Every Saturday, I Worked in a Mascot Bear Costume Until My Boss Unknowingly Asked Me on a Date—Story of the Day

I stuffed the last piece of croissant into my mouth, watching Jake from across the office. My boss.

He stood by the coffee machine—tall, athletic, effortlessly charming. His dark hair was perfectly tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed and landed on GQ’s cover.

Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, surrounded by crumpled notes, gripping a plastic fork like it was the last piece of dignity I had left.

He would never notice someone like me.

Someone like me—soft around the edges, with cheeks that refused to cooperate no matter how many diet plans I started (and promptly abandoned).

My feet were a solid size 10, making most cute shoes a cruel joke, and whenever I got nervous, my words tangled up like last year’s Christmas lights.

Jake leaned against the counter, stirring his coffee with lazy confidence. His friend, Greg, nudged him.

“Dude, you ever notice how Emma looks at you?”

Oh no. Have I been that obvious?

Jake took a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking briefly in my direction. I immediately turned my attention to my screen, pretending to be fascinated by Excel.

“Hey, Emma!”

My heart stopped. I looked up, mid-chew, only to find Jake watching me, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes.

“You good over there?” He gestured toward me with his coffee cup. “You’ve been staring at me for so long, I was starting to think I had something on my face.”

I nearly choked on my croissant.

“What? No! I… I was just…” I waved my hand vaguely toward my monitor. “Deep in thought.”

“Deep in thought… about spreadsheets?”

“Yes. Numbers are very… thought-provoking.”

Jake smirked. “Alright, spreadsheet philosopher. Try not to get too lost in them.”

And with that, he turned back to his conversation, leaving me sitting there, cheeks burning. That was not helping my situation.

I wanted to talk to him, just once, to see if he was as perfect up close as he seemed from a distance. But the very thought made my palms sweat.

“Emma!”

I jumped. My team leader, Mark, was standing by my desk.

“Stop daydreaming! The reports won’t print themselves!”

I sighed and turned back to my screen, defeated. Princes belonged in fairy tales.

And in real life? Work, bills, and metabolism had declared war on me years ago.

***

I would have laughed if someone had told me a year ago that I’d be spending my Saturdays stuffed inside a pink bear suit, sweating like a rotisserie chicken while handing out flyers.

And yet, I was, towering over tiny children, waving my oversized paw at passersby, and reconsidering all my life choices.

The costume was stuffy, smelled faintly of popcorn and regret, and made every movement feel like I was trudging through syrup.

A toddler waddled up, staring at me with broad, sticky hands.

“Bear!” she squealed, throwing his arms around my leg. Great. At that moment, I was a human jungle gym.

“Yes, small human,” I said in my best bear voice, patting his tiny head with my paw.

“Fear not, for I am a friendly bear.”

Her mother gave me a grateful smile before peeling her son away.

I sighed—only six more hours to go. And then…

“Hey, Bear! You look… very cozy.”

I froze.

Oh no. No, no, no. That voice.

Jake!

I turned slowly, my giant bear head bobbing slightly, and there he was. In gym clothes. Looking like a walking advertisement for protein shakes and good genetics.

He was smirking. That was it. That was how I died.

“Uh, hi?” I said, realizing that the suit muffled and distorted my voice.

Jake tilted his head, pretending to listen. “Wait… what was that?”

Oh no!

“You… did you just growl at me?”

His smirk widened, eyes full of amusement. I panicked.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean… I only growl at rude customers.”

“Ah, so I’m safe. Unless you secretly think I’m rude?”

“That depends,” I muttered, then immediately regretted it.

Why couldn’t I just nod and wave like a regular mascot?

Jake chuckled.

“I’d better make sure to stay on your good side. Do you at least get paid well for this?”

I glanced at the crumpled stack of flyers in my paw, then at the sun glaring down on me.

“Let’s just say I’m not here for the prestige.”

Jake laughed again, the sound warm and—ugh—stupidly lovely. My heart did a ridiculous little flip.

“I don’t know,” he said, giving me an appraising look. “I think you’re pulling off the Bear look pretty well. It suits you.”

“Gee, thanks,” I deadpanned, waving a flyer at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Do you want a discount on scented candles or what?”

“Tempting,” he teased. “But I think I’ll pass.”

He was still grinning. Still standing there.

Oh no. He isn’t leaving!

Jake tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure something out. I braced myself.

“Have we met before?”

“Uhh…” I scrambled for a response, my bear paws twitching. “I mean… I have one of those faces. Very… generic Bear.”

He chuckled. “Right. Well, enjoy your shift, Bear. Don’t melt.”

With one last amused glance, he turned and jogged off. I groaned. This was getting dangerously complicated.

Had he recognized me? No. No way. But also… maybe?

***

Every weekend, it was the same. I stood outside, sweltering in my furry prison, and Jake stopped by me on his way to the gym.

And somehow, it became our thing.

“Bear, you’re looking extra fluffy today,” he said one morning, handing me an iced coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I took it with my giant paw, staring at him through the mesh of my bear head.

