Is the FBI building a case against the Hamburglar?
As Shakespeare once observed: “To be a mascot is to fear the fuzz.” Police in Florida recently released bodycam footage proving the Bard was right. In the video, two officers enter a Chuck E. Cheese in Tallahassee and navigate the flashing arcade machines.
They spot the suspect: a bipedal mouse in a purple-green shirt and red shoes.
“Come with me, Chuck E,” says one officer as a child shouts, “Oh no!”
The perma-grin makes it tough to be sure, but Chuck E seems confused.
“Come,” repeats the officer. “Chuck E. CHUCK E! Stop resisting. STOP RESISTING! You are being detained. Stop resisting. Let it go. Do not cause a scene here, sir.”
Officer, I believe Chuck E is paid to cause a scene. As the mascot is led out of the restaurant to the squad car, an angry mother asks, “Would y’all put Mickey Mouse in handcuffs?”
Outside, the officer removes the giant mouse head — “Does this come off, man?” — to reveal the face of a dazed Jermel Jarreau Jones.
He was charged with credit card fraud. The courts will decide.
But if I was Chuck E’s lawyer, I’d blame this on occupational insanity.
We take our mascots for granted. We don’t appreciate how hard it is to provide mute, physical entertainment to kids in a world of touch screens. Jumping jacks are no match for YouTube. No wonder Sebastian the Ibis, mascot for the University of Miami, was once detained by police after busting out a fire extinguisher and trying to de-flame his rival’s planted spear.
But Sebastian was just following his mascot instincts. As was Bearcat, from the University of Cincinnati, who once got into hot water after throwing snowballs into the stands. The mascot for the Arizona Diamondbacks, Baxter, was fired in 2009 after he was arrested for driving under the influence. He also confessed to smoking marijuana.
You would too if you had to cheer for a team that was 20 games under .500.
I’m not condoning drinking and driving. Or soliciting a prostitute (Pat Patriot). Or punching a sheriff (Benny the Bull). Or arson (Vulcan). I’m just saying there is a psychological toll that comes from animating a deranged costume that detaches you from reality while restricting your senses.
My only first-hand mascot experience came in high school when I also worked part-time at the Bay (RIP). One Saturday, my manager came to me with a problem. We had advertised a meet-and-greet with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. The costume was in her office. But the guy who was supposed to wear it was a no-show. He was probably robbing a bank.
She gave me one of those exaggerated sad faces people use when they are coercing. But it actually sounded great. Wear a costume instead of manning the till or folding and refolding sweaters because customers are animals on Scratch & Save? Sure thing, boss!
I remain traumatized by the experience.
As soon as I exited her office as a Mutant Turtle, my biofeedback was throwing ninja stars at my brain. I couldn’t breathe. My glasses were fogging up. My head did not swivel. I lost feeling in my lower extremities. My skin felt entombed in an itchy fabric imported from Venus.
Little kids were sneaking up and pushing me from behind. I was kicked. I was asked to sing songs I did not know. Those pint-sized monsters even grabbed my paws and ratted me out to parents after detecting human fingers underneath. In less than 20 minutes, I fantasized about carjacking someone in the parking lot and joining a gang of bootleggers in North York.
Are you seriously telling me Ace, the Jays’ hyperactive birdie, never wakes up at 3 a.m. in a cold sweat before launching into a primal scream?
After the arrest of Chuck E. Cheese, is it time to pity our mascots?
They spend their working hours in a manic state. Then we expect them to act normal and follow rules in the real world? Unfair! Again, I am not excusing credit card fraud. But put yourself in Chuck E’s red shoes. He witnesses hundreds of Visa transactions per shift. He is powered by pop and cheese pizza. Something probably snapped and he thought, “I can use anyone’s credit card.”
This is what happens when adults morph into green monsters and colossal chickens.
“Do you have any weapons?” the cop asked Chuck E.
The poor guy wasn’t even brandishing a foam wedge of cheese.
Mascots should be allowed to commit minor offences. It’s the least we can do in exchange for the pratfalls and horn-tooting. There should be mascot immunity. Or a legal defence fund in case there is a lawsuit after a T-shirt cannon mishap.
It is not easy to go through life as a silent mouse.
We are failing our mascots.
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