My Repressed Memory

At first I kind of laughed it off when news first broke of the alleged groping by the Tigger character at Disney World. It was just another shingle falling off of roof of our culture, one more rotten tooth in the mouth of the body politic. As a kid I remembered seeing a documentary about how tight the Disney ship ran, how the actors who donned the character costumes as Chip or Dale, Minnie or Mickey, Pluto et al were always fresh-faced corn-fed drama majors from Midwestern universities. They never appeared in partial costume, never spoke and were the plu-perfect Disney variation on Kabuki and Mime viewed through the kinescope of classic hand-cell animated icons. Shipped after their shift via air-locked monorail back to an isolated airplane hanger under armed guard, suspended in tubes like Keir Dullea in 2001, Up With People piped in.

But somewhere along the way standards shifted, Mamet replaced Lerner and Lowe in college theatre departments, and the amusement park experience became a little bit more risky. As quaint late ‘70’s Fab Five Freddy is to today’s Fitty Cent, so the upright costumed Donalds and Dumbos of my Disneyland childhood are to the alleged sex-offending Tigger. Further cultural meltdown. No big whip. Until…

News came this week that an 18-year-old California youth is alleging a molestation by Michael Jackson from 10+ years ago memories “recovered” in sessions with the same LA psychiatrist who interviewed the alleged victim Jackson is currently charged with molesting at Neverland.

Now say what you will about repressed memories, but I felt a strange foreboding later that day as I passed through the cookie aisle of my local supermarket and I FLASHED BACK, a number of years--

I was part of a live local radio show that would occasionally be booked at important high profile prestige advertiser events. In this case, we were booked at a Winn Dixie in a fashionable Atlanta suburb, where we were joined by the Keebler Elf. We gave away cookies, called in live shots to the station and generally shucked and jived like the B-League celebrities we were. The Keebler Elf was keeping true to the code, not saying a word, face hidden perfectly by the eye and air hole screens in their oversized elf-head.

We kept up ongoing smart aleck banter, generally making our Elf side-kick the butt of jokes in slack times between schmoozing the housewives and kids. I’m sure our elf had heard every lousy elf joke ever burped out by cookie crunching smartasses across the metro. We also realized somewhere along the line that our Elf was a woman underneath that costume, given the particular shapeliness of her body. When our time was up and our day’s work was done and as the Elf knocked off she walked past me, reached out and grabbed my ass. Gave it a good hard squeeze. Lingered a little bit even. Now sure, I’ve been told my ass is plu-perfectly squeezable by a few women who should know. Every man has certain qualities that hold him in good stead and that’s one of mine. But groped by the Keebler Elf for god sakes? Leaving the magic ovens in the old hollow tree untended to come to the burbs and feel up a talk-show host? It was such moment of abject violation and humiliation that I immediately drove it down, down deep into my subconscious. I kept it stuffed down with years of Pecan Sandies and Chips Deluxes. And I would feel a shudder, ever so slight, whenever I was near Harry The Hawk, Buzz The Yellow Jacket, or Chuck E Cheese. The opportunities to brush past people dressed in mascot costumes with large plastic heads are surprisingly frequent for a media insider of my standing.

And now recent events have recovered my Keebler Elf memory in all of its awful grainy 8mm porn-film horror. This is America. I think there may be money to be made here. Any similar cases out there? We could be a class action. Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping.

Rankin’ Rob

Comments

[Velociman]

I believe you have an excellent cause of action. Beware the cross-examination, however. You will be forced to admit you TOOK the grope, and did NOTHING at the time, the implication being you are a latent elfosexual, a sick, sad Anything-Goes-er who only brought this sordid episode up for pecuniary gain.
Which will be true, of course, but you must prepare a defense, at any rate.

[Dave]

hmmm... I can't say that I've ever been groped by anyone, whether they were in costume or not. No I've seen some women in costume that I wanted ro grope... but I don't think that counts.

[Da Goddess]

I don't think I can trump the Keebler Elf, dude. Let me reflect on this a bit.

[Dave]

good gawd... I just read my previous comment, tell me, which do I look more like, the illiterate hick or the drunken idiot?

Must remember to check my speeeelling when leaving comments.

[jack straw]

When I have my repressed memory, I feel sure it will involve Warren Buffet, Bill Gates and Donald Trump doing horrible things to me, and unfortunately money damages are the only remedy the law permits.