Why I Assume That Mickey Mouse Sneers Condescendingly At Me

by Mark Morelli
June 23, 2006

One of the weirdest moments of adult life is coming face to face with another human being who is dressed as Mickey Mouse at Disneyworld.

It doesn't have to be Mickey. It can be any character at any amusement park, the mascot at a college or pro game, or some big kangaroo or marsupial at the grand opening of a store.

If He's So Uncomfortable Then Why Am I the Schmuck
That the fellow human stuffed inside those stifling costumes in scorching weather must suffer the indignity of bouncing, swaying, waving and hugging strangers is not the unsettling part.

That the bitter, underpaid person behind the big papier mache smile, melting like a candle, who most certainly thinks I'm the schmuck. Me, hauling around kids, wallet flapping open and shut, standing in line in sweltering heat to hop onto nauseating mechanical rides. I'm the one who is truly trapped and stifled. Now that's what bugs me.

Why do I think this?

Because I assume the people behind the mask are mocking me and making faces while pretending to lovingly hug me and my children. Because I can't see their faces, they get the last laugh, and it is at me. And even though they aren't getting paid much to don that costume, at least they're making some money on the deal and not just getting bilked out of a bushel of pocket money on two flippin' lemonades and a year's worth of patience waiting in the sun on concrete in line for rides.

Store Mascot as Indicted Mobster
Recently in New York, we visited the big 3-story Toys R Us store in Times Square. Their big mascot, Geoffrey the Giraffe, ambled out into the aisle to greet us with a hug. My wife pulled out the camera, and Jeffrey recoiled, covering his face, backing away like an indicted mobster. From out of nowhere, like a Federal agent, a polo-shirted Toys R Us employee said, "No pictures, please, we have our own photographers if you'd like your picture taken with Geoffrey." Imagine a hooker giraffe, coming on all strong, till the discovery that we didn't want to pay. The same thing happened at the Disney store. An enchanting young woman (without a mask) was a dead ringer for Snow White in her costume. "Would you girls like a picture with me, Snow White?" she asked delicately. A glance at the photo packages said, cheapest, $40. Yeah, right, someday when my prince comes, I muttered.

You Can't Hug Anything That Won't Look You in the Eye
Okay, so that's just business. But even when it's free, I have trouble hugging these big costumed mascots. "I can't play along," I told my wife. It's not that I'm not open-minded enough to hug a giraffe, or a mouse, or a grouch that lives in filth and rubbish. I just can't forget that there's a person inside the costume who is being paid to hug me. "I just can't hug if the other person isn't sincere."

"The other person is in a big bear or dog or mouse costume," she said. 'The other person is being paid, like a caterer. Do you refuse food at parties because the caterer is being paid?"

"They're paid to hug me, pat me on the head, that's fine, but when I can't see their faces, I can't make eye contact, I'm certain they're sneering at me," I said.

"It's not a revival meeting," She said, "Why is it important to you to have the big costumed giraffe love you back?"

It's not important. What's important is being able to look Mickey in the eye and share my feelings, which amount to this: It's hot, it's expensive, and it's ridiculous. My guess is that if I truly knew that the person wearing the costume feels the same way we could make a connection, exchange real hugs from the heart, and realize that it is a small world after all.