Jerry hated his job more than anything else in his insignificant life. He hated the mall where he worked, he hated his supervisor, and most of all, he hated being the Easter Bunny. It was hell climbing into his bunny suit for six hours a day; not only could he barely breathe, but he couldn’t even scratch his butt if he needed to! He couldn’t walk around on his break without his “helper” leading him around by the elbow, and the constant playing of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” on the loudspeaker was like an ice pick to his left eye. And the costume! If a bunny that demented looking ever showed up in his yard, Jerry would blow its fuzzy little head off with his shotgun. And to top it all off, if he got within fifteen feet of the jellybeans they passed out to the kids, he broke out in hives.
He knew it could be worse. He could have gotten the Santa Claus gig, but couldn’t have endured children pulling on his beard and women copping a feel as they sat on his lap. At least as the Easter Bunny, Jerry’s body parts were well hidden from violent children and oversexed females. But still, was this worth the minimum wage he was making? He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he fell asleep. The kids would probably think the Easter Bunny was dead, and that would go over like a fart in church.
Instead of getting fired, Jerry thought, he’d quit. He’d go out in a spectacular fashion, pulling off his head in front of all the kids who were too young to know that their parents were full of bullshit when they told stories of the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus. Ignoring their shrieks and screams, he would leave it at the cash register and saunter out, his cotton tail jiggling as he walked into the sunset, a regular John Wayne of the rabbit world.
Laughing to himself, he hoisted another child onto his lap and turned toward the camera, knowing that in a few hours, he’d finally be free…