Fun_People Archive
8 May
Cement Cuddlers

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From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Fri,  8 May 98 11:21:17 -0700
To: Fun_People
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Subject: Cement Cuddlers

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Forwarded-by: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Forwarded-by: "Jascha Franklin-Hodge" <joeshmoe@mit.edu
Forwarded-by: Lone Locust of the Apocalypse[SMTP:zorak@netcom.com]
Forwarded-by: Tony Pierce <tony@goodcompany.com

   An "Anti-shopping" Trip with the Los Angeles Cacophony Society
                             by Rev. Al

I had been thinking for a long time about making cement filled teddy bears.
I wasn't exactly sure why. At first it was just a perceptual curiosity I
wanted to experience, and I wanted others to experience:  the idea of being
handed what appeared to be a fluffy stuffed animal, only to have it go
tearing through your relaxed fingers like a lead meteor.

The Christmas shopping season seemed an ideal time to get them on the
shelves of Los Angeles toy stores, so late in November, members of the Los
Angeles Cacophony Society gathered in my backyard to gut several dozen plush
toys and replace their innards with Portland's finest.

We called them, "Cement Cuddlers".

Each bear wore a full-color laminated label identifying it as such complete
with bar code from another toy. Inside the folded tag was the text:

    Unfortunate  Child,  do not mistake me for a  living thing,
    nor seek in me the warmth denied you by your parents.   For
    beneath my plush surface  lies a hardness as impervious and
    unforgiving as this World's own indifference to your mortal
    struggle. Hold on to me when you are sad,  and I will weigh
    you down, but  bear this weight  throughout your years, and
    it will strengthen your limbs and  harden your will so that
    one day no man dare oppose you.

The target was easy to select. Not far away was a large not-to-be-named
toystore, the biggest and newest of the chain in Southern California, a
massive thing like the newly christened Titanic just begging for its
iceberg.

By 10:30, around a dozen Cacophonists had slipped in managing to place
several bears on the shelves without arousing suspicion. Not content to just
leave them there we appointed Cacophonist Todd to help direct the
management's attention to our prank. At 10:35 Todd entered, located a
Cuddler, and brought it to the register, informing the cashier he couldn't
find the price.

Predictably, as he placed the innocent looking toy in those unwary hands,
it went crashing to the floor like a particularly heavy bowling ball. After
this, it just got worse. Todd began to demand a speedier price check,
insisting that he had only minutes to complete this transaction before it
would be too late to bring the bear to his nephew who was, as he repeated
many times for our benefit, "in the hospital with a skin rash." This element
of his story, however, did not appear to provoke the suspicion of the clerk,
who apparently had no difficulty in imagining her customer entering the
children's ward not long before 11 PM to dump a lump of fur-covered
construction material in the lap of an ailing youngster.

However, as Todd's volume increased, backups arrived.  One of the more
astute clerks commented that she had never seen this toy before and wished
to know what shelf it had come from.  Indignantly Todd led them to the
appropriate place. A half dozen clerks, and several customers gathered round
in bewilderment, passing the four bears amongst themselves and shaking their
heads.

I eventually moved into earshot, and heard one woman reading the tag aloud.
"That's really deep!" she exclaimed. I could no longer resist.  I moved in
to express curiosity about this toy.

"Oh! That's a cute bear," I remarked as I reached for a Cuddler.  Without
warning, it was placed in my hands, which naturally were prepared to be
unprepared for its weight. Another thunderous crash!

Now I was outraged! "Look here!" I said. "The labels say, for ages 2-10!
How could "Nameless Toystore Chain" sell such a dangerous toy to
2-year-olds!"

Eventually I was calmed and began contemplating buying one for an older
nephew. Cacophonist Frank became interested in buying one too.  We all went
to the register.

Thanks to the fully functional bar code, the farce continued. However, the
bar code used was from another toy, and so the computer identified the toy
as: Alien Face Hugger $1.99. More panic and confusion. The manager was
called. In the chaos, the bears are handed back and forth a few times more
giving Todd one more opportunity to let one fall, this time "on his foot"
(about 4 inches from his toes). He begins to wail and pulls off his shoe
and sock. The clerks are incredulous.

"Would you say he dropped that on his foot?" one says to me.

"I don't want to get involved," I say, secretly gesturing that Todd seems
crazy.

