My first day as the Easter Bunny
A
SHORTAGE OF PUCKS N' PRANKS...
Copyright The Quipping Queen 2005.
A SHORTAGE OF PUCKS N' PRANKS...
Or, where have all the April Fools' Day greeting cards .....
The set is moving. There are animatronics. No one told me there'd
be animatronics A rabbit with a busted plaster ear eternally chases
cabbages, which are inexplicably spinning, spinning. A tiny farmer,
armed with a pitchfork ( a real pitchfork, mind you, on a
children's set---madness. ) a farmer futilely tries to defend his
garden. One of his arms looks like it was broken and set wrong; it
sticks out at a weird angle.
There is fake green grass, little white picket fences, a shed with
a big ornate garden chair for kids to sit and pose with the Easter
Bunny. There are no kids yet.
One young guy is manning the fort. As I approach, I think, 'he
doesn't know my face, I could still walk away'...walk away, it
echoes in some dim part of my mind that still has dignity. But I
know this is my destiny. Appointed by God, or drilled into my
psyche from childhood; some forgotten moment when mommy laughed and
smiled at an unpremeditated antic. A stumble, a surprised
look....resulting in laughter. A clown is born. And so here we
are.
I tell the guy my name. We go to 'suit up'. There are hidden places
in malls, walls with keyholes, that open into large empty spaces
used to store stuff.The suit is there.
I must admit it is beautiful. Pristine, first snow of winter white.
Soft, lovely fur. Except for one little brown spot on the belly.
The guy tells me 'There was an ice cream incident. '
I put on the suit. It fits perfectly, of course. All white, with a
pink belly, the body of the suit alone makes me feel like
Sasquatch.
I picture me walking, big arm swings in the woods, grainy image, I
look back over my shoulder, Wild Easter bunny, showing contempt for
humankind.
The feet are enormous boats of white spongy material. They go on
right over my old boots. (the same boots that stepped in the poop
of Shaq oneals dog, at another weird job.) The bunny hands consist
of thumbs and one big finger. And then the head. It's a really nice
one.
A Georgia
Superhero!
One thing I've loved since I was a little boy were superheroes.
Believe me, I read so many Superman and .....
Shiny, pink nose, big dopey red smiley mouth, the expression
perpetual surprise, amazed with happiness that this child showed
up, this old best friend. When you put on the head for the first
time, you think 'maybe this wasn't such a good idea.'. The head is
hot. Let's start like that. Go into your attic, rip some of that
pink, fluffy stuff off the walls, wrap it tightly around your head.
Now go outside on a hot summer day and cavort, Dance around, wave,
hop, gesture, shake your head. Imagine there's a government sniper
watching you through a scope with orders to shoot if you stop
moving. This is the Easter Bunny experience. But I don't want to
give the impression it wasn't fun. I found it immensely so. But
then I'm weird.
Someone escorts me to the set, because, did I mention, you can
hardly see anything from inside the bunnyhead. The whole outfit is
like a man on the moon spacesuit, on which the big, clear face
bubble has been spray painted almost completely over by mischievous
aliens. You can see straight ahead through two big eyeholes, but
there's a sort of black fog over everything because you're looking
through mesh. There's a surreal quality to it, children waving,
bunny smiling, as volcanic ash slowly falls from Mount St.
Helens.
Later. At the set. Waving, dancing, holding onto the lapels of your
tiny Easter bunny vest, playing 'peek a boo, blowing kisses, more
waving, lots of waving. And some kids are happy and some are
scared, some stunned at the weirdness of it all.
When you sit in the bunny suit, your hard little bunny tail will
wedge itself uncomfortably up your butt. So if you notice your
Easter bunny adjusting his tail before he sits, you know why.
There's a little fan low to the ground, blowing sweet air up, and
if you angle it just right the breeze flows in the crack at your
neck, and cools you down.
Still later. I realize it's only kids here, kids as customers, kids
in charge. So I start to push the envelope. Making bunny gang signs
at kids too old and tough to sit on my lap. Saluting security
guards, clapping when pretty girls walk by, making the curvy
hourglass figure with my hands, imitating people on cell phones,
one furry hand clapped to my big ear, the other hand gesticulating
wildly. Peek-a-boo, that's my specialty. I love to play peek-a-boo
with adults. No one likes it, they all walk away fast.
The job is fun, the kids are cute, the pictures are good if we can
get them to look at the camera.
The quintessential moment comes when I am doing something stupid,
dancing, or just lolling my big fat head around, sweating
profusely. I stop, I see... a movie poster. Viggo Mortensen is
wielding a shiny sword, his hair blows in wild wind. He looks out
proudly at a billion people who know his face, his name. That is
the highest height of being an actor. And this, a faceless, sweaty
clown in a bunny suit, is the lowest low. But I am strangely
happy.
As my shift ends, and I am escorted to the 'secret room' to change
out of my bunny suit, some kid asks me 'are you somebody famous
under there' I put a finger over my bunny lips and disappear behind
the hidden door.
About the Author
Keith is a writer and actor in Los Angeles California. He is a
rabid creator and should be put down or made famous. he makes short
films. puppetts, and sometimes people nervous.
his latest short film can be seen at www.easterbunny.notlong.com
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