“Perks of the job.” I lifted the cup slightly. “And thanks. This is the highlight of my day.”

“Wow. That’s kind of sad,” he teased, smirking.

“Hey, free coffee is a big deal in this economy.”

“Then maybe you should let me take you out for real coffee sometime,” he said casually. “You know, when you’re not a bear.”

Panic. Pure, unfiltered panic.

Ha. Ha ha. No.

“Ha! Uh, yeah. Maybe. Someday.”

I waved a flyer at him like that would somehow erase the moment. “Anyway, don’t you have muscles to go flex?”

Jake rolled his eyes.

“I’ll take that as a no. See you next week, Bear.”

He walked off, and I exhaled so hard that my bear head almost slipped sideways. He liked talking to me and wanted to have coffee.

But if he knew the real me—the nervous, clumsy, croissant-loving disaster—would he still be interested?

At the office, it was a different story.

When he walked into the break room, I turned into a ninja, tossing my sandwich back into my lunchbox and swapping a chocolate bar for an apple.

If he glanced my way, I pretended to be fascinated by work.

It was a delicate balance: being invisible in one world and an oversized talking bear in another.

***

That Friday night, my best friend Claire listened to my dramatic retelling over a tub of ice cream.

“Emma,” she said between spoonfuls, “just tell him.”

“Tell him what? That I’m the Bear? That I’ve been in love with him since he asked me for extra staplers last year?”

“Yes, exactly that!” She pointed her spoon at me.

“Men are dumb. He clearly likes you, and you’re out here doing Olympic-level avoidance. Grow some confidence.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “But what if he realizes I’m just… me?”

Claire sighed. “Emma, if he doesn’t like the real you, he’s not worth it.”

Easier said than done. Because what if the real me isn’t enough?

***

So, the following day, I did twenty squats, checked my armpits for freshness (twice), and sprayed enough breath mint to fumigate a small room.

Finally, I squeezed into my favorite dress—one cheeseburger away from an emergency wardrobe malfunction.

I was ready.

That was it. I was going to tell Jake the truth.

No more hiding behind a bear costume. No more pretending I was fine. Just being his anonymous gym-side coffee buddy.

When I marched into the office, my nerves were buzzing. And then…

“Emma?”

Jake’s voice made me stop in my tracks. He was standing outside his office door, looking… serious.

“Can you come in for a second?”

Oh. Oh no. Is he onto me? Has he already figured it out?

I followed him inside, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress.

Okay. I could do this.

“Jake, I have something to tell you. I… It’s me. I mean, the Bear. The mascot you see every weekend. That’s me.”

There. I said it. I waited for his reaction, my heart pounding like a drumline in my ears. Before I could finish, there was a loud “POP!”

I jumped. Then…

“Surprise!”

The door burst open, and my confused coworkers suddenly appeared from under the tables, balloons in hand, more whispering than yelling, “Happy Work Anniversary…”

Oh. OH.

I had forgotten entirely.

Jake looked at me, equally stunned. And then, just like that, the moment was gone.

He’d already stepped away, forcing a smile as our coworkers started clapping and shoving a cake into my hands.

“I have things to do,” he muttered, brushing past me. “Enjoy your party.”

I stood there, frozen, holding a cake I didn’t even want. And that was that.

That evening, I resigned. I left my notice on his desk with a simple, professional “Thank you for the opportunity.”

No explanations. No second chances. I lied too many times to recover our coffee talking.

And then I did what any heartbroken woman would do: drowned my sorrows in chips and old black-and-white romance movies.

But I still had bills to pay. That meant Saturday came, and once again, I had to be the Bear.

***

A Skunk!

I stared. That had to be some kind of joke.

“Morning, Bear,” the Skunk said, handing me a coffee like we were old friends.

I froze. That voice! Again… It couldn’t be!

The Skunk stood there, tapping one oversized paw against his hip like he was waiting for me to say something.

“Nice day for some flyering, huh?” he continued, voice dripping with amusement.

I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you?”

The Skunk tilted his giant cartoonish head.

“Oh, come on. You don’t recognize me?”

My heart started hammering. The voice. The ridiculous confidence.

No. No way.

“You… you quit your job to pass out flyers?” I blurted out, my brain short-circuiting.

The Skunk shook his massive, foam-covered head.

“Not exactly. But let’s say when I found out a certain someone was hiding behind a bear suit every weekend, I had to investigate.”

Oh. My. God.

“Jake?”

And then, in one slow, dramatic motion, he reached up and pulled off the oversized skunk head.

There he was, smirking. His hazel eyes shone with amusement, and he looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Surprise!”

“This… this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Probably.”

He stepped closer, holding my gaze.

“So, what do you say? Real coffee this time?”

I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head.

“Fine. But only if you promise never to wear that skunk suit again.”

“No promises,” he smirked, reaching for my hand.

And just like that, I finally stepped out of my costume and into something even scarier.

Real life.

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