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It was 1971. I was 17 years old. I wanted to work during my last spring break of high school in order to buy shoes and clothes my parents couldn't afford, so I became a bunny. I still get a kick out of saying that because most people look at me awkwardly or ask, "As in Playboy?" Of course not. I was the Easter Bunny.

It was at the local mall. I had never held a job before, so I remember feeling elated that they had hired me. They wanted me for seven days and I was paid a total of $105, which worked out to about $2 an hour. Considering that minimum wage was $1.35 per hour at that time, I was happy. And with thirty minute breaks every two hours it seemed like easy work.

When I showed up that first morning, I remember how surprised I was to actually see the costume I would wear for the next eight hours. It was really quite unattractive with it's big papier-mch head covered in white bunny fur. The furry-white suit was warm but not as heavy as I had anticipated. Putting the outfit on I was thinking it was good I didn't suffer from claustrophobia since it did feel a bit like having your head trapped in a cave.

As I assumed my place in the mall along with the photographer who would take the pictures of all the little kiddies sitting on my lap, it never occurred to me that my outfit might attract older people as well. However, in addition to the usual toddlers and crying babies, one day three girls from another local high school decided it would be fun to have their picture taken with the Easter Bunny.

I didn't think much about it as the first girl approached; after all she was the one paying to sit on my lap. But the moment her butt hit my thigh and she was close enough to look into the bunny head through the cut-outs that served as eyes, she screamed and leaped up. I was in shock. What had I done? That's when she yelled, "It's a girl!" And I realized she had assumed it was a male playing the Easter Bunny. That brazen hussy wanted to hit on the Easter Bunny. Of all the nerve! Instead her and her two girl friends walked off in a huff. A few minutes later my bunny head was showered with ashes from the floor above me. Someone had upended a large ashtray (it was legal to smoke in public places in the seventies) and covered my furry white suit in black. Of course I didn't have the ability to see who the guilty party was, but I always sensed it was the love-starved high schoolers.

Naturally, their actions closed us down for a bit, but once I cleaned up I went back to work. And aside from a few sneers from rambunctious adolescents who pelted me with the marshmallow egg candies distributed by the photographer the ashtray incident was the height of excitement for my first job. However, the happiness I felt when I finished my assignment and the excitement of spending my first paycheck was with me for months to come.

Learn more about this author, Deborah S. Hildebrand.
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