Send in the Clowns

There are certain people I see regularly but do not really know. Some are potential friends: “That person seems pretty cool. Perhaps I’ll get to know him/her with time.” And some people I avoid: “Ugh, here comes that chatty woman who thinks all Asians are twins. Time to am-scray.”

Adulting often requires small-talk, which is super annoying to me. It’s as if I wake up each morning with a limited number of words that can go in my ears and out of my mouth. Words are golden. I don’t like wasting them, either going out or coming in. While my face will remain patient and sweet as I listen, those who know me well will see a naughty exasperation in my eyes that indicates that I’m plotting my escape. Apparently it is very amusing. My eyeballs and eyebrows have minds of their own and are not within my control. Sorrynotsorry.

But it’s hard for me to get mad when people are just trying to be nice and friendly. And I’ve come to learn that a certain amount of small-talk is necessary. How else am I ever going to get to know new people? Only Oprah is allowed to ask deep questions of people she doesn’t really know. (P.S. I am not Oprah.)

A common question is, “What are your plans for the day?” I rarely ask this question of strangers for danger of being subjected to a tedious listing of their errands of the day. *high, nasally voice* “Well, I’m going to the post office.....and then I have to take my kid to whatever at whenever......and then I’m going to the grocery store……” SO. BORING.

I am bored enough doing my own errands every day. THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH ONE PERSON CAN TAKE! So when this lady asked what my plans are for the day, I answered my usual.

Me: “Just regular things. What about you?”

She: “I’m getting ready to go to work.”

Me: “What kind of work do you do?”

I’m always interested in this when I talk to women. When Albert and I meet new people, his job often comes up in conversation, but very few people ask me what I do for a living. I was ready for this lady to fill in a little ear-time with talk about her work. Imagine my surprise and excitement when she answered, “I’m a clown.” A CLOWN!

I have never met a real-life clown!!

I think she must be a very good clown, because her answer just about made me burst out laughing right there on the spot. NOT POLITE! It just caught me off guard and then I started thinking about clowns and then a little laugh got created in my belly. I can’t help it! But I maintained control. You will be very proud of me, friends!

“Oh, that is very interesting! I’ve never met a clown before!” I answered like an authentic adult without impulse control issues! I definitely fooled her!! I could hardly wait to hear what was on her little clown heart.

That afternoon she was headed to a children’s hospital to make balloon animals for the kids. That’s so nice, right?? And now I think that clowns make way more money than I thought before, because this lady’s clown car? A Mercedes.

Meeting a real-life clown reminded me of the time I met the guy who runs the company that makes strawberry baskets. I bet you never thought about who makes those flimsy, green baskets, did you? I bet you thought they came from China. But they are made in Oxnard, California by this fellow I met twenty years ago! That is a real job!

Or that time Albert and I met two young men who work at Crater Lake National Park fishing for invasive trout. That’s their job: fishing. They catch the trout, cut their bladders, then toss them back into the lake. This prevents the trout from disrupting the ecosystem, and as the fish decompose, they add nutrients back into the water. I survived for almost 50 years without ever considering how Crater Lake National Park avoided becoming overrun by invasive trout. And these guys had been working their sweet, young tails off all along!

I didn’t even know that these were jobs. How did these people end up in these jobs? Did they dream of being clowns or strawberry basket-makers, or abnormal fishermen when they were little?

Is there really such a thing as Clown School? Because my oldest sometimes tells me to go there. “Dad Jokes” are all the rage these days, but I am the Queen of “Mom Jokes.”

Alex texted me one time when he was feeling kind of proud at work. He was asked by a manager to do a special clean-up and made an extra $40. Someone had pooped all over the bathroom. WHAT is wrong with people?? So I reasoned that his manager bribed Alex to clean up the mess because the manager didn’t want to DOO it. It’s funny, right?? Not in this tough crowd.

But I would not be deterred. I congratulated Alex for doing a good job taking care of his “doodies.” This certainly merits a Clown School, PhD! I could tell that he wasn’t completely groaning, because he asked to see my “crud-entials.”

There was mention of Lady Macbeth’s worried soliloquy, “Out, out damned spot…….OF POO!!!” As well as some discussion of yes-turd-day. In the end, Alex either succumbed to my humor or was just trying to get me to stop. Maybe he’d reached his word limit for the day.

Perhaps I’ll approach casual banter with a more open heart as an opportunity to learn about my world and my fellow humans. And maybe I'll invest some time brushing up on my balloon animal skillz so I can buy a Mercedes. Tell me something interesting!

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