Grin and Bear It

I was minding my own business, sitting on a bench in the Mall of America waiting for my wife to finish up some shopping when it appeared. I hadn't seen something that big, white and hairy since Christmas.

"Hey, you," the man, probably 400 pounds, grunted as he staggered up to the bench. "Is there enough room left on that seat for a big ol' polar bear?"

"Sure," I said, sliding down slightly to allow him more sitting space.

"Most people don't know what to think when I ask them that," he said.

"Really? People won't move over to let you sit down?" I asked.

"No, no! People get nervous when I tell them I'm a polar bear," he said.

This always happens to me. My personality is like a double-edged sword. I am very open and social, so I tend to attract a lot of people I don't know into conversation. Usually, these are people who end up being quite pleasant to be around. But that magnet also attracts a weirdo every now and then.

"Probably got you wonderin' too," he rambled on. "But it's true. Yep, I'm 100 percent polar bear. I should be up in Alaska chasing down seals for supper."

"Well, I guess I kind of know what you mean," I said. "I should be in Jellystone Park stealing pic-a-nic baskets."

"What?" he said.

"I was joking," I said. "You made it sound like you felt at home in the cold like a polar bear. I'd probably feel at home in a park eating hot dogs and potato salad like Yogi Bear."

"Oh, I wasn't joking," he said. "This is no cartoon. I really am a polar bear."

OK, I don't know what the hell was up with this dude, but he may have had one too many Icees in the former Camp Snoopy. Maybe he crossed the line and mixed the cherry and blue raspberry flavors, creating some weird mascot trip.

"You still don't believe me do you?" he said. "Well, I've got proof. Wanna see?"

I didn't know really what to say at that point. I was now engaged in a conversation with some sort of disturbed large mammal. I didn't spot any tracking tags on his ears, which meant he wasn't currently being monitored by animal scientists. But maybe he was a polar bear. He did sport a large matted white beard with yellowish spots, which may have been either blonde hair or mustard.

He whipped out this photo album cleverly disguised in a Barnes & Noble bag. There were pictures of polar bears all over it, and a picture of this guy's face in the middle. It read: My Polar Bear Book. What scrapbook club was stuck with this nutcase?

"You know what I am?" he whispered.

"Drunk?" I asked.

"No, no!" he growled. "I'm one of them crazy guys who straps on his bathing suit once every winter, cuts a hole in the ice and jumps in for a swim. I'm a polar bear, get it?"

Then he flips open his album and there are dozens of pictures of him, frolicking around on the ice of a frozen lake, jumping in the water, and splashing around. Later, there are pictures of same guy shivering under a mountain of blankets, looking like a Titanic survivor plucked from the frigid North Atlantic.

"Wow, I've never seen a polar bear look so cold," I commented. "You don't look too dangerous in that shot, all wrapped up in those plush blankets. You look more like a Care Bear."

"Care Bear!" he roared. "How dare you call me that! It's the worst kind of bear you could be!"

"You're insulted? I thought it was a compliment - Care Bears are so popular," I lied. "It's not like I called you Teddy Ruxpin."

"Who?" he said. "Well, anyway, I normally shake it off and don't need blankets, but it was 3 degrees that day. So there, I'm still a polar bear."

"Well, I don't feel the need to go winter swimming to pretend I'm a bear," I said. "If I was going to imitate a bear during the winter, I'd rather just hibernate in my den in front of the TV."

"You could never be a polar bear then," he snipped, slamming shut his album. "I can't believe there are people living in Minnesota like you. If you don't like the cold, you should just move to Jamaica."

I had heard more than I could bear at this point, so I went totally Nanook on his ass.

"Hey, chill out," I said. "If you are so obsessed with polar bears, maybe you should move closer to the Arctic Circle. And aren't you going a little overboard with the whole polar bear thing? I mean, you only do this once a year, right? I'd figure a polar bear would swim all winter long."

"I would swim more if they had more events," he backpeddled.

"What the hell do you need an event for?" I asked. "You're a polar bear. Or are you the type of polar bear who spends his weekends chugging cases of Coca Cola with penguins?"

"Those commercials don't reflect the true spirit of the polar bear," he snarled.

"And you do?" I laughed. "Have you ever made an Eskimo piss in his parka?"

"No..." he said somberly.

"And you call yourself a polar bear?" I said.

"Not just me," he countered. "I even have a certificate on page 34 of my album that says I'm a polar bear."

"Come on!" I laughed. "Polar bear, my ass. How'd you get here?"

"I took the bus," he said.

"Bus? But you're a polar bear!" I said. "What polar bears use the bus?! I would have thought you floated down the river on an ice floe."

"Well, if I could, I would," he said. "Usually I just walk like a polar bear."

"On all fours?" I asked.

"Sometimes!" he exclaimed.

"Have you been to the doctor's office?" I asked.

"What does that have to do with being a polar bear?" he asked.

"A lot. If you were a real polar bear you wouldn't be waiting in a reception area reading People for 45 minutes until the doctor's ready to see you," I said. "You'd be running for your life when that fucker is chasing you in a helicopter. Then he'd dart you with a tranq gun - pretty much the only way to perform a medical exam on a polar bear."

"Hey, waitaminute," he said. "That is the only way I'd let a doctor come close to me. I guess I really am a polar bear."

I finally nodded in agreement. Sometimes you just have to grin and bear it.