Easterbunnyland

I am the boss of the Easter Bunny. I remind my son of this every time he acts up. I'm also the boss of Santa, which carries a lot more power because Jake doesn't seem to care as much about the potential loss of candy as he does about the potential loss of massive amounts of toys, but whatever, it works well enough. I've been the boss of the Bunny and Santa for about seven years now, taking only three seasons off for maternity leave and school. I love it. It's a great job. I manage an awesome handpicked staff that returns year after year, am pretty much left on my own by the corporate headquarters, and make fairly decent money a few weeks out of the year (although I'm cranky because my pay was cut this season due to the rotten, stupid economy).

I have very few complaints about my job. The stress that I have is familiar stress- bunnies and Santa's running late, stuck in traffic, panicking me into thinking they're not going to show up; figuring out camera and computer system glitches, why is the printer printing 10000 copies of the same picture (because I let Jacob within thirty feet of the system), why am I bleeding profusely while trying to plug in a fan, that sort of thing. My only major complaint about the job is parents. If it weren't for the parents, the job would be cake. I have a few major gripes that I'd like to get off my chest, because I'm bound by a contract to be polite to people in person.

Gripe one- If your child is terrified of the bunny or Santa, they're not going to "smile nice" no matter how many times I pretend to sneeze, let things fall off my head, or say "hey sweetie, smile for the camera!" It's cruel to force your children to sit with something that terrifies them. The world never ended because little Timmy didn't get his photo taken with the Easter Bunny. No child ever grew up to be a serial killer because he didn't like Santa. I'm not entirely convinced, however, that forcing them to sit with a mutant rabbit or a strange bearded man when they clearly would rather be having you pick out splinters with a sewing needle wont make them one day stand over you while you're sleeping wielding a machete and cackling about slitting your throat. But if you want to take that risk, go for it. Just don't expect us to stand there acting like idiots for twenty minutes trying to get your bawling child to "smile nice."

Gripe two- Let's talk more about that twenty minute issue. This is a small stand in the mall. It's not a magazine photo shoot. There are people behind you, and more people coming, all of whom have been waiting for their turn to drive me batty as well. Please don't make me take fifty pictures of your child while you insist on that perfect, fake memory, then tell me "you know what, the first one was the best, let's go with that." Especially when we told you in the first place that this is as good as it's going to get. We've been doing this for years. We've seen thousands of children. You may know your child best in all other respects, but we can tell you exactly how your child is going to react once they sit on that mutant rabbit or strange bearded man's lap. Just trust us. If sweet, darling Betty is giving the evil eye in the first picture, it's only going to get worse. At some point, she is going to open-fire on the entire mall if you don't get her out of there. So unless she's blinking or looking at you (because you can't follow directions and stand where we tell you to stand), go with the first shot. It's not going to get much better.

Gripe three- You've been standing in line for twenty minutes staring at our list of packages and their prices. We saw you looking at them, we heard you discussing the pros and cons of every one of them. We take an awesome picture of your child, you're thrilled, we're ready to take your money and get you off our set. But you stand there for another twenty minutes debating over how many pictures you need. Meanwhile, we can't take pictures because it'll just hold up the printing process and create a back log of customers. Take notice of how I shift from foot to foot and try to silently sigh in frustration. Be courteous to others, know what you want when you get up there.

Gripe four- This one is serious. The other stuff, I can live with, I can tolerate, and I'm a quarter joking about. But this one drives me truly mad. Please understand that there is a real live person inside the Bunny or Santa suit. They're not robots or aliens. They get hungry, they get thirsty, they have to use the bathroom, they need breaks. Most of all, they get hot. Especially the Bunny. When I say we need to go on a break, and we'll be back in 45 minutes, do not pitch a hissy fit and run down to the mall office to complain. Do not stomp your foot and proclaim that we have just ruined your child's day. Do not insist we take "one last customer." Have a heart. Understand that the person in that suit is dripping with sweat, dying of thirst, and ready to pass out. When we take a break, it's not to make your life miserable, it's to prevent a medical emergency from occuring. I know it sucks to have to wait, but get over it. If you hold us up with your complaints, we'll just take longer. We're spiteful that way.

Here are a few tips on how to be the type of customer we like- Know what you want, don't traumatize your child in front of us, be happy with a real memory photo and not some forced smile that will be worthless in ten years, and be understanding when I tell you if I don't take the bunny off right away, I'll need an ambulance. Be the type of customer we like, and we'll give you free stuff. We get really good coupons from the other places in the mall, we just hide them from you because we want them for ourselves. But if we like you, we share. We know exactly where you can get your photos copied cheap without having to worry about pesky copyright rules (actually, the company will give you a photo release if you call, but we can save you that call). We occasionally have some decent stuff that we want to get rid of. But you'll never see any of it if you're acting like a lunatic and making us want to throw the cash register at you.