Chapter 1
Cali
“No. No. No! There is no way I'm doing this!” I shake my head so hard, a few strands of blonde hair escape my once-perfect top bun, unraveling it—kind of like my sanity if I actually go through with this.
There I was thinking I could project the image of being a cool, calm, and composed marketing intern this morning. But, yeah, that went down the toilet quickly.
Okay, any of the employees watching this play out may think I’m overreacting, but they’re not the ones being asked to do this. I am.
And there’s no way in hell I’m doing it. Mary can beg me until the cows come home, but I refuse to subject myself to this humiliating, degrading task. I may be a lifelong Catfish fan but in the wise words of the almighty Meatloaf, I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that.
“Come on, Cali. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn't important.” My best friend, or should I say ex-best friend, Mary, whines next to me. Sure, she helped me land this internship with a glowing recommendation, but that doesn’t mean she gets to hold it over me for the rest of the year.
I shake my head, laughing bitterly to myself. In a way, it’s kind of funny. I never thought this day would come, the day my love for the Carolina Catfish would be tested to such an extreme. But, alas, it seems I have finally found the limits in the form of a neoprene catsuit.
Mary tilts her head, her eyes pleading as she cradles a giant head to the side of her torso. I wet my lips, ready to tell her, once again, that there is absolutely no way I’m going to do this. But then, she does the most heinous act possible. The same act she’s used against me since we were kids.
The pout.
With her eyes glossed over, she pops her bottom lip out, letting it tremble in time with her chin.
Her eyes are brimming, ready to shed some big, fat tears.
Other people crying is my kryptonite. It makes me so uncomfortable I swear I start breaking out in hives, and I inevitably cave just so they’ll stop.
Mary’s seen it before, and she knows what she’s doing.
A single tear escapes her left eye, dripping down her cheek like the sweat soaking through my blouse. I breathe in, trying desperately to hold strong.
One.
Two.
More tears start flowing, and I wait for the inevitable snot inhale.
When she does it, I shake my head. Man, she’s good. She’s prepared to go into full meltdown mode in front of the entire marketing department—and my new colleagues—just to get her way.
Sighing, I scan the sea of desks, trying to find another solution. One that doesn’t involve me before Mary unleashes enough tears to flood the office. Sadly, no one cares about our fishy predicament since they’re all too busy preparing for opening night.
My pulse spikes as I check my watch. 6:20. Damn. We’re nearly out of time. Catty the Catfish needs to be out there in front of the fans in thirty minutes.
With slumped shoulders, I drag my eyes back to her, begging, pleading, and hoping she’ll take pity on me. “Isn’t there someone else that can do it?” I whisper.
She exhales, still clutching the oversized headpiece.
Her hapless demeanor is slowly breaking my resolve.
“I wish I could say there was, but I don’t think there is.
The costume was made to fit Tim; he’s 6’3.
” Her eyes flitter up and down my form. “You’re the only person even close enough to his size in the marketing department. ”
Damn Tim and his obsessive love for Funyuns.
Of all the days, Tim just had to pick today to celebrate the start of the season with Funyuns before work.
Unfortunately, that ogre of a man was so focused on the Funyuns calling his name at the end of the aisle that he didn’t bother reading the ‘Wet Floor’ sign.
He was already running late, so instead of walking, he sprinted down the snack aisle toward his one true love.
The joke now firmly sits with me because he ended up slipping on his butt and breaking his leg, leaving no one to wear the fishy costume.
The store felt so bad they gave him a year’s supply of Funyuns. So, while he’s at home, knee-deep in his obscene supply of corn snacks, Mary and I are stuck figuring out who will take over mascot duties for the next eight weeks.
What kind of Major League Baseball team doesn’t have a backup mascot plan?
The Carolina Catfish, apparently.
Well, I should correct that. I didn’t think we had a plan. It seems Mary always had one, and she's looking right at it.
My stomach pits out as another tear drops down her cheek.
Of course, being a tall girl has always come with a string of disadvantages, but I’ve always been able to overcome them through extensive therapy.
No amount of sessions with Dr. Keppler, however, could have prepared me for this moment.
There’s no way I can explain this scenario to him without him committing me on the spot for incoherent rambling.
