23 April 2003
30
R. Linda:
Once upon an Easter, there was an Irishman with no family in Boston where he was living all by his lonesome. Everything was closed and there was no place for the Irishman to amuse himself. Oh, what was he to do?
He could go down and watch the annual launch of the swan boats, or, he could stroll the Common with an invisible dog on a leash, but people might turn and stare -- and he couldn't have that. He could watch the marathon runners warming up for Monday's big race, or he could stay home and watch CNN. He decided instead to go into the office and clean up his desk!
It was 9 a.m. and I had been doing a fairly good job of tidying up. Not many were in, but those reporters who had to work thought I was nuts to be in on such a lovely day. The boss was in his office with one of the senior management, when suddenly I heard him yell, "Hey Gabe! We need some help here."
I slipped me files in a neat row in me file sorter, slipped my jacket on, and went over to his office poking me head in.
"We need a replacement bunny; the last one got sick."
I stood there, my head in the cubicle the rest of me outside it, ready to run off, leaving my head where it was. I laughed hoping he was joking, but he pointed to a chair. I looked at the other person in the room, Mrs. Lila Tippens, an older woman who was one of the senior executives. Her wrinkled face was like one of those wrinkled Chinese dog breeds that are so popular nowadays. She smiled at me and I nodded back thinking to meself her eyes were about to disappear in the folds of her face. Oh, the fright!
I took the offered chair and sighed knowing it was no joke, and if I wanted to progress in the news business there was no way I could refuse.
"Gabe, we need you to come with us to the annual Easter egg hunt we hold for the kids. We'll be on the Common at 10:30 a.m. sharp, and since Brad has taken ill, we'd really appreciate your filling in.
I gulped, "What do I have to do exactly, Mr. Samuelson?"
"You don't have to speak, the bunny doesn't talk," he laughed, wagging a finger at me, "all you have to do is hand out Easter eggs to the kids. We'll load your Easter basket and you can hop around and as the kids come up to you, you'll hand each an egg. Give you a chance to get involved in one of our most popular functions."
Oh boy, I thought, but said, "I won't let you down, Mr. Samuelson."
Mrs. Tippens cleared her throat, "There will be a lot of children waiting for you, Gabriel. You look about as tall as Brad, so I think we won't have to do any alterations. Let me see," she said opening a cardboard box next to her. The costume had a huge bunny head with floppy ears, big bunny feet and the flipping thing was bright pink! Mrs. Tippens turned it round to show me the big white cotton tail, smiling at me once again in that alarming smile where her eyes disappeared into the folds of her skin.
I smiled weakly. What else could I do?
Mrs. Tippens handed it over to me. I gathered it up in my lap as if I could hide it. She instructed me to slip it on and she'd zip me up. Reluctantly, I slipped me feet into the thing and put me arms through the sleeves (which had mitten-like hands), and she got up and zipped me in. There was no getting away now! Both of them eased the bunny head over my face and snapped the thing in place. I was trapped in a Pepto-Bizmol bunny suit and it was close in there.
R. Linda:
Once upon an Easter, there was an Irishman with no family in Boston where he was living all by his lonesome. Everything was closed and there was no place for the Irishman to amuse himself. Oh, what was he to do?
He could go down and watch the annual launch of the swan boats, or, he could stroll the Common with an invisible dog on a leash, but people might turn and stare -- and he couldn't have that. He could watch the marathon runners warming up for Monday's big race, or he could stay home and watch CNN. He decided instead to go into the office and clean up his desk!
It was 9 a.m. and I had been doing a fairly good job of tidying up. Not many were in, but those reporters who had to work thought I was nuts to be in on such a lovely day. The boss was in his office with one of the senior management, when suddenly I heard him yell, "Hey Gabe! We need some help here."
I slipped me files in a neat row in me file sorter, slipped my jacket on, and went over to his office poking me head in.
"We need a replacement bunny; the last one got sick."
I stood there, my head in the cubicle the rest of me outside it, ready to run off, leaving my head where it was. I laughed hoping he was joking, but he pointed to a chair. I looked at the other person in the room, Mrs. Lila Tippens, an older woman who was one of the senior executives. Her wrinkled face was like one of those wrinkled Chinese dog breeds that are so popular nowadays. She smiled at me and I nodded back thinking to meself her eyes were about to disappear in the folds of her face. Oh, the fright!
