Sweaty Mascots start Grease Fires

Recently graduated from college in 1997 with no goals for the future, I made the only rational choice: accept a position hundreds of miles away with the Southtown Guitars without the slightest clue about the job. Soon, I found myself managing the monstrous grill we named Hitler. Fraught with terror caused by the general manager, I renounced ethics and broke numerous health codes in order to get the hotdogs cooked. Tiresome responsibilities mounted as the season progressed. Only an epic 13-game home stand and a floor full of maggot-infested chicken kept my mind off the burning fatigue. All the while, the grill Hitler mocked and taunted me at every opportunity.

The off-season brought relief and new dismal responsibilities, such as degrading myself as the team mascot, Fuzzy the Cougar. Group sales representatives sent me to schools throughout the south, building excitement for Fuzzy’s Reading Club. As I traveled from school to school as an oversized, suffocating feline, my morale descended to its lowest point. Even elementary school children sensed my vulnerability and took their shots at me.

And yet, for all that, I came to a hard-won realization: My struggle with obstinate cash registers, foaming beer, livid fans, demanding employees, and a uncooperative grease fires all helped me establish a stronger sense of myself and responsibility.

Find thought-provoking book club discussion questions at the end of the book.