Dr. Keppler, my best friend wants me to dress up as a giant, baseball-loving human catfish hybrid and dance around the stadium in front of our 40,000 strong home crowd.
It’s crazy. Ridiculous, and the worst thing you could ever ask of a tall girl.
“Please, please, please!” Mary drops the mascot head and falls to her knees, begging me.
As if she isn’t already short enough, she thinks this begging helps her case, but all it does is remind me that I’m a giant amongst men in the marketing department.
5 foot 11 isn’t that tall. The average height for a baseball pitcher is 6 foot 2; there’s got to be one in the bullpen that could wear the costume just for today.
In fact, I’ve got a perfect idea; they could alternate according to the pitching rotation.
There’s always a few pitchers with nothing better to do than sit in the bullpen, chewing gum.
So why not take that day of rest and do something meaningful for the team?
Perfect plan! Although, with only an hour before Catty the Catfish makes his first appearance, I won’t have time to write up the rotation.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Larry, the maintenance guy, changing a desk lamp bulb.
A wide grin pulls across my face as the lamp lights up in time with the idea in my head.
Then, dragging Mary from the floor, I whisper.
“Couldn’t we ask Larry to do it?” She follows my gaze, her brain catching up.
Yes, this could work. Larry loves the Catfish and declares that he would do anything for the team daily.
The other week, he was wearing nothing but a fin on his head—with pants, of course.
He’d totally love wearing the new mascot outfit.
It would be something he could tell his friends about in that catfish man cave he made in his basement.
Mary says nothing, still contemplating Larry as an option. My palms rub together, and I have trouble holding back my maniacal grin.
Have I just gotten out of this?
“Larry doesn’t know the dance routine,” she whispers, and my shoulders collapse in defeat. “You’re the only one who knows the choreography. It’s Catty’s first appearance, so it’s important we get it right and show off his personality.”
My life flashes before my eyes. Specifically, my eight-year-old self, begging my mom for Justin Bieber dance lessons.
Imagine if she had said no and forced me to go to that advanced tie-dye class instead.
My entire life trajectory could have been different.
I wouldn’t be standing here contemplating shoving a fish head over my shoulders, that’s for sure.
Catty’s head lolls on the floor, its big googly eyes watching me with silent expectation. Staring. Begging me to put him on.
“Come on; it will be fun.” The lilt in Mary’s voice and the curve of her lip does little to make her statement sound convincing.
Fun? If it’s so much fun, why don’t we have a queue of people lining up for the job?
Even Carl, with the wandering eye in IT, wouldn’t be convinced if he could hear her.
And that guy would do anything for her. My laptop breaks down on the daily, and all I get is a snarky email telling me to lodge a ticket.
Mary loses her charger, and he’s up here in a shot with five brand new ones.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Catty’s head lolls back and forth like a ticking time bomb.
Why did I believe all those college lecturers at Covey U when they told me I was built for marketing?
‘Go into marketing,’ they said. ‘You get to work on great brands and bring your personality into them,’ they said.
Sure, they were right for the most part. I’ve spent the first few months here helping to redesign Catty. I even got to create this awesome dance routine that will undoubtedly become his signature move.
And so far, I’ve loved my job. Working for my favorite team has been a dream come true.
Born and raised in Charlotte, I’ve grown up with the Carolina Catfish on my doorstep, and I’ve loved every hit I’ve ever watched in the stadium, lovingly nicknamed ‘The Tank.’ But, dressing up as a fish with no pants on, in front of our sold-out home stand…
That’s not exactly what I’ve dreamed of.
“We can’t back out now. We’ve spent thousands on this rebrand, and upper management will kill us. Scratch that. They won’t kill us. We’ll just be fired on the spot. Imagine how badly Josh would take it if we didn’t find a solution.”
My eyes drift to Josh’s office, where he’s yelling into his phone, crushing papers in his fists. He’s hated me since day one. This would be the perfect excuse to get rid of me.
My stomach knots. My heart beats so fast I can hear it beating in my ears.
She’s right. There’s no other option.
I close my eyes, exhaling in defeat as I give in to my destiny. “I’m going to have to do this, aren’t I?” I ask, my eyes still closed, my body still. It’s a strange sensation when you let all control go.
Let go. Be present.
My mom’s words radiate throughout my body as the silence between Mary and me grows, making me question all of my life choices.