Happy Birthday Dad!
I just finished telling this story to one of my fellow Clown/ Singing Messenger friends who had just lost his mom and said he doesn’t think he’ll be able to work on her Birthday.
I lost my Dad about 12 years ago. On the first Birthday since his death, I was asked to deliver a Singing Telegram. I downright refused telling my boss the exact reason, but she begged me and gave me pep talk at the same time since it was short notice and no one else was available. I finally agreed to do it and still felt guilty and down about it.
As I was getting ready to go on my Singing Telegram, I got a call to do another Telegram in the same part of town, so I agreed to take it.
I got to my first Telegram, and as I’m singing, I noticed that the 10 year old Birthday Boy I was singing to, bared a striking resemblance to my dad in childhood pictures I had seen of him. He was skinny with dark thick hair, a long nose and crossed eyes.
When I got to my second Telegram, my recipient was about fifteen years older than the last recipient. This recipient looked a lot like the way I remember my dad looking on his old navy pictures as well as his early dating pictures with my mom. Again, being skinny with a long nose and dark curly hair but this time having glasses.
As soon as I got home from my Telegrams that day, another agent called me to do another Singing Telegram in the evening. This recipient was heavy with a long nose, glasses and a bald spot in the middle of his graying dark curly hair which is a lot like what I remember my dad looking like in his later years.
Just to let you know, with the exception of the money making eighties and Valentine Day, it’s pretty unusual to have three singing telegrams in one day, let alone all three being for guys that all looked like my dad in various stages of his life!
Was it a coincidence that this all happened on my dad’s first Birthday since his death, or was
this my Dad’s way of letting me know that he had a good life and he was now at peace? Whatever the case, it was a great way to remember him. I finished off my day by singing “Happy Birthday to Dad”.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Diary of a Clown/Called to the Principle's Office
Called to the Principles Office
A few years ago, I had just finished clowning at a Kindergarten Graduation. After finishing my show, I was told to wait in the waiting room of the Principle’s Office to get paid. The only one who was in there besides me, was this seven year old boy who was sitting there crying his eyes out while waiting to see the Principle. “Hey”, I said…”what are ya in for?” With a sobbing quivering voice, he replied…”A girl in my class…said I touched her in her privates”. “Well…did you?” With even more sobbing…”Yes…but um…um..it was an accident!” “My hand went like this and she was standing next to me (more sobbing) I…didn’t mean to!” “Well, (I said while keeping in clown character with my helium sounding voice and over expressing myself) tell the truth!” “But…um...Um (sob, sob) I’ll get into trouble…They won’t believe me!” “You might, but not as much trouble if you lie! DUH!” “How do you know?” His crying is starting to mellow down at this point. “Trust me, I know!”
After almost 10 minutes of trying o convince this Touching Bandit of telling his story exactly how it happened, the little sobbing voice looked up at me and asked…”Are you a Clown?” I honked my horn and said “What do you think?” As he started to answer me, the Principle’s secretary came out and paid me. As I was walking out with her, we were stopped by this pissed off looking woman who turned out to be the mother of the crying boy. Judging by her facial expression, this wasn’t her first time picking her son up at the Principle’s Office. She gave the Secretary one of those “What’s the verdict?” look. The Secretary said something to the tune of…”He’s ok, she just had a nice talk with him”. The mom said “Who?” “The Principle?” The Secretary answered back with…”No, her” and pointed to me. What was going on here? Was this a set up? After the mom walked away, the mom told me that this particular kid is a regular in the Principle’s office. Oh well! Honk Honk
A few years ago, I had just finished clowning at a Kindergarten Graduation. After finishing my show, I was told to wait in the waiting room of the Principle’s Office to get paid. The only one who was in there besides me, was this seven year old boy who was sitting there crying his eyes out while waiting to see the Principle. “Hey”, I said…”what are ya in for?” With a sobbing quivering voice, he replied…”A girl in my class…said I touched her in her privates”. “Well…did you?” With even more sobbing…”Yes…but um…um..it was an accident!” “My hand went like this and she was standing next to me (more sobbing) I…didn’t mean to!” “Well, (I said while keeping in clown character with my helium sounding voice and over expressing myself) tell the truth!” “But…um...Um (sob, sob) I’ll get into trouble…They won’t believe me!” “You might, but not as much trouble if you lie! DUH!” “How do you know?” His crying is starting to mellow down at this point. “Trust me, I know!”
