Pandamonium

Elliot’s foot tapped furiously on the hardwood. Whatever the results were would change the trajectory of his life. His mother sat across from him, stone-faced as ever. He could see her silently praying. She did that when she was nervous.

We opened the email together, our hands shaking in unison like two people on a wooden rollercoaster. We skipped right to the important part. “Congratulations, you have been accepted to mascot school.”

The program is 18 months of intensive training. Clowning, acrobatics, the Art and Science of Mockery, suit maintenance and repair. Only 50% of students complete the course, but those who do are almost guaranteed a mascot job.

The classes were grueling. The costume was hot. The accusations of his roommates that he was a furry were hurtful. But finally, after a year & a half, Greg had graduated from the program. Now he could don a costume & dance on the sidelines, if only a team would hire him.

Not a day later, Greg got a call from the Pandas, a top team. “We need you,” they said. “Someone who offers the perfect blend of support and intimidation. Are you Panda material?” Greg, already applying black sunblock under his eyes, simply asked, “can I be paid in bamboo?”