Toy shops; the horror, the horror
I worked for one especially miserable summer in a certain national-level toy retailer in the northwest. background: the boss was a useless swine, full to the brim with self-importance, and after the front of the store was refurbished he was further up his own bum than mr Goatse. Being fit and able, I was approached by this fine figure of a man, who was smiling. here we go, thought I. he's got a special job for me. Indeed he had. I was to dress up as a giraffe - THE giraffe, no less - for the occasion, and greet children with colouring books and sweets. Bear in mind that we normally threw children out if they were unaccompanied, as they had no proper money and pinched stuff, so they were honoured today to be let in at all. Anyway, the costume itself was in a sarcophagus in the staff room - it was enormous. Two of the managers helped me into the body and legs of it, which increased my waistline from 36" to over nine feet and encased me in a thich layer of plush fur and foam rubber. Then the head/neck assembly - four feet tall overall, and secured around my chest with something like a rollercoaster safety frame with a chest-strap, securing the steel-framed neck and head. On with the thick paw-like gloves, and the body was pulled into place and secured to the base of the neck.

And there I was. Looking out through a black mesh grille gave me a tunneled, dim view of the world, like a sooty tank periscope. It weighed about 40 kilos all up, more of a vehicle than a suit. I'm 6'1" usually, but with the suit on I became nearer 7'8" high ... and three feet wide.

If I'd been into fursuits I'd have got right off on this. unfortunately, my perversions lie elsewhere, and there were two more serious concerns which rapidly caused me great consternation. Firstly, it was a hot day - 26 degrees C inside the store, and the manager (Bless him!) had decided to save energy by leaving the air conditioning off. Secondly, the suit had been in this situation before - hot, sweaty and mobile - but unlike me it had NEVER been washed. It stank. I mean it really stank, rather like a dead pig in a warm pool. Those doubts I had were becoming more urgent, and they were confirmed when I waddled into the store to greet the brats, who were milling about going "where's Geoffrey? Where is he?"

One look, and they shit themselves. Some cried, some ran away, some hid behind their mothers. All, without exception, were terrified. I offered them sweets, they screamed even louder and their parents got that face on - you know the one, the "please go away, it's me that has to make him sleep tonight, if he ever will again" one. Well, so would you, approached by a horrid parody of your hero, like him but four times your own height, matted and hairy, and smelling like a plague pit. you'd hide behind mummy too.

I chilled out in the entrance lobby for a bit with a bunch of ten-year olds on rollerblades who wanted to know if I was the real Geoffrey. I got my liar head on. Sure, i do all the events worldwide. Very busy ... new store in uptown LA last week ... great job ... They were quite impressed and didn't mind the smell. respect.

The heat was really getting to me after half an hour, and I felt i'd added enough of my own stench to it. Upon my release, i compulsively drank over a litre of water and felt wierd for days. i got off lightly though, i fouond out later one of my colleagues had been strapped into a similar suit and the chest strap had cracked his rib as his manager yanked it tight.

Could've been worse. Unless they still haven't washed it.
(Jack Rarebit ...We like chillies, Fri 13 Jan 2006, 0:05, Reply)