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Hey, that's me!
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1960s.
Sacramento, California.
I worked at a local-owned family-operated burger-joint chain called YOGI BEAR HAMBURGERS...
... not inside cooking nor making shakes.
Nope, I was the bear.
My gig was to climb into a bear costume, put the yuge plastic 'bear' head over my head, grab a picnic-basket of treats, and walk the outside.
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Carrying the basket in one furred hand, my task was to fumble around in the basket -- using the other furred hand, utterly devoid of tactile feedback -- and pass out tiny theme toys to tiny kids enjoying an afternoon burger.
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Sheer lunacy.
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My visual orientation to the outside world was through the nose of that massive head, a small area of black fabric about twelve inches from my face.
As you might imagine, I tended to shuffle to avoid tripping over curbs...
...or the extended feet of mischievous do-badders.
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My audio orientation was along the lines of "couldn't hear squat".
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Sometimes, I stood on the sidewalk, waving at traffic.
I rarely got pounded by chucked beer-bottles from passing vehicles... although maybe more than I realized because the hairy suit provided a bounce-off buffer for my tender sensitive flesh.
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Sometimes, I staggered through our 'Jellystone Park' picnic-tables area, bouncing off tables and inattentive patrons... hoping some parent would sense my dilemma, and move to intercept my weaving trundle, thrusting any handy child up near my nose-hole so I could graciously offer a toy...
... but with zero ability to sense the toddler's tiny hand grasping the toy -- and with the standard vaguely-in-that-general-direction attempt to grab of any kidlet -- the toy usually got bumped onto the astro-turf.
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Sheer lunacy.
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And sometimes, I waltzed along the drive-through driveway...
... although that was 'thin ground'...
... because of evil and truly demonically-possessed drivers bumping me from behind.
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Still carry the scars.