The Crushing Weight of a Giant Chipmunk Costume

At age six, I couldn’t imagine anything more magical than working with Mickey and Friends. As an adult, it took three mice, a mermaid, and a purple-robed Merlin to help me escape my dream-crushing day job at Walt Disney World.

Illustrations by Vinnie Neuberg

I was six. My family was at Disneyworld, making our way through Fantasyland toward the carousel, when we heard a chorus of trumpets.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!” a voice boomed from a loudspeaker.

A man appeared, slightly crouched, in satiny purple robes, a long white beard draping practically to his legs. In a smaller, sweet and croaking voice, he spoke.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” he shouted in a British accent, tr- tr- tripping over his words, his voice sliding up and down whole octaves. “By proclaim-, proclaim-, proclamation of King Arthur, I am here to find a temporary ruler of the realm!”

“Mom. Mom!” I yelled. “Stop! Everybody stop!” Through shouts and taps on shoulders and hand squeezes, the message was received by all four of my sisters.

“Sarah wants to stop here.”

I moved slowly toward the front of the semi-circle of spectators and watched him, spellbound.

Merlin.

He revealed a wooden divining rod and a mystical “eeeeee” tone sounded. He w…