TRIBULATIONS OF A CLOWN: A Carnival Memoir

Part One: Welcome to my Midway

On a picturesque, bustling autumn evening, I stroll down the brightly lit midway of my latest home—the carnival fairground. Finally, with a giddy sense of freedom, I can see the kaleidoscope of lights and sights as I walk down the brightly lit and bustling midway; Since it's my single off day, there's no clowning around today, this is strictly ME time. Free from my work, I join the crowd, jostling and pushing through with the best of them (or the worst), and just as obnoxiously as they often do.

I go by the name Johnny D, and I'm presently a carnival clown and certainly not the only one around. There are a few of us, lurking around here and there. Now ya see us, now ya don't. As quickly as a discarded colored hairpiece and red nose, we suddenly become one of you, a "normal" person, or "marks", as us carnies label them.

The barkers, those are the boisterous slicksters running the rigged games, the booming alluring voices beckoning you with tales of prizes and personal glory. Y'all know it's only hopes and shadows, shallow as a puddle, but as marks, you still choose to play our games anyway. But the joke's on you, you'll never win unless you learn our secrets, and yes, there are secrets here, but loosely guarded ones. Even in winning you will still lose, trust me.

After all, to know how to beat the cheaply rigged games in which the prizes are of far less value than the investment to play; Those types of secrets are not worthy of even being secrets! And so they are common knowledge among my particular kind of people, meaning my fellow carnies. My brothers and sisters (and otherwise) all of us perform for a common cause. Profit of course, as well as to enthrall you as we bilk your wallets and purses. That's always a thrill for us, contributing to cheap moments of joy.

Yes, you are going to be scammed. You know that, and we know you know it. There's no doubt about that. It's just never discussed. But with leering false camaraderie, we joke, laugh, and hand you your prize, or not. So sorry Kid, better luck next time! Why not try again? You will feel utter joy while loosely gripping the oversized comb you have just won for your crumpled greasy dollar, though the comb is only worth a paltry five cents.

Whether you toss a baseball, throw a plastic ring, sling a dart, chuck a ping pong ball to terrify a poor goldfish, or shoot a water gun at a clown's mouth. You are always going to lose one way or another. Even if you actually win, you lose, and yet you will remain utterly pleased about it. At least you tried right?

You aren't here for the prizes and never were. You enter our midway for the lights, the crowds, and the grand show of it all, the experience, which I guarantee you shall never forget.

We carnies are a tribe unto ourselves, united on the Midway, in both cause, lifestyles, and often ideology. Carnies prize freedom over everything and profit a close second only to the aforementioned freedom. We all loved staying on the move, a trait common among our kind.

For now, I was drinking it all in. The lights, the sounds, the smells, and certainly, the chaos. For me, that's the most fun part of my temporary profession. Every night a different plethora of crazy drama and comedy unfolded itself upon the midway grounds.

Dressed as I am, no one not working with the carnival recognizes my casual attire and look. I'm just another nobody, slowly treading down a wide midway, lost in a wave of human flesh. My fellow carnies that recognize me subtly nod, almost like our own language. They are busy cajoling, beckoning, and promising cheap wonders to the wandering crowds, seeking thrills. Though the thrills they do find are mostly underwhelming, never as good or fun as promoted indeed promised, and that's ok. For both sides.

We've done our work, setting it all up, and acting the parts, just for you, the audience. Ya know, the ones paying in greasy crumpled bills? Yep. That's your role, to "come and see, and try your luck". We both have parts to play, and I daresay, we carnies are masters of our parts. We'll lure you in, palm your dollar like a magic trick, laugh when you win, and swiftly but cheaply commiserate when ya lose. Either way, we're happy, and you are the poorer for our encounter, but richer in experience. Isn't that worth the small price you pay for the thrill of chance, and the memories you keep?

Our preparations are complete, the stage is set, the games ready and rigged, and we actors, enact our roles with precision, false laughter, and a hint of sociopathy, all for you, the audience.

Every night a different plethora of crazy dramas and comedies unfolds upon the midway grounds for viewing pleasure. I'm usually far too busy working to enjoy the chaotic sights. The difference is that tonight, right now, I'm finally free and unfettered from my job. For the moment, I'm one of You, except my dollars will remain in my pocket, and yours will soon become ours.

Walking the Midway I smell sugar In the air in all its wonderfully unhealthy goodness. Cotton candy surrounds me, firmly grasped on cardboard sticks by happy hands passing me in the crowd. Its bright pink temptations were lurking behind the tinted glass of the colorful booths that were weaving it all together. This is the Kingdom of Sugar, where sweetness rules and future diabetics stroll the midway in candied bliss.

We don't seek sugar; it seeks us out instead and forces our immediate physical responses. It transcends mere desire and becomes something utterly imperative. Only the most strong-willed souls can resist its velvety saccharine allure. I'm resisting it for now, but only because my hungry eyes are fixed on a completely different prize.

Approaching a different booth with similarly colored hues, I'm irresistibly drawn to the mouthwatering scent of sweet cornbread. My hunger for something beyond simple sugar prevails. After paying my dollar, I receive something tangible and edible: a delicious treat exclusive to the carnival, a jumbo corn dog!

A crisp golden brown on the outside, with a meaty juicy hotdog within. Served hot, on yet again another stick. A Treat wrapped inside another treat. Wonderful.

I've never been comfortable eating in crowds, so I drift to an empty side between booths, to devour my prize in relative peace. My mouth waters before I take my first bite, it's delectable. Far better than I thought it would be, and not a taste I could ever imagine growing tired of.

I've been a carnival clown for a while now, but rarely get to enjoy the atmosphere for myself. I'm either too busy working long hours, or busy sleeping, if resting could be considered busy? Absorbing it all slowly and luxuriously is a welcome change.

Corndog devoured, with great personal satisfaction I might add, the discarded stick tossed behind me, time to continue my stroll among the gaudily crowded wonders. Continuing my Midway ingress again I blend with a moving crowd that's almost as colorful as the fake wonders around them. Trained as I am to size patrons up, I do this as naturally as I breathe. It occurs as a reflex now, and I couldn't avoid doing it even if I wished to.

To my left is a seemingly married couple, pushing a baby carriage that seems to be having a rough disjointed ride over the detritus underneath, so the baby cries during this literal shaking. Annoying to everyone except the actual parents possibly, since they seem oblivious to it and caught up completely in the atmosphere.

All part of the incessant background noise assailing me from every side, all clamoring for my gaze and attention. I cut through the crowds a bit slower than my usual working pace, to take it all in leisurely, like I was a walking sponge made to absorb the comedy and chaos passing around me.