Here's a tip on dining out--don't go to a restaurant that advertises "Live Clown"

christo

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Here's a tip on dining out--don't go to a restaurant that advertises "Live Clown"

So I quit my job today, and to celebrate this girl I sort of date took me to dinner at this place near my house. All I wanted was a beer, the very good fish sandwich this place has, and an hour or so with this girl. Our relationships is one of those deals where I'm crazy about her, and she likes us as "friends". Peachy.

So all I'm looking for is a nice time. Quiet. Relaxing. Had a hard day, need to unwind. And this girl winds me up as it is, so I don't need any extra stress. So when we get to the restaurant, and I see from the sign outside that they have a "Live Clown", I get some bad vibes.

"Is that the special?" I asked. "Sounds pretty good, you don't get fresh clown in Pittsburgh this time of year."

"Shut up," she said.

"I mean, I guess it would diminsh the dining experience if they featured a 'Dead Clown'. Especally when the flies started buzzing."

"Shut up."

I should say that I don't like clowns, at all. Clowns give me the creeps. When I was three my mom dressed me up as a clown for Halloween. There's a picture of me with red circles on my cheeks and a frizzy wig and I'm CRYING like someone just stole my last Clark Bar. I hated dressing like a clown. It's the whole makeup thing, the idea of wearing makeup of any sort is like chewing tinfoil to me.
Maybe you'll say that this is because of some sexual hangup, I'm not confident enough in my own masculinity to display any kind of androgeny. Well, Freud me all you want, but I fucking hate clowns. John Wayne Gacy was a clown, he did children's parties. He killed like 50 people. So I'm down on clowns, you get the idea?

We get seated, and sure enough, there's a clown working the crowd. I don't get it, the place is full, why the floor show? But the clown's there in his purple suit and frizzy red hair doing his schtick. He has this pump that he drags from table to table and he blows up balloons and makes animals and swords and crazy hats out of the them for the kids. Nice.

Except that there aren't many kids in the place. It's 8:30, the kids are home in bed. It's mostly couples or groups out for a late bit. So he's blowing up balloons and stretching and twisting them...let me tell you, hearing rubber shriek and squeal as it's transformed into a giraffe does nothing to build the appettite.

We order, our drinks arrive, and I down half a beer in one gulp. The clown is at the next table, behind me I hear "HUFFA HUFFA HUFFA...SQEEEEONK! SQUEEEEEEONK...SQUEEKSQUEEK...SQUOOOONNNK!"

"Jesus Chriiiiiisst," I sing.

"It's cute," she says.

I disagree, a bit too forcefully, and we're arguing when the clown comes to our table. I about want to jump out of my seat and start screaming. I'd wager he's maybe about 20 years old. What happened to this guy to make him decide, "Hey, I want to spend my Friday nights in clownface making balloon animals in a restaurant?" This guy "future serial killer" written all over him. And he's giving me the all-over itches. His makeup is caked on his face and there are these huge fault-line fissures on his cheeks, it's like the makeup could crack and slide off his face in sheets. He looks like Michael Jackson will in three years.

He asks if we're having a good time, and I lie and say "Sure!". Then he asks if I think my girlfriend is a princess. Ouch, sore subject, she's not my girlfriend, we've "talked" about that. So, do I say that she isn't my girlfriend? That she isn't a princess? That's she's a princess but not my girlfriend. I mean, FUCK! I don't need this shit from a fucking clown!

I say, "Sure, she's a princess." He pumps up balloons and does the squeaky-twisty thing and makes this elaborate crown for her, it's very nice and all, and he puts it on her head. OK, she's smiling, it's over, he'll leave us alone now, maybe I won't even have a nightmare about this.

Oh, it's not that easy, of course not. He pumps up a bunch more balloons and does his thing and starts making this kind of Indian headress for me. My friend tells me it looks good on me. This encourages the clown, he pumps up MORE balloons and twists them into swords and hands one to each of us.

At this point I'm about to put hands on this motherfucker. I'm staring at him, and if looks could kill he'd be feeling pretty sick. Just when I'm ready to do something drastic, he thanks us and moves to the next table. I feel like a washing machine has been lifted from my chest.

"Are we supposed to tip him?" my friend asks.

"I'm not sure, my clown etiquette is a little shaky." For that I got a dirty look.

The rest of the meal passed without incident. The fish was very good. The beer was very cold. My lovely friend wore her crown until I threatened to kill the clown with my fork if she didn't take it off. So two out of three ain't bad.
 
Sorry you had to endure it, but it sure was funny to read about! Few things go together less than eating and the sound of balloons being twisted. If I ever do see "Live Clown" at a restaurant, I'll make sure it's something destined for the menu and not running around loose.
 
Clowns scare me -

Ever since Stephen King's IT - Pennywise is too fucking creepy!!!
 
That made my day....

...too bad for you...but a plus for those that get to read about your pain.....

congrats on quitting too....
 
aww you made me laugh, thank you for letting me know to stay away from a place with live clowns. just remember "they all float down here"
 
if i had been you, there'd be one less clown in the world.
 
OMG that was so funny I can't stop laughing!

Christo, I'm SO sorry about the trauma. I really am. Really. *chuckling*

How can you lust a clown-lover, though? Ok, had it been me I probably would have been telling the clown to go away without giving a rat's ass what the girl thought. I mean, she's already given you the "friends" talk, so what's the loss?
 
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