Funny Things

I was in desperate need of a job so I did what any dignified, unemployed person would do - never leave my apartment and check Craigslist. After quickly accepting the fact that I couldn’t respond to the plethora of, “Seeking Fit Female Model” ads, I shamefully continued on my search. A few hours and tears later, I came across the Holy Grail of jobs; the Easter Bunny. So all I have to do is sit, wave, and not speak? Is this what destiny feels like? I hurriedly applied and held my breath for three days until I got called in for an interview. My emotionless face and lack of charm was a hit and I instantly got the job.

Before I knew it, I was being thrown into an unknown world of mechanical bunnies, flowers, and…cheer. I was perched on an obscenely large sunflower throne, while slowly suffocating and looking quite dapper in a terrifying bunny costume. A couple of hours into my first shift, I came to terms with my imminent death. The suit was unbearably hot and my “helpers” hadn’t felt the need to get me a fan. I wasn’t ready to die. I had so many things I aspired to do with my life, like learn how to break-dance, or quit this job. Not only that, but no one would even know I was dead until we switched bunnies. There was such an abundance of room in the unrealistically sized bunny head that my breath echoed. Distracting myself by beat boxing and pretending I was Deadmau5, I hadn’t noticed that the janitor had brought me a fan. It wasn’t just any fan though. It was Santa’s personal fan from his village; a replica of a chimney. Before allowing me any sense of relief, my manager decided it didn’t fit the obnoxious spring-themed set behind me and ordered the janitor to take it away immediately. They were lucky I wasn’t allowed to speak.

As the week went on, I began realizing just how hard it is to be a beloved holiday icon. First of all, it’s impossible to please people with a wave. Who knew? Second of all, my day consisted of either precious children offering me their dripping binkies and stale popcorn, or children screaming bloody murder. It’s a very uncomfortable position to be in, not being able to comfort the crying child on your lap. Maybe the kids would have felt better if they knew I was actually crying too. Words can’t express my love for parents rattling and squeaking toys in my face while speaking in baby voices. Needless to say, I never smiled once. At one point, I had the cutest little mulatto girl on my lap who was probably too young to even comprehend the word “smile.” She just sat there, neither intrigued nor upset. After many failed attempts, the photographer turned to the child’s Caucasian mother and asked, “Do you think she’ll smile?” The mother replied with a simple, “I don’t know, she’s black.” Oh. Well that makes sense, right?

As much as I highly enjoyed the tantrum-throwing children, my favorite demographic had to be the teenagers. The moment I saw one I’d enthusiastically wave, knowing they’d be uncomfortable. One punk wearing a purple Kool-Aid Man shirt that was three sizes too big looked me in the eye and pleasantly mouthed, “F*ck you.” Hey, at least I was getting paid to look like a douche, kid. I even had the shocker thrown my way. Sometimes I’d give the guys the closed fist double pump to the heart, signaling that I both understood and respected them. They always made such a huge deal about it and turned to their friends, “DUDE. Did you see what the Easter Bunny just did?!” They probably assumed I was some super cool gangsta when really I’m just a 21-year-old white girl with as much street cred as Elton John.

As time progressed, I learned two key facts; 1. People who loved waving at the Easter Bunny consisted of small children, the elderly, and Asians. 2. People dressed as the Easter Bunny who hated waving in general, consisted of me. Playing games that I only knew about occupied most of my time. I’d sit completely still and watch as people went through four stages; Stage 1 – Noticing the Easter Bunny, smiling shyly, and looking away. Stage 2 – Looking back, anticipating a wave from the bunny. Stage 3 – Contemplating whether or not the bunny is real and staring intently. Stage 4 – Jumping back as the bunny waves and then quickly looking around to make sure no one noticed them embarrass themselves. I always won.

After suffering for a total of 30 hours as the Easter Bunny, I found it was time to quit. So, I quit one week before Easter. The bunny head had slowly given me a mild case of scoliosis, so I felt my decision was justified. If there’s one thing I took away from this experience it is this: never sneeze in an Easter Bunny costume; the consequences just aren’t worth it.

I am currently unemployed and not looking on Craigslist. Happy Easter.