I spent about three months, maybe four, living as Tootie the Toucan.
On Friday nights and Saturday afternoons in 2009, I transformed from a 19-year-old with an emo fringe into the avian mascot for the Shoppingtown Hotel, in Melbourne’s eastern suburbs.
Being a toucan sounds better on paper than it was in reality.
I was overqualified for the job, really. I said as much in my email to the pub’s manager. “My name’s David Swan and I’d like to apply for the mascot position,” I wrote to him in July. “I’ve run children’s birthday parties for four years, so I’d like to think I have a lot of experience working with children.”
It was true. I’d spent four years before that running kids’ parties at Sidetracked Entertainment Centre – my favourite place to go as a child – operating go-kart rides and joining in games of laser tag when one team was losing too badly. It was the best.
There was something distinctly energising about being around kids who didn’t have a care in the world, who just wanted to run around with their friends and have the best time. Running birthday parties often didn’t feel like work, it just felt like a good time that happened to be renumerated. And playing games of pinball during my lunch break and stealing Fantales from the prize booth was the icing on an already tasty cake.
After four years it was time for a fresh start, however. And that fresh start looked like a big red, blue and white costume that was dirty, unwieldy, and way too hot.
My resume, which at the time included my interests of playing the drums, acting, and computers, must have ticked all the right boxes. I remember the job interview being brief and the manager asking when I could start after about five short minutes.
The job seemed fun on paper, and mostly it was. “Hi kids,” I’d say in my best high-pitched Toucan accent. “Who wants to have fun?”
David Swan as Tootie the Toucan.
Things got inevitably tough though, when the suit would simply get too hot. It already required ice packs attached to my chest and back to avoid overheating, but I’d need regular breaks and a Diet Coke in the staff room to cool off. It was a 20-minute on, 10 minute off kind of job. Not to mention how cumbersome the suit was to get on and off.
I think many jobs sound more fun on paper than they are in reality, and being a toucan certainly fits that bill.
The kids were OK, mostly. I spent the majority of my time playing short games and keeping them company at the indoor playground while their parents ate in peace.
But I’ll never forget the day I quit. I still likely have some form of mild PTSD, or at least some light emotional scarring.
Tootie’s, and by extension my, best friend at The Shoppingtown Hotel was a young girl, perhaps six or seven years old, named Winter.
“You’re my best friend, Tootie,” Winter would say, holding my hand. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” I could tell she meant it. Winter’s parents brought her to the Shoppingtown Hotel every Friday night. My childhood Friday night ritual was the Hungry Jacks in the food court at The Glen.
I was already contemplating resigning, sick of the constant heat, the stupid high-pitched toucan voice, the friendships that ended as soon as the kids’ parents had eaten their chicken parmigiana.
The boy who tipped me over the edge was older than most of the others, maybe 12 or 13. “You’re not a toucan!,” he shouted, as if he’d figured out the biggest secret in the world. “You’re a human!”
And with that, he ripped off my toucan head, revealing my weird, emo fringed and distinctly human head to around a dozen children, including Winter, who started bawling immediately.
“What’s going on?,” she sobbed. “I have to go,” I replied, fast getting emotional myself.
I snatched my toucan head back from the teenager and stormed into the staff room, resigning later that day.
Now, whenever I see a mascot, whether it be on-field, at a theme park, or in a pub, I have a pang of empathy. The suit is hot and stuffy, and the anonymity is equally stifling.
Perhaps I would have lasted longer in the job if I was say, the Sydney Swans mascot. But the mascot for the Shoppingtown Hotel? I can’t say I cared enough, especially not for $15 per hour.
It’s a tough job. And not everyone is built for it. I certainly wasn’t.
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