I took the offered chair and sighed knowing it was no joke, and if I wanted to progress in the news business there was no way I could refuse.
"Gabe, we need you to come with us to the annual Easter egg hunt we hold for the kids. We'll be on the Common at 10:30 a.m. sharp, and since Brad has taken ill, we'd really appreciate your filling in.
I gulped, "What do I have to do exactly, Mr. Samuelson?"
"You don't have to speak, the bunny doesn't talk," he laughed, wagging a finger at me, "all you have to do is hand out Easter eggs to the kids. We'll load your Easter basket and you can hop around and as the kids come up to you, you'll hand each an egg. Give you a chance to get involved in one of our most popular functions."
Oh boy, I thought, but said, "I won't let you down, Mr. Samuelson."
Mrs. Tippens cleared her throat, "There will be a lot of children waiting for you, Gabriel. You look about as tall as Brad, so I think we won't have to do any alterations. Let me see," she said opening a cardboard box next to her. The costume had a huge bunny head with floppy ears, big bunny feet and the flipping thing was bright pink! Mrs. Tippens turned it round to show me the big white cotton tail, smiling at me once again in that alarming smile where her eyes disappeared into the folds of her skin.
I smiled weakly. What else could I do?
Mrs. Tippens handed it over to me. I gathered it up in my lap as if I could hide it. She instructed me to slip it on and she'd zip me up. Reluctantly, I slipped me feet into the thing and put me arms through the sleeves (which had mitten-like hands), and she got up and zipped me in. There was no getting away now! Both of them eased the bunny head over my face and snapped the thing in place. I was trapped in a Pepto-Bizmol bunny suit and it was close in there.
Everyone in the press room had been watching and once suited up, they applauded which didn't help matters as far as I was concerned.
"Well, don't you look the festive bunny," Mrs. Tippens said tweaking my bunny nose. I saluted in proper bunny fashion. I mean what else could I do? At least no one would know who was inside the thing, except the people in me immediate vicinity.
With Mrs. Tippens leading the way, I was greeted with cheers from me fellow co-workers. You don't know the feeling; my heart sank and I felt as though Mrs. Tippens was leading me around by an invisible chain.
We got to the Common, the Boston Common no less. There were hundreds of people strolling about, some to see the swan boats, others warming up for the marathon, some from the Easter hat parade, and others just enjoying the day.
There I was, about to be in the middle of them with children running up as soon as they saw me. I must confess that when I was a wee lad and had called the school bully a snout-faced turdy from behind a tree, the memories of that came zooming back. I had thought I had gotten away with it, but one of them had recognised me voice and the very next day, as I was coming around the corner on me way to school, coming toward me were 700 of the bully's toadies all running straight in my direction! Okay, maybe it wasn't 700, but at that age, it seemed like it was.
With all the pastel children running from every direction toward me, I awkwardly got out of the black stretch. I froze in me big bunny feet, reliving that awful day I was descended upon by the toadie hordes. I could not move for the life of me. Mrs. Tippens had grabbed me one arm, and Mr. Samuelson the other, and they were pulling/dragging me from the curbside down into the Common where the screaming pastel hordes caught up, jumping up and down like Mexican jumping beans, pulling at me pink fur and bunny tail, announcing me to all and sundry . . . I almost passed out!
Well, it was good I didn't have to speak because my voice had left me. I hopped around like a stupid fool and when I had finished handing out the eggs and was about done, one of the reporters from WBZ News came up and said to me on the side, "Gabe, great stuff." She patted her camcorder affectionately.
It hit me like a ton of bricks I was about to be on the News at Noon, the News at 11 and probably many times over on the New England News Networks! I was sweating bullets now, AND they knew me name! What if they said something like this:
Today on Boston Common, the Easter Bunny came to give children an extra Easter treat by handing out chocolate eggs and hopping about with a basket full of fun (and there'd I be in me bright pink bunny costume, HOPPING, yes HOPPING around with the huge beribboned basket filled with coloured plastic eggs). One of Boston's leading newspapers holds the Easter Hop every year and filling in for the ailing Brad Swenson, was Gabriel O'Sullivan . . .
