Nando & Zoe

Yesterday I did my part to help the children and assisted my good friend, Timothy D. Bellavia at his Sesame Street Read event located at PS 163 on 97th Street. My big acceptance also came because of rumors that the lovable and tickle-ready Elmo would be making a special appearance. Despite the rain, I showed up with my cameras, enthusiasm and love for children.

Timothy had complete control of the event, all the children were swarmed around his tent like busy worker bees constructing their own Sage doll. Timothy is the author who created an award-wining book that demonstrates how “we are all the same inside” even though we look different on the outside. His presence was to shine a light on diversity and allow the children to celebrate their differences. I, on the other hand, was at the event for Elmo and the free chocolate cake I saw being hauled into the volunteer lounge.

In the middle of taping the event, I looked up in a panic because I heard piercing screams. The kind you might hear in a horror flick or a Hannah Montana concert. In unison, the children screamed out one word…“Zoe!” I looked up a noticed a yellow-orange-colored Muppet-like creature walking around the premises. Children began to throw themselves at her; camera flashes surrounded her like Britney and the paparazzi and my inner-child, thrilled yet confused, began to shove toddlers and infants out of my way to get a closer look. Don’t judge.

There I was, in front of Zoe, who wore a permanent glazed smile and had full use of her arms. The circle surrounding Zoe consisted of two 5-year-old Latin girls in pigtails with hearts painted on their cheeks, a pair of 3-year-old blond twins, a little black boy holding a Dora the Explorer umbrella and me.

Once I got close enough—the dream faded away as I noticed the human trapped inside the fuzzy costume. From inside I recognized the blank stare coming out of Zoe’s mouth (which was covered with black mesh allowing the person inside a view of their surroundings) that said “save me.” How did I know that look of despair? The heat generated inside the costume? The humiliation felt by the person held hostage inside a fuzzy Muppet? Oh, yeah, been there—done that!

It was summer in Odessa and being out of a job and needing money, I listened to my mother and went down to the unemployment office to file my working status. A few days later I was contacted by an elderly woman who said she had a job for me. I accepted and never bothered to ask what I’d be doing.

“Be in front of the new Wal-Mart on 42nd Street on Tuesday morning at 6:00 a.m. and ask for Debbie in HR” said the voice on the other side of the telephone.

That Tuesday, I arrived on time and noticed the orchestrated circus before me. There were balloons, clowns, and music; it was all part of the grand opening of the Wal-Mart Super Center in Odessa, Texas. And I was going to be a part of it. (I was in my early teens and had no pride then.) Entering the Wal-Mart palace, I noticed everything was shiny and new. I was directed towards the back and found Debbie, who was yelling at a group of teenagers putting on costumes. She looked my way and tossed Raggedy Andy at me.

“Here, this should fit,” she barked.

As the group of misfit characters formed a line-up, we were given instructions as to when break time was, how long our lunch hours were, and to take constant water breaks; but never under any circumstances take our heads off in front of customers especially the children—they didn’t want a repeat of the Taco Villa disaster of ’87.

I immediately formed a bond with Daisy Duck and the purple monster—we all think the purple costume was supposed to be Gonzo from the Muppets and that the costume makers got only half of the instructions; regardless, he was a nice Chinese kid and he was my friend. Although I did stay away from the Frito Bandito and Miss Piggy, they were older than us and were just mean spirited. During their breaks, they’d sneak away to the back of the building to smoke Camel lights and talk about maybe having sex with one another.

Later that day, after returning from my lunch break, I noticed the characters out on the floor gleefully handing out balloons, handing out cookies and taking pictures with the children—including Raggedy Andy. I rushed to the back and there it was—my new costume. Miss Piggy. I didn’t want to wear the pig outfit, but what choice did I have? I knew I didn’t have an ally in Debbie the HR woman as she had thoroughly explained that she didn’t want to hear about our “problems” unless we were out of green balloons or coconut cookies.

I slipped into Miss Piggy’s dress and tears began to trickle down my face. I put her head on and walked out with a hand full of multi-colored balloons and a tray of cookies to hand out. As I reached the frozen crust section of the freezer isle I knelt down to hand a kid a balloon. And he immediately began to yell and point.

“That’s not the really Miss Piggy! Look, she’s got hair on her arms.”

The pig costume didn’t have arms; it consisted of a head, a dress, and white gloves which left my hairy arms exposed to the world. As a massive huddle of kids gathered around me and started to laugh and point, I felt the insulting pain my Aunt Mera must have felt when the kids noticed her hairy arms as well. Due to Tourette’s syndrome and the hormone imbalances that the medication causes, my Aunt was a regular Frida Kahlo. But as it turned out, Tourette’s was a blessing and a curse because her quick-witted responses and sharp tongue always silenced everyone.

“You wanna see where else I have hair?” She’d say to a group of 5-year-olds as she started to pull her pants down. I wasn’t that lucky, I didn’t have Tourette’s syndrome. So I just stood there with Miss Piggy’s mask hiding my tears as a crowd of 7-year-old Texan kids laughed at me.

A cold raindrop fell on my nose and brought me out of my flashback and back to 2008. I’m sure the person behind Zoe was having a different experience though. She might even get a kick out of dressing up in an orange costume with a tiny pink skirt—I’ve dated a few guys who also felt the same. As I stood there looking at Zoe, surrounded by her adoring fans with her fuzz-covered arms, I realized two things: Children are evil and costume designs have certainly improved within the last 17 years.