After almost 10 minutes of trying o convince this Touching Bandit of telling his story exactly how it happened, the little sobbing voice looked up at me and asked…”Are you a Clown?” I honked my horn and said “What do you think?” As he started to answer me, the Principle’s secretary came out and paid me. As I was walking out with her, we were stopped by this pissed off looking woman who turned out to be the mother of the crying boy. Judging by her facial expression, this wasn’t her first time picking her son up at the Principle’s Office. She gave the Secretary one of those “What’s the verdict?” look. The Secretary said something to the tune of…”He’s ok, she just had a nice talk with him”. The mom said “Who?” “The Principle?” The Secretary answered back with…”No, her” and pointed to me. What was going on here? Was this a set up? After the mom walked away, the mom told me that this particular kid is a regular in the Principle’s office. Oh well! Honk Honk
Friday, April 16, 2010
Diary of a Clown/All Wired Up
All Wired up
In your life time, how many people have you seen with there jaw wired shut? The odds are probably as great as seeing rainbows, although the latter is probably easier on the eyes.
With that said, can you imagine seeing one person with there jaw wired shut, and exactly one week later, having a confrontation with another one?!
Wired jaw no. 1) One afternoon, I was to deliver a Singing Telegram dressed as a French Maid. I was told in advance, that my recipient just had his jaw wired shut due to surgery. Narrow minded me expected to see a largly obese man standing in the doorway, but to my surprise, the door was opened by a very attractive nicely built man. After singing my song at the door way, in my French Maid outfit, I read whatever it said on the telegram in my tacky French accent. He seemed to get a real kick out of me and afterwards started talking my head off for like 15 minutes, but it seemed like an hour since I had no idea what he was talking about through his muffled speech!
After declining his invite to come in, he handed me a nice tip and started talking another 10 minutes. I politely excused myself saying I had another telegram to get to. I guess when you’re stuck in a small apartment with your jaw wired shut for 5 weeks, you're starved for conversation, since how many of his friends and relatives call or visit someone they can’t have a conversation with?
As strange as it may seem, exactly (to the day hour and minute) one week later, I was to do a Singing Chicken Gram in this Ratty looking Basement type of office along the Hudson River. So, we’re not exactly talking “Trump Towers” here. After meeting my contact person (the person who is assigned to set me up with a place to change and lead me to my recipient) her supervisor who got wind of the whole thing immediately stormed over to me. Just as she approached me, guess what was the first thing I noticed?...Yup, you guessed it!...She had her jaw wired shut! In her bad ventriloquist speech, she started yelling at me saying what sounded like…”Thish ish a prashe of bushnish!!!” “I’m the Supervisher, and I can’t let you do thish!” I started to retaliate, but after I got wind of who was talking (or trying to talk) to me, my rebuttle
turned into hysterical laughter to the point where tears were forming in my eyes! I totally lost it! Luckily I still got paid, since I showed up.
So getting back to how many wired jaws you see in your life time…It’s been over twenty years since both incidents, and I have yet to meet another person with there jaw wired shut. As for Rainbows, I think I might have seen about three in my lifetime so far, but they were separated by a number of years, not exactly a week apart from eachother.
What was my secret message here?...That I should be greatful for the ability to speak? Only G-d knows the answer to that one!
In your life time, how many people have you seen with there jaw wired shut? The odds are probably as great as seeing rainbows, although the latter is probably easier on the eyes.
With that said, can you imagine seeing one person with there jaw wired shut, and exactly one week later, having a confrontation with another one?!
Wired jaw no. 1) One afternoon, I was to deliver a Singing Telegram dressed as a French Maid. I was told in advance, that my recipient just had his jaw wired shut due to surgery. Narrow minded me expected to see a largly obese man standing in the doorway, but to my surprise, the door was opened by a very attractive nicely built man. After singing my song at the door way, in my French Maid outfit, I read whatever it said on the telegram in my tacky French accent. He seemed to get a real kick out of me and afterwards started talking my head off for like 15 minutes, but it seemed like an hour since I had no idea what he was talking about through his muffled speech!
After declining his invite to come in, he handed me a nice tip and started talking another 10 minutes. I politely excused myself saying I had another telegram to get to. I guess when you’re stuck in a small apartment with your jaw wired shut for 5 weeks, you're starved for conversation, since how many of his friends and relatives call or visit someone they can’t have a conversation with?
