The Day the Office Mascot Ran Away
It all started as a silly joke born from pure, unfiltered exhaustion. Dave and I were working for a marketing firm that specialized in health food products, and our office mascot was a giant, neon-green broccoli costume named Brock. Brock was essentially a fuzzy, bulbous nightmare with a wide, permanent, creepy grin stitched onto his face. He lived in the back of our supply closet, tucked behind stacks of printer paper and old boxes of pens. It was that specific kind of that day where the hours had bled into one another. We had been grinding on a massive project for sixteen straight hours. By the time 6:00 PM rolled around, our brains were basically fried. We were punch-drunk on caffeine and sleep deprivation. Dave looked over at the supply closet, his eyes bloodshot, and pointed. He said we should set the broccoli free. I didn't need to ask for clarification. I knew exactly what he meant. We were done with work, the project was finished, and we were desperate for a way to break the tension of the week. We opened the closet door, grabbed the awkward, fuzzy mass of green fabric, and shoved it into the back of Dave's hatchback. We didn't really have a plan, but we drove to the city park with a strange sense of purpose. It was a beautiful, crisp evening. People were out everywhere, walking their dogs, jogging, or just sitting on the grass enjoying the orange glow of the sunset. We found a secluded bench right next to a stone fountain. With a great deal of effort and giggling, we propped Brock up so he looked like he was sitting upright, staring out at the water. I took a piece of scrap paper from my pocket and grabbed a pen. I wrote, in big block letters, I am a free vegetable. Do not look for me. I belong to the streets now. We tucked the note firmly into the pocket of the suit. Then, we ducked into a nearby cafe across the street to observe our handiwork. We ordered iced coffees and kept our eyes glued to the bench. It was fascinating to watch the park goers react to a six-foot-tall broccoli man. A group of teenagers walked by first, and they absolutely lost it. They were pointing, laughing, and taking selfies with him. Then an older couple walked past, stopped dead in their tracks, and stared with faces full of complete confusion. My stress from the long, grueling week finally started to melt away. Seeing people's reactions was the funniest thing I had ever seen. I felt a weird sense of liberation, almost as if I were somehow escaping the office along with the broccoli. Then, a woman with two leashed dogs walked by the fountain. She stopped abruptly and looked at Brock with a deep, worried frown. She leaned in, squinted at the note, and then looked around as if checking for hidden cameras. After a moment, she just shrugged her shoulders in a way that suggested she had seen much stranger things in this city. Without hesitating, she grabbed the giant foam head, hoisted the rest of the costume over her shoulder like a sack of laundry, and walked away. She didn't look back once. She just vanished into the crowd. Dave and I stared at the empty bench, stunned. We never saw that broccoli again. The trouble didn't hit until that morning. When I walked into the office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The bosses were already talking about the big charity event scheduled for that day. They needed the broccoli mascot for a photo op. When they went to the supply closet and found it empty, the mood shifted from busy to panic-stricken. The regional director was absolutely furious. He was pacing around the office, asking everyone where the costume had gone. When he finally grilled Dave and me, we both put on our best innocent faces and lied, saying we had not seen the suit since that day. He didn't believe us, but he couldn't prove anything. We spent the next three weeks trapped in endless, soul-crushing meetings and replying to hundreds of emails about the 'missing corporate asset.' It was almost as exhausting as the sixteen-hour project that had led to the prank in the first place. My boss even tried to get the building security to check the parking lot cameras, but they only covered the entrance, not the closet. We were lucky, but we were also miserable. Still, even now, when I walk through that park on my way home, I always glance over at that same bench near the fountain. I wonder if that woman ever took him home, or if she just left him on a bus. I like to think he is still out there somewhere, living a life of true freedom away from the spreadsheets and the mandatory office fun. Somewhere, out in the city, Brock is finally a free vegetable.