I got a mannequin head from a department store

In my early 20s I worked in the display department at Carson Pairie Scott. I got hired on as a Christmas tree decorator at the beginning of October. Yes, October is too early to decorate for Christmas. You don't need to tell me that, I've heard it about 9,000 times. Every person over the age of 45 thought it was appropriate to share that opinion with me, as if I had any control over it. I made $4.25 an hour, major decision making about marketing strategy was not in my job description.

Luckily most of my work was done behind the scenes, in the bowels of the material girls paradise. The dark corridors held tricks and treasures of the... you know I can't for the life of me remember the technical name of the department. I know it's not display, hmmm? Anyway, not important for now.

Along one wall was a huge pile of dead mannequins. One in particular looked a little like me so I asked my manager if I could have her head. He said yes, but I'm not sure how we got the thing out of the store. You know that they can't give away garbage? It has to be crushed and professionally removed. The retail world is a colossal wasting machine.

So I get the head home, chuckling the whole way because I knew what I was going to do with it: scare Chuck. I have been blessed with an easily surprised and befuddled husband, which plays into my need for practical jokes perfectly. Nobody wants to play pranks on someone who doesn't react, what's the point?

The first place it went was the refrigerator. I knew that as soon as he got home, he'd check it, see the head and scream. It was just as much fun as I'd imagined. He doesn't seem to have peripheral vision so he didn't notice me standing next to him silently giggling. It took him a split second to realize what he was seeing and when he did, he jumped back and shrieked like a little kid.

We took turns hiding it and trying to scare each other with it. For me, it never got old. She was found in the linen closet, bathtub, bed, closet, washing machine, you get the idea. Everywhere we put her she was positioned in such a way as to be staring at the scaree.

We also joined forces, started calling the head Frieda and on a few locations-- scared guests.  There was a bar cabinet in our living room that had a door that you would pull toward you in a downward motion creating a table for the bar wear and bottles. Freida could be found in there just waiting for friends to make themselves a drink. Worked every time and started the evening off with a good laugh.

I think Frieda got thrown away when we moved from our Minneapolis house. I miss her, but all good jokes must come to an end.