As strange as it may seem, exactly (to the day hour and minute) one week later, I was to do a Singing Chicken Gram in this Ratty looking Basement type of office along the Hudson River. So, we’re not exactly talking “Trump Towers” here. After meeting my contact person (the person who is assigned to set me up with a place to change and lead me to my recipient) her supervisor who got wind of the whole thing immediately stormed over to me. Just as she approached me, guess what was the first thing I noticed?...Yup, you guessed it!...She had her jaw wired shut! In her bad ventriloquist speech, she started yelling at me saying what sounded like…”Thish ish a prashe of bushnish!!!” “I’m the Supervisher, and I can’t let you do thish!” I started to retaliate, but after I got wind of who was talking (or trying to talk) to me, my rebuttle
turned into hysterical laughter to the point where tears were forming in my eyes! I totally lost it! Luckily I still got paid, since I showed up.
So getting back to how many wired jaws you see in your life time…It’s been over twenty years since both incidents, and I have yet to meet another person with there jaw wired shut. As for Rainbows, I think I might have seen about three in my lifetime so far, but they were separated by a number of years, not exactly a week apart from eachother.
What was my secret message here?...That I should be greatful for the ability to speak? Only G-d knows the answer to that one!
Diary of a Clown/Surprise!
Surprise!
While coming from a Singing Gorilla-Gram, I was in the neighborhood of my friend Meredith, so I decided to surprise her by slipping back into my Gorilla costume and ringing her door bell. Although, she got a big kick out of me and laughed her head off, she knew exactly who was under all that Black Fur. As I started to take off my costume, she excitedly shouted…”No! No! Keep it on!””Benjamin is coming!” Benjamin was her Orthodox Jewish Rabbi Boyfriend she was dating at the time. About a minute later, the Door Bell rang. Meredith hid behind the door. After I looked through the Peep Hole and saw a Yamicka and Shroud, I opened up the door and started aping it up big time! He chuckled for a few seconds, and then got this crazed looked on his face and seductively grabbed me and then gave me this long drawn out kiss until Meredith appeared from behind the door. I was ready to grab him, since he looked like he was ready to pass out from shock! “What the….who the Hell was I kissing?” Meredith answered back with “Benjamin…meet my friend Susan!” Taking off my Gorilla Head and shaking his hand, I said…”Nice to meet you Rabbi?!” “Just out of curiosity, is it kosher to French kiss someone before you’re introduced to them?!” “Yea!” He embarrassingly stated back. “If you think they’re your Girlfriend!” “Amen!”
Talk about Surprise…After I left “Western Onion”, I worked at a Telemarketing job that had flexible hours which I would alternate with my Freelance singing Telegram jobs. I had a reputation for being a character amongst my fellow Telemarketers. After one of our Holiday parties, I had my Pink Gorilla costume with me, since I had a Telegram earlier. My friends talked me into going over to my boss at the after Party at the bar next door. I quickly slipped into my costume, walked into the Bar and snuck up behind my boss placing my furry black hands on her shoulder. Instead of the usual gasping, screaming or jumping back reaction I expected, she casually looked at me and said…”Oh, hi Susan” and continued to take another sip of her drink.
A few months later, I went to work for the NY Law Journal as a Telemarketer. I worked there for about eight years when it became a regular tradition on Halloween for me to walk in the Phone Room with my Gorilla or Chicken Costume on. Of course, it came as no surprise to me after a while, when people seemed to know it was me under all of that fur. One Halloween day, I walked into the Phone room on a day that I wasn’t scheduled to work which also happened to be Pay Day. Wearing my Gorilla Outfit, I motioned for George (my Boss) to pay
up. He handed me my check amidst all of the laughter and I walked out.
The next day, I walked back over to George, and with a straight face said….”Hey George, can I have my Pay Check?” At first he looked startled, paused for a moment, studied my face, which stirred up a giggle in me. “Nice try, Susan!”
One of my neighbors, who’s used to seeing me in my Clown Outfit, stopped me on the Street the other day and said…”Hey Susan, was that you the other day I saw walking on East 30th Street (I live on East 29th Street) dressed as a Gorilla?” Believe it or not…this time it wasn’t me!
