coat that was drenched in stagnant water. And hadn't been washed in, oh, about a year. (That was another thing; they only had it in the budget to have the suit dry cleaned once a month or so.)
Mmmm, boy. No better way to spend a Friday night then by bathing in a teenage boy's sweat.
The costume head, of course, couldn't be cleaned very efficiently, either. Yessirree, that was a treat for the old olfactory system.
Guess who got called on to sub? A lot? Like, almost every single game for the whole school year?
You got it. We geeks are good for something.