I found that once I said yes to the clown thing the floodgates were opened. And by flood, I mean a fucking flood! A monsoon! A Hurricane Sandy, a shitstorm of red noses, balloon pants and shame you can hold in your hand.
I got a text that asked if I was “avail to do a clown P(P means party. I didn’t know we were starting to abbreviate, but I’m a smart gal, so I figured out the P thing pretty quickly) in the 90035?”
I said yes because A. I don’t know LA very well, and I’m not a googler at heart, B. I am brrrroooookkkkkeee! And C. The broke thing. I need to mention it twice. It’s real.
I call the mom the day before to check in on the party. She has little to no knowledge of who I am, Or what I’m talking about. And perhaps who her kid is. I confirm address. I hang up and die a little on the inside.
I show up the day of the party and get dressed quickly in the car. I can’t bare the thought of driving in a clown outfit.
The party is at a park. There are 7 other parties, all of them with DJ’s. Most of them with kegs. None of them with an ashamed clown.
I paste a smile on my beclowned face and search out the mom. She wasn’t there, as she was getting more(!!) beer. The grandmother leads me to a dry patch of grass in the sun. I ask if we can move to the shade. She says no, that’s where the face painter is setting up. “Ok!!!” I say with glee!!
I pull out my dirty parachute. I call for the kids.
“Hi, guys! Do you wanna play a game?”
Me-“Ok, what would you like to do?”
Birthday kid: “my dad said I could have my presents. Did you bring me one?”
Me: “no, but I have lots of fun stuff in this bin!”
Kids: “aaaahhhhhhhhhh bin!!!! Let’s tear it open and pull everything everywhere and steal her stuff and watch her age!!!! Yeahhh! Let’s kill her happiness!!!”
(That was implied, not actually said. It really just sounded like screams.)
Me: “no, wait, hey, why would you, no! Don’t!! Wait!! Stop!! Where’s your mom? Where’s the beer? Stop!!! STOP!!!”
Kids: silent. They had left with most of my stuff and thrown it all over the park.
Me: “ok! Yeah. This is great.”
I stay about 30 mins after the party gathering my things. A few items, a jump rope, my bubbles, balloon blower, and my car keys, had ended up by another party. It said Happy 6th Birthday Nayla! on the banner, but the only kid I saw was a 13-year-old kid who was smoking. I go to gather stuff. The smoking kid yells: “Hey clown! Clown! Do a trick!”
Me: “Oh, I’m not a magician, I’m a clown. I make kids laugh sometimes.”
SK: “do magic!”
Me: “I…am going home. No”
SK: “shitty ass clown.”
As I leave the park, the mom was returning. She had no beer. She sees me and says “clown.” I don’t make eye contact.
I drive home in my clown face. I didn’t even notice the stares.