While coming from a Singing Gorilla-Gram, I was in the neighborhood of my friend Meredith, so I decided to surprise her by slipping back into my Gorilla costume and ringing her door bell. Although, she got a big kick out of me and laughed her head off, she knew exactly who was under all that Black Fur. As I started to take off my costume, she excitedly shouted…”No! No! Keep it on!””Benjamin is coming!” Benjamin was her Orthodox Jewish Rabbi Boyfriend she was dating at the time. About a minute later, the Door Bell rang. Meredith hid behind the door. After I looked through the Peep Hole and saw a Yamicka and Shroud, I opened up the door and started aping it up big time! He chuckled for a few seconds, and then got this crazed looked on his face and seductively grabbed me and then gave me this long drawn out kiss until Meredith appeared from behind the door. I was ready to grab him, since he looked like he was ready to pass out from shock! “What the….who the Hell was I kissing?” Meredith answered back with “Benjamin…meet my friend Susan!” Taking off my Gorilla Head and shaking his hand, I said…”Nice to meet you Rabbi?!” “Just out of curiosity, is it kosher to French kiss someone before you’re introduced to them?!” “Yea!” He embarrassingly stated back. “If you think they’re your Girlfriend!” “Amen!”
Talk about Surprise…After I left “Western Onion”, I worked at a Telemarketing job that had flexible hours which I would alternate with my Freelance singing Telegram jobs. I had a reputation for being a character amongst my fellow Telemarketers. After one of our Holiday parties, I had my Pink Gorilla costume with me, since I had a Telegram earlier. My friends talked me into going over to my boss at the after Party at the bar next door. I quickly slipped into my costume, walked into the Bar and snuck up behind my boss placing my furry black hands on her shoulder. Instead of the usual gasping, screaming or jumping back reaction I expected, she casually looked at me and said…”Oh, hi Susan” and continued to take another sip of her drink.
A few months later, I went to work for the NY Law Journal as a Telemarketer. I worked there for about eight years when it became a regular tradition on Halloween for me to walk in the Phone Room with my Gorilla or Chicken Costume on. Of course, it came as no surprise to me after a while, when people seemed to know it was me under all of that fur. One Halloween day, I walked into the Phone room on a day that I wasn’t scheduled to work which also happened to be Pay Day. Wearing my Gorilla Outfit, I motioned for George (my Boss) to pay
up. He handed me my check amidst all of the laughter and I walked out.
The next day, I walked back over to George, and with a straight face said….”Hey George, can I have my Pay Check?” At first he looked startled, paused for a moment, studied my face, which stirred up a giggle in me. “Nice try, Susan!”
One of my neighbors, who’s used to seeing me in my Clown Outfit, stopped me on the Street the other day and said…”Hey Susan, was that you the other day I saw walking on East 30th Street (I live on East 29th Street) dressed as a Gorilla?” Believe it or not…this time it wasn’t me!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Diary of a Clown/Wake up! Wake up!
Wake Up! Wake up!
Here’s another Hospital story for you…I was to do a “Get Well” Pink Gorilla Gram in another one of the huge NYC Hospitals.
Aside from walking 10 minutes until I find my recipient, and tracking him or her down, another hard part is explaining yourself to the nurses and orderlies. The first thing I do when I get there is make sure I can find someone who looks like they have a brain in there head. I’ve had a couple of cases where the workers (mostly Foreign) would walk away from me and go immediately over to the patient and say something like…”Mr. Brown! There’s a woman here who is going to dress up in a costume and sing to you” “Is that ok?” Even if they say yes, my cover is already blown. If it gets back to the sender that I revealed myself before the surprise they would (and have) ask for there money back.
This particular Telegram specified that if the recipient isn’t in his room to leave the balloons by his bed which I started to do when I discovered he wasn’t there. Unfortunately, when telling one orderly why I was there, it had caused (within minutes) something like 20 workers to come out of no where and gather around in this man’s room! I think I even remember them making an announcement over the PA system. When I tried just leaving the balloons, I heard…”No! No! He will come any minute” “Stay! Stay”! Oh, I forgot to mention that a few minutes earlier that I over heard one of the nurses on the phone giving the results of his operation. “Mr. Abrams has just come out of his operation and has a blood loss of (I think she said) 30 percent and is still under anesthesia”.
At this point, there was no escaping the man’s room. After all, not only was I a free show, but an excuse for them to get out of working. This was it! I was now there Prisoner, or so it felt!
After a few minutes of listening to the workers explain why I was there in a few different languages, a very unconscious Mr. Abrams was wheeled into this roomful of giggling workers all pushing there way towards him to ensure they wouldn’t miss anything. When I saw he was unconscious, I just figured someone would step in and tell me to leave.
Quite the contrary, one of the Orderlies abruptly starts clapping her hands real loud in his face! “Mr. Abrams! Mr. Abrams!” “Wake up! Wake up!” After like the fifth attempt, Mr. Abrams finally opened up his eyes, looking directly up at me in all of my pink furriness as I said…”Hey Mr. Abrams, you must be hallucinating! You’re seeing a Pink Gorilla!” I hate to say it, but he then closed his eyes and hopefully opened them later! I want to make it to Heaven when it’s my time!
