hearse therapy
Dec. 12th, 2011 01:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elionwyrOne of the more unexpected twists my life has taken has led me to be befriended by clowns. Ironic, after having been married to a coulrophobe, to find myself not only knowing clowns, but to know good clowns..and how odd to have an opinion about this form of entertainment!
Outside of videotaped skits, I'd only seen one of my friends in action, so when the opportunity arose to change that, I was quick to make plans to be there. And to send out emails to a few mutual acquaintances to see if they'd like to go as well.
First to be picked up was Sherry, who was as equally terrified of clowns as my ex husband had been but much less violent in her expression of terror. Her interest in accompanying me that evening was based in her years-long friendship with the clown in question. She hated her fear and thought..hoped..she'd be able to get over it, knowing the man behind the big red nose.
Along the way to get buddy #2, we hit some light rain. Which wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact that my hearse is a Scorpio and up to that point hadn't met a rainstorm he didn't want to invite inside. No amount of sealant or glue had manged to fix this issue, and the point where the rainwater would drip onto the passengers was different every time. For the night in question, the rain decided that falling in an erratic dribble needed to happen exactly over Sherry's leg.
Great.
She was a good sport, cupping her hands and trying to catch the water when it would decide to descend, but I remain pretty damned sure this is one of the biggest reasons I am the Worst Provider of Transport Ever.
Our next stop was Monica's house. Monica was recovering from a horrific deer-inspired motorcycle accident and was sans vehicle, which is why I was playing taxi. As Sherry moved to the back of the hearse and Monica took the front passenger seat, my car heard my fervent prayer to please stop peeing on my guests. The rest of the drive was shower-free. There was much rejoicing. From me. On the inside.
We then descended upon the restaurant where Bernie was performing, making balloon animals on demand and hoping for tips. (For oh yes, this is too often the life of a clown. Consider that the next time you see someone frantically twisting balloons into the shapes of swords and dogs for a horde of children and an empty tip container by his side. Regardless of whether or not those little monsters belong to you? Throw a couple of bucks into the tip jar. Consider it your good deed for the day.)
(/PSA mode off)
Sherry gets a glimpse of Bernie through the restaurant window and freezes. "Oh my god. I can see him. I can't go in there."
Monica and I stop and stare. "You've got to be kidding."
"No, I...dammit. I can do this. I can. Ok. Let's go. I just won't look at him."
We walk through the front door.
"Hi, guys!" Bernie walks over and gives Sherry a hug.
"OH MY GOD YOU'RE WEARING THE SHOES!"
We all look down at Bernie's huge plastic red shoes.
We all look up at Sherry, who is trying very hard to not cry.
"Why don't we go get a table?" I suggest.
Monica sorta-bounces over to Bernie's table to ask for a balloon animal while I play armchair therapist to Sherry. "I don't want to be like this. I've known him for years. I hate this. It's so stupid.." Monica presents Sherry with a squeaky green dog. We order our meals and I walk over to say hi to our clown.
"I can't believe Sherry's scared of me. I feel so bad..."
"You. Are both. Ridiculous! It's not personal. You get that, right? She's doing really well, all things considered. She loves you. You love her. It'll be fine."
Bernie shot me a sad look..then proceeded to inflate a balloon and aim it at my nose.
"Bad clown! No tip for you!"
I rejoin the ladies, and after our meal we manage to persuade Sherry to try again to talk to Bernie. And she does, even posing for a photo with him. "But I'm NOT!LOOKING!" she pronounces through gritted teeth as she forces herself to smile..sorta..for the camera.
We say our goodbyes and climb back into the hearse. The weather had changed drastically, gifting us with heavy fog. Monica, convinced there were homicidal deer hiding in every fog bank, begs me to drive slower and slower. We creep along at about 20mph for the 40 mile drive back to her place, making reassuring sounds at her the entire way. And as we drove, I found myself wondering if there was any way for me to market my Mad Amateur Therapist Skillz. "Have hearse, will psychoanalyze," perhaps?
I'm still working on that business plan.
