I’m kind of glad the summer’s almost over, because it means I no longer have to put on that mascot costume again for my kids’ camp. At least until next summer.

I don’t know how I got into that thing. Seriously. The zipper’s in the back. And there’s not a lot of room to maneuver. They say “one size fits all,” but they don’t say “all” WHAT.

Anyway, the camp didn’t actually get to pick the size. A friend of the head counselor’s decided to donate it. He said, “Here, you’re running a camp. Have a crocodile suit.”

That’s random. It’s like, “Here, you’re a bus driver. Have a deep fryer.” When am I supposed to use this deep fryer? I’m trying to drive a bus.

So he called me. The night before camp started. So I asked, “Why can’t any of the counselors do it?”

And he said, “They all have kids to take care of.”

And it turns out that I didn’t, because my kids were at the camp, being taken care of by the counselors. But he liked the idea of a camp mascot, because this was a camp with lots of lessons and messages, and studies in whatever book head counselors read show that if you want kids to get your message, you should either say it into a megaphone or have a mascot act it out with his body.

Because, as it turns out, mascots can’t talk. We want to be realistic, and crocodiles don’t talk. They just walk around on two legs, really close to children, and act out lessons with their bodies.

Here’s a FUN CROCODILE FACT: Apparently, costume designers are not so concerned that the person in the costume can actually see or hear or feel anything that’s going on around him. I couldn’t really hear anyone, nor could they hear me, and I definitely couldn’t look out of the crocodile’s eyes. My entire head was situated in his mouth, like I got stuck while he was trying to eat me. And even from there, I didn’t have a great view of anything, because the mouth was angled down. All I could see was the kids’ faces. And no adults. Just their knees. Also, there’s no air conditioning in there.

The first time he had me come in was the very first morning of camp, when the kids were arriving, and my job was to wave at everyone and hand out balloons. I guess that way, the kids would know me as the camp’s mascot. Or maybe it was because he thought some kids would be nervous. So here, give them balloons.

Yeah, let’s use a crocodile to calm down the kids.

“No, it’s a crocodile that walks on two legs and lives among humans! And can fit a head in its mouth!”

They also didn’t quite think about the ramifications of handing out helium balloons right before learning groups.

So I’m standing there in the suit, which is slowly filling up with sweat, my entire range of vision is limited to looking down at a 45-degree angle, the only way I can even see to the side is if I turned my entire body around and knocked over whatever kid was behind me with my tail, and they hand me a massive bunch of helium balloons. And all I can see are the strings.

So I did not have a good system for getting balloons out of that tangled clump, with no grip and only four fingers. Some kids got a whole mass of balloons, some got only a piece of string, and I’m pretty sure I gave some adults by accident.

I was also supposed to wave at all the cars that were coming in, except that I couldn’t actually see all the cars that were coming in. So I was just waving blindly with no way of knowing if there was an actual car there, or if I was even waving in the correct direction, as opposed to, say, at the wall of the building. So I was in my own little fantasy world, waving at the walls and handing balloons to adults who were trying to bring their kids to camp.

Also, some people wanted me to pose for pictures. They stood their kids next to me, assuming I had any idea that someone was standing next to me, and then they’d suddenly say, “Smile!” and I did. I don’t know why. No one knows I’m smiling in there. The costume is already smiling.

But I kept on and didn’t say anything (obviously) until the staff all went inside to sort the kids, and at some point I realized I was alone out there. I don’t know how long it took me to realize this. I couldn’t see my watch either.

My point, though, is that if you ever see one of those mascots waving at you—at a theme park, for example—he’s not being playful. He’s trying to signal for help. It’s possible he doesn’t even know that you’re there.

Mordechai Schmutter is a freelance writer and humor columnist for Hamodia, Jewish Press, and Aish.com, among others. He has published four books with Israel Book Shop. He also does stand-up comedy. You can send him your questions and comments at [email protected].

By Mordechai Schmutter