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Edited on Tue Jun-29-04 02:04 PM by Dolomite
Worked at a Chuckee’s in Brookfield, WI in the ‘80’s while I was in H.S.
{throws an unfiltered cigarette to the ground and squishes it out with a quick twist of his shoe} Listen ‘ere - I dressed up as Chuck E. Cheese. Once.
You’d think children would be afraid of a 7 foot tall rat – but no – they were so jagged up on sugar, grease, and flashing lights nothing could or would possibly faze them.
They’d run up behind me and punch me in the back and then scurry away to hide behind Robotron or Ms. Pac-Man. I found myself in a living nightmare – all these sugar addicts flying by and taking pot shots at me – and then POOF! Like a blur, they would vanish.
Occasionally, if they had a trail of red tickets from a good run on the skee-ball machines in tow, you could make out what direction they headed off to – but that costume head, and those fucking costume feet – Jesus! – well; picture a woolly mammoth stuck in the sweltering heat of Brea tar pits surrounded by hordes of early man clutching sharpened pieces of obsidian, and you might – you might - begin to understand what this was like.
I had to resort to unhooking the costume's foam-filled, pink vinyl tail from the costume itself and I started whipping children with it. That’s right; I said WHIPPING. I thought it was a fairly brilliant move on my part – and I began to smack my way back to the kitchen, but unfortunately it didn’t take them long to realize that all the tail did was make a whapping sound on their exposed skin, and that it really didn’t hurt. Rather quickly, some (apparently the Alpha’s) became willing to take the hit with the tail for a chance to plant the old fist into Chuck E. The "group" often will commit acts that the "individual" normally might find abhorrent, yes? Things really began to escalate at that point.
It must have been the sight of Chuck E. pulling rapid 360’s with his tail out extended in front of him that caught the attention of one of the managers. We called this guy “The Hawk” both because of his unrelenting gaze upon the pizza making line in the kitchen (“7 oz of Mozzarella on a large! No more, no less Goddamnit!”), and, as I found out later, due to his prowess with 16 year old girls – but anyway, The Hawk entered the circling mosh pit and grabbed me by the arm and led me away.
Once back in the kitchen the costume head came off and The Hawk tried to get all tough on me, “What the fuck do you think you were doing out there?” I was squirting sweat out of every pore of my face and managed to say, “Hey relax - I just wanted to see what it was like to be a character out there dude! Did you see what they did to me?” “Well that’s not your job now is it?!?!”
And he was right – I was a dough roller. And when I wasn’t rolling dough I was supposed to be out busing tables – but God help me - I hated busing, so it didn’t take much ribbing from my friends to get me to put on the costume and stumble out into the crowd that night. They made it look so easy. I saw all the characters having fun, bringing joy to the children, taking long breaks – it looked like they had it made (also, most of the characters were cute girls).
But what I learned is that you need special training to go out and throw down with the vermin out on the floor – and above all – you had to have a helper. I had no idea! You needed someone to watch your back, someone to lead you away from trouble, and most of all someone to watch out for kids coming at you with a source of fire – looking back, I was pretty lucky that night – I got off pretty easy from those kids. And The Hawk? Well, let's just say The Hawk was reluctant to fire the same kid he occasionally got high with. But my friends got a story to tell for years and years afterwards. And it’s one I still hear time from time.
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