The manager arrives, and he is young and sour-looking.  Easily a control
freak. We feel he is our divinely ordained victim.

They explain the difficulty with the scans, but he seems to pay little
attention to the computer. Instead his eyes keep darting to Todd as he leaps
around on one foot howling about the lethal bears to other customers.

"Come with me, sir. We'll see what we can do for you," he snaps, dragging
Todd off to his little manager pen.

Frank and I continue as good cops to Todd's bad cop routine, but continue
to hover at the register insisting on the purchase. We discuss with the
clerks how troubled Todd seems and reread the label.

"This is weird," one clerk finally realizes, "a Teddy Bear literally filled
with cement."

I suggest it might be a doorstop for children's bedrooms.

Then a ray of light descends on Nameless Toystore. "It's like a joke
someone's playing or something," says one of our blue-vested assistants.

"You mean," asks Frank, with wonderfully stylized naivete, "like someone
made them themselves? Maybe just this weekend? Took out the stuffing and
replaced it with cement?"

"Or maybe that crazy guy did," says the clerk.

"No, no. Can't be," I say. "Why would he insist on buying from you something
he made himself. That's illogical!"

Suddenly we hear Todd's voice booming again from the front of the store.
They have emerged from the manager pen.

This will mean so much to Bobby. God Bless you!" And he leaves with the bear
in bag. $1.99! Lucky bastard!

Manager-man hurries to the counter with his panicky stick-up-the-ass gait,
one ear pressed to a cellular, doubtlessly consulting the Nameless Toystore
overlords. We mob him, insisting to know the price arrived at.

"They're not for sale."

We are incredulous, indignant. "This item is discontinued." He bites off
the word and rushes to the shelves to haul the Cuddlers away. We continue
to needle him as he gathers the bears. Suddenly, he swings around holding
the furry blocks of cement as if he might do some harm.  Perspiration has
appeared on his forehead.

"Look!" he sputters, "I don't know how these things got on the shelves!
They DON'T track correctly on the computer.  I've never seen them before.
I have NO explanation.  It's like someone's playing a joke on MY STORE!"

It's in that word "my". You can tell. He's gotten that look like he's just
seen the first crack in the brand new ceiling. We understand that if that
crack widens by even a hairline, he's going to see through it.  He already
suspects Todd. He is probably 90 seconds from realizing that we're all part
of it.

And so we decide to take advantage of our time.

"Could you at least tell us the manufacturer so maybe we could order the
toy?"

He whips the label over, and reads, Brutal Truth Toys.

This is a good time to leave.  There's still a half hour before midnight,
so we take advantage of the energy we've gathered to make a few prank phone
calls. I call a rival Nameless Toystore asking for Cement Cuddlers.

I'm put on hold and another clerk picks up the phone and claims to have
actually pulled up the info on my Cement Cuddlers on the computer. He tells
me I can get a raincheck. Sadly, when I ask for the stock number, he
suddenly loses the record that he "just had, just a minute ago".

After going through three or four baffled and fairly easy to baffle clerks,
I finally get to the manager. I am slightly indignant at the delays and
feigned ignorance of a product I JUST PURCHASED THAT VERY NIGHT at their
rival, the new Burbank store, we'd just invaded. The manager explains that
this new store carries certain promotional items not available to the other
stores because it is the newest and largest. I detect a note of envy in his
voice, and soften my approach.  I become confidential and ask if the new
store hired away a lot of good workers.

"You know," I tell him, "I know it's big and everything, but it's so new...
I mean, they didn't quite seem to have it all together yet." He agrees.
He's heard rumors to this effect. "All the employees seemed, I don't know...
nervous somehow. It's like the store's too big for them to handle. I get a
nervous feeling when I go in there."

He knows what I mean.

"I think it's that manager, maybe. He seemed so tense and kinda angry
somehow. He doesn't give me a good feeling. He seems a little odd.  Have
you heard anything like this?"

He's heard some funny things about this upstart.

"Yeah. Odd manager. Odd store. Come to think of it this whole cement teddy
bear thing is pretty odd. Maybe this was just a special thing he wanted to
order. Maybe they were his idea." He agrees, but he won't call the other
store to see if they still have them in stock there. So I tell him I'll
check back later.

And I will. It was a good night, and we still have 18 more bears to
distribute.

© 1998 Peter Langston