A shiver went down me furry, pink bunny spine as I thought of what might happen to me if I was to get seen by everyone I knew as the Easter Bunny. I knew Tonya would have a laughing fit, Chloe would probably never go out with me again, and Penny, oh God, Penny! She'd be all over me because of the smell of chocolate!
I be home now. Quite a bit traumatised by the whole experience. Brad rang to tell me he saw me on the local news and to thank me for filling in (and he didn't sound sick to me). He told me I had a better hipppy-hop than he had, and he'd be more than happy to let me have the job permanently. I informed him that while I enjoyed the kiddies (in truth I was terrorised) if he didn't do it next year I'd personally show up at his house with a box full of the real things and release them into his home to gnaw on his furniture, his food, whatever bunnies gnaw on, and I'd then throw meself off the John Hancock Tower (Boston's tallest building).
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
"Well, don't you look the festive bunny," Mrs. Tippens said tweaking my bunny nose. I saluted in proper bunny fashion. I mean what else could I do? At least no one would know who was inside the thing, except the people in me immediate vicinity.
With Mrs. Tippens leading the way, I was greeted with cheers from me fellow co-workers. You don't know the feeling; my heart sank and I felt as though Mrs. Tippens was leading me around by an invisible chain.
We got to the Common, the Boston Common no less. There were hundreds of people strolling about, some to see the swan boats, others warming up for the marathon, some from the Easter hat parade, and others just enjoying the day.
There I was, about to be in the middle of them with children running up as soon as they saw me. I must confess that when I was a wee lad and had called the school bully a snout-faced turdy from behind a tree, the memories of that came zooming back. I had thought I had gotten away with it, but one of them had recognised me voice and the very next day, as I was coming around the corner on me way to school, coming toward me were 700 of the bully's toadies all running straight in my direction! Okay, maybe it wasn't 700, but at that age, it seemed like it was.
With all the pastel children running from every direction toward me, I awkwardly got out of the black stretch. I froze in me big bunny feet, reliving that awful day I was descended upon by the toadie hordes. I could not move for the life of me. Mrs. Tippens had grabbed me one arm, and Mr. Samuelson the other, and they were pulling/dragging me from the curbside down into the Common where the screaming pastel hordes caught up, jumping up and down like Mexican jumping beans, pulling at me pink fur and bunny tail, announcing me to all and sundry . . . I almost passed out!
Well, it was good I didn't have to speak because my voice had left me. I hopped around like a stupid fool and when I had finished handing out the eggs and was about done, one of the reporters from WBZ News came up and said to me on the side, "Gabe, great stuff." She patted her camcorder affectionately.
It hit me like a ton of bricks I was about to be on the News at Noon, the News at 11 and probably many times over on the New England News Networks! I was sweating bullets now, AND they knew me name! What if they said something like this:
Today on Boston Common, the Easter Bunny came to give children an extra Easter treat by handing out chocolate eggs and hopping about with a basket full of fun (and there'd I be in me bright pink bunny costume, HOPPING, yes HOPPING around with the huge beribboned basket filled with coloured plastic eggs). One of Boston's leading newspapers holds the Easter Hop every year and filling in for the ailing Brad Swenson, was Gabriel O'Sullivan . . .
A shiver went down me furry, pink bunny spine as I thought of what might happen to me if I was to get seen by everyone I knew as the Easter Bunny. I knew Tonya would have a laughing fit, Chloe would probably never go out with me again, and Penny, oh God, Penny! She'd be all over me because of the smell of chocolate!
I be home now. Quite a bit traumatised by the whole experience. Brad rang to tell me he saw me on the local news and to thank me for filling in (and he didn't sound sick to me). He told me I had a better hipppy-hop than he had, and he'd be more than happy to let me have the job permanently. I informed him that while I enjoyed the kiddies (in truth I was terrorised) if he didn't do it next year I'd personally show up at his house with a box full of the real things and release them into his home to gnaw on his furniture, his food, whatever bunnies gnaw on, and I'd then throw meself off the John Hancock Tower (Boston's tallest building).
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
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