The Bends
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The department store was a zoo today and John's plans were as follows: Get in, find Dorian a nice outfit for the dinner party, pay, and then get the fuck out of there as fast as possible. He didn't want to have a dinner party for Easter and he didn't want to shop for clothes so he was about as pleasant as one might expect.
"What do you think of this suit jacket with this shirt?" Dorian asked, holding up a sharp-looking, perfectly-coordinated outfit. "Is it too formal for the occasion?"
"'The fuck are all these people here for?" John asked, looking around the store in angry bewilderment.
Snapping his fingers to get John to focus, Dorian asked, "What are you going to wear? That should help me decide."
"We're having the dinner at my place," the detective said, still distracted. "I'll be wearing my pajamas."
Dorian looked horrified and slung his outfit over his arm and immediately began picking out something for John, as well. "Like hell you are," he muttered. John was turned again, trying to determine why there was a crowd forming on the far end of the store. Dorian took advantage of his turned back to dig at the man's shirt collar and find the tag to check his size. John pulled out of Dorian's grip and headed toward the crowd.
Sighing in exasperation, Dorian waved him off. He knew John's measurements.
John wandered toward the crowd and saw a meandering line of people queued up in front of a ridiculously fluffy stage covered with a big white throne and oversized plastic eggs. He walked past the line of people with their bouncing young children dressed in their Sunday best. A cameraman was framing the shot while workers told children that the Easter Bunny was on his way with saccharine excitement.
"Sir, the line forms back there," said a woman dressed like a chicken, or rather, dressed like the idea of a chicken. She pointed down past the sea of people.
John nodded and folded his arms, not budging. He had no kids with him; did she expect him to get a picture with the stupid rabbit?
When the Easter Bunny made his appearance, there was a high pitched squeal from the children in the line so loud that John jammed his fingers in his ears while waiting for it to die down. He imagined that the deafening screech caused dogs to bark in a three district radius.
This bunny looked rough. Part of the furry pink outfit had a strange stain on it and it looked like it had been hastily cleaned up and was still damp. He stumbled to the chair rather than hopped and when he sat down, his big plastic head made a hollow "PLUNK" sound against the back of the chair. The workers exchanged concerned looks and a woman on the stage whipped the kids into another frenzy by shouting, "Look who it is, kids! Peter Cottontail!" More screaming.
John squinted at the bunny suspiciously as the first child was brought up and placed on his lap. He held onto her with creepy, gloved, human hands and sat up for the picture. It was a good thing bunnies don't talk, because John was pretty sure this bunny was incapable in his current state. The little girl ran back to her mommy who was waiting for the picture to print out and announced, "The easter bunny is stinky."
John assessed the scruffy pink outfit and determined that the stain on the front was vomit. It had a slightly green tint to it. He'd seen enough. He pulled out his badge and stormed up to the stage, preventing the worker from placing the next child on the poor excuse for a holiday mascot. Without a thought, he seized one of the floppy ears and pulled the head right off the suit.
The shrill sound of children screaming assaulted his ears yet again, though this time the screams took on the edgier pitch of hysteria. The man in the suit gave him a dazed look. Traces of neon green slime were smattered around his nose and mouth. Clearly, he was a bends addict. John grabbed the man by the front of the sweaty pink fur suit and tossed him to the ground on his stomach, eliciting more screams of terror from his audience of children. John bit back a queasy feeling, this sonnovabitch really did stink.
"You have the right to remain silent." John began rattling off the Miranda as he cuffed the Easter bunny, his knee planted deep in the drug addict's back.
He looked up and saw Dorian watching in horror, his arms strung with a dozen shirts. "John, what are you doing?"
Angry parents were heading for the exits and many more were heading for the main office to file a complaint.
"He's high as a fucking kite," John said, his voice squeakier and more argumentative than he would have liked, feeling like he just saved the day. Why the hell was everyone so upset? "You want all these kids to sit on this guy's lap?" He lifted the man's head by his hair, a line of green drool trailing from his cracked lips to the cotton covered stage.
Dorian looked around apologetically. The store manager approached John, heatedly requesting that he escort the man to the staff lounge, out of sight of the public.
John hoisted the bunny back up onto his feet and looked at the crowd. At least fifty people had their cell phones on him.
A week later, at the dinner party, John seethed at the table while stuffed into an outfit that, embarrassingly, matched Dorian's. Everyone was laughing about the viral video that made John a Youtube sensation this week. It had been posted under the exhausting title: "Peter Caught-in-Jail: Idiot cop traumatizes kids, ruins Easter."