Here’s another Hospital story for you…I was to do a “Get Well” Pink Gorilla Gram in another one of the huge NYC Hospitals.
Aside from walking 10 minutes until I find my recipient, and tracking him or her down, another hard part is explaining yourself to the nurses and orderlies. The first thing I do when I get there is make sure I can find someone who looks like they have a brain in there head. I’ve had a couple of cases where the workers (mostly Foreign) would walk away from me and go immediately over to the patient and say something like…”Mr. Brown! There’s a woman here who is going to dress up in a costume and sing to you” “Is that ok?” Even if they say yes, my cover is already blown. If it gets back to the sender that I revealed myself before the surprise they would (and have) ask for there money back.
This particular Telegram specified that if the recipient isn’t in his room to leave the balloons by his bed which I started to do when I discovered he wasn’t there. Unfortunately, when telling one orderly why I was there, it had caused (within minutes) something like 20 workers to come out of no where and gather around in this man’s room! I think I even remember them making an announcement over the PA system. When I tried just leaving the balloons, I heard…”No! No! He will come any minute” “Stay! Stay”! Oh, I forgot to mention that a few minutes earlier that I over heard one of the nurses on the phone giving the results of his operation. “Mr. Abrams has just come out of his operation and has a blood loss of (I think she said) 30 percent and is still under anesthesia”.
At this point, there was no escaping the man’s room. After all, not only was I a free show, but an excuse for them to get out of working. This was it! I was now there Prisoner, or so it felt!
After a few minutes of listening to the workers explain why I was there in a few different languages, a very unconscious Mr. Abrams was wheeled into this roomful of giggling workers all pushing there way towards him to ensure they wouldn’t miss anything. When I saw he was unconscious, I just figured someone would step in and tell me to leave.
Quite the contrary, one of the Orderlies abruptly starts clapping her hands real loud in his face! “Mr. Abrams! Mr. Abrams!” “Wake up! Wake up!” After like the fifth attempt, Mr. Abrams finally opened up his eyes, looking directly up at me in all of my pink furriness as I said…”Hey Mr. Abrams, you must be hallucinating! You’re seeing a Pink Gorilla!” I hate to say it, but he then closed his eyes and hopefully opened them later! I want to make it to Heaven when it’s my time!
Diary of a Clown/The Drag Queen
The Drag Queen
While working at “Western Onion” in the mid eighties, a good deal of my time was spent in the office either waiting for telegrams and balloon deliveries to come in, or blowing up helium balloons in the hallway. The ladies room we used was shared with the snooty secretaries from our neighboring offices. Thanks to the new Singing Messenger who also happened to be a Drag Queen, our ladies room privileges were revoked. Apparently, the owner of “Western Onion” was threatened into given up our ladies room key, for fear of having the Drag Queen use the Ladies Room. Like he would really be a threat!
What this all came down to was that every time one of the woman in my office had to use the ladies room, we would have to walk down 5 flights of stairs, cross over busy 6th Ave., and walk down the basement stairs at one of the stores across the street.
Life with the Drag Queen didn’t end at the office. Occasionally, I would have to go with him to deliveries and Singing Telegrams. Most of his jobs were Either Male impersonater jobs or “Tootsie-Grams” "Tootsie" was a popular movie in the Eighties where Dustin Hoffman played an Actor who disguised himself as a woman in order to get a part on a Soap Opera.
One day, I was to do a duo telegram with the Drag queen, but since he was doing a Gorilla Telegram he wasn’t in drag. On the way back from our telegram, we stopped at a Cosmetic Store. While at the Counter he told the woman at the counter what he was looking for. Instead of responding back to him she responded back to me assuming that the item was for me. “Don’t look at me” I said, “It’s for him”. I thought the woman was going to fall down on the spot! She quickly got him the cosmetics he needed barely making eye contact with him the whole time probably for fear of losing it.
Luckily, for my Kidney’s sake the Drag Queen moved on to other things and we eventually got our Bath Room back.
While working at “Western Onion” in the mid eighties, a good deal of my time was spent in the office either waiting for telegrams and balloon deliveries to come in, or blowing up helium balloons in the hallway. The ladies room we used was shared with the snooty secretaries from our neighboring offices. Thanks to the new Singing Messenger who also happened to be a Drag Queen, our ladies room privileges were revoked. Apparently, the owner of “Western Onion” was threatened into given up our ladies room key, for fear of having the Drag Queen use the Ladies Room. Like he would really be a threat!