Outside of videotaped skits, I'd only seen one of my friends in action, so when the opportunity arose to change that, I was quick to make plans to be there. And to send out emails to a few mutual acquaintances to see if they'd like to go as well.
First to be picked up was Sherry, who was as equally terrified of clowns as my ex husband had been but much less violent in her expression of terror. Her interest in accompanying me that evening was based in her years-long friendship with the clown in question. She hated her fear and thought..hoped..she'd be able to get over it, knowing the man behind the big red nose.
Along the way to get buddy #2, we hit some light rain. Which wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact that my hearse is a Scorpio and up to that point hadn't met a rainstorm he didn't want to invite inside. No amount of sealant or glue had manged to fix this issue, and the point where the rainwater would drip onto the passengers was different every time. For the night in question, the rain decided that falling in an erratic dribble needed to happen exactly over Sherry's leg.
Great.
She was a good sport, cupping her hands and trying to catch the water when it would decide to descend, but I remain pretty damned sure this is one of the biggest reasons I am the Worst Provider of Transport Ever.
Our next stop was Monica's house. Monica was recovering from a horrific deer-inspired motorcycle accident and was sans vehicle, which is why I was playing taxi. As Sherry moved to the back of the hearse and Monica took the front passenger seat, my car heard my fervent prayer to please stop peeing on my guests. The rest of the drive was shower-free. There was much rejoicing. From me. On the inside.
We then descended upon the restaurant where Bernie was performing, making balloon animals on demand and hoping for tips. (For oh yes, this is too often the life of a clown. Consider that the next time you see someone frantically twisting balloons into the shapes of swords and dogs for a horde of children and an empty tip container by his side. Regardless of whether or not those little monsters belong to you? Throw a couple of bucks into the tip jar. Consider it your good deed for the day.)
(/PSA mode off)
Sherry gets a glimpse of Bernie through the restaurant window and freezes. "Oh my god. I can see him. I can't go in there."
Monica and I stop and stare. "You've got to be kidding."
"No, I...dammit. I can do this. I can. Ok. Let's go. I just won't look at him."
We walk through the front door.
"Hi, guys!" Bernie walks over and gives Sherry a hug.
"OH MY GOD YOU'RE WEARING THE SHOES!"
We all look down at Bernie's huge plastic red shoes.
We all look up at Sherry, who is trying very hard to not cry.
"Why don't we go get a table?" I suggest.
Monica sorta-bounces over to Bernie's table to ask for a balloon animal while I play armchair therapist to Sherry. "I don't want to be like this. I've known him for years. I hate this. It's so stupid.." Monica presents Sherry with a squeaky green dog. We order our meals and I walk over to say hi to our clown.
"I can't believe Sherry's scared of me. I feel so bad..."
"You. Are both. Ridiculous! It's not personal. You get that, right? She's doing really well, all things considered. She loves you. You love her. It'll be fine."
Bernie shot me a sad look..then proceeded to inflate a balloon and aim it at my nose.
"Bad clown! No tip for you!"
I rejoin the ladies, and after our meal we manage to persuade Sherry to try again to talk to Bernie. And she does, even posing for a photo with him. "But I'm NOT!LOOKING!" she pronounces through gritted teeth as she forces herself to smile..sorta..for the camera.
We say our goodbyes and climb back into the hearse. The weather had changed drastically, gifting us with heavy fog. Monica, convinced there were homicidal deer hiding in every fog bank, begs me to drive slower and slower. We creep along at about 20mph for the 40 mile drive back to her place, making reassuring sounds at her the entire way. And as we drove, I found myself wondering if there was any way for me to market my Mad Amateur Therapist Skillz. "Have hearse, will psychoanalyze," perhaps?
I'm still working on that business plan.
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no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 07:04 pm (UTC)My grandma loved clowns and had an entire room of her house full of them - glass figures, paintings, dolls, music boxes. Because I grew up around all that, I can never understand the whole fear of clowns thing. I mean, aside from Gacy, anyway.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-12 07:17 pm (UTC)My ex got VERY. VERY. TENSE and snarled, "CLOWN! Fucker."
He was incredibly serious.
..I laughed a LOT.
(Sometimes it's not such a surprise that we're divorced.)