What this all came down to was that every time one of the woman in my office had to use the ladies room, we would have to walk down 5 flights of stairs, cross over busy 6th Ave., and walk down the basement stairs at one of the stores across the street.
Life with the Drag Queen didn’t end at the office. Occasionally, I would have to go with him to deliveries and Singing Telegrams. Most of his jobs were Either Male impersonater jobs or “Tootsie-Grams” "Tootsie" was a popular movie in the Eighties where Dustin Hoffman played an Actor who disguised himself as a woman in order to get a part on a Soap Opera.
One day, I was to do a duo telegram with the Drag queen, but since he was doing a Gorilla Telegram he wasn’t in drag. On the way back from our telegram, we stopped at a Cosmetic Store. While at the Counter he told the woman at the counter what he was looking for. Instead of responding back to him she responded back to me assuming that the item was for me. “Don’t look at me” I said, “It’s for him”. I thought the woman was going to fall down on the spot! She quickly got him the cosmetics he needed barely making eye contact with him the whole time probably for fear of losing it.
Luckily, for my Kidney’s sake the Drag Queen moved on to other things and we eventually got our Bath Room back.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Diary of a Clown/The case of the Stolen Gorilla Head
The Case of the Stolen Gorilla Head
My last day at “Western Onion Singing Telegram’s” came to an end about 6 months after I started working there. As a Singing Messenger for the company, I was never happy about not getting to keep my Credit Card tips, since my salary was only minimum wage to start with. I decided to grin and bare it, for fear of having to go back to a regular office job.
The job finally came to a Holt when right after getting screamed at for showing up late for a job, I had to deliver about 50 helium balloons to a woman in a Town House somewhere in Greenwich Village. While reaching for my telegram, I accidently let go of all of my balloons setting them free to fly the City sky! At that very moment my recipient opened the door. I then greeted her in my Top Hat and Tails by saying “Hi! I have a delivery from Western Onion Singing Telegrams” and then pointing up to the sky at what looked like colored polka dots, I said….”And THOSE were and ARE your Balloons!”
On the way to doing my next telegram that day, I ended up in Subway Hell, due to track work, Subway delays and getting bad directions. Needless to say, I was late to my next job. After that, I totally lost it, having a MAJOR panic attack taking it out on everyone and everything around me. In the midst of it all, I said to myself…”What am I doing?” With that thought said, I headed for the nearest pay phone, called up my office and told the Secretary to tell my boss I quit. After hearing the one sided conversation in the office, Paul grabbed the phone. Paul was this 18 year old singing messenger who had a big crush on me. Although I didn’t feel the same way about him, I liked him as a person and wouldn’t think of hurting him in any other way than not dating him. “Susan! Is there anything I can say to talk you out of quitting?” “No...I’ve HAD it!” “I’m EXAUSTED…physically and mentally!” “I don’t want to look at another balloon or ride on another Subway for the rest of my life!” In the most hysterical voice I ever heard come out of his mouth he said “OK, I understand what you’re going through!, but YOU have to understand that 2 people called in sick today, so it’s just the 2 of us working!” “I can barely make it to my OWN jobs, let alone yours!” I reluctantly agreed to take on a couple of more balloon deliveries and a Singing Telegram thinking that would be IT after that. I thought to myself…”That’s it! I’m hanging up my dancing shoes (so to speak) and doing office work!”
After I went back to the office, got my balloons and did my delivery, I went off to what I thought would be the last Singing Telegram for the rest of my life. My costume for that telegram was a Top Hat and Tuxedo. The telegram took place in a large Catering Hall somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. I was told by my recipient’s sender that I had the option of using a microphone. Thinking I was going to be performing in the small space we met up in, I told her I didn’t need it. She then led me to another room which turned out to be humungous! I figured I was doomed at this point, since I often had complaints about my voice being too low. After being introduced to an audience of about 100 people, I got into my spotlight on the stage, and out of no where, this powerful voice emerged landing me not only applause, but a standing ovation as well! Not only that, but I ended up getting the highest tip that I ever had in all the time I worked for “Western Onion”. I remember practically floating out of there like I was on some powerful drug. After all I went from feeling defeated to undefeated, but why? I already quit!
Even though I had given up on “Western Onion”, I decided not to give up on Singing Telegrams. I longed to feel that high again. Not only that, but to get paid for what I now enjoyed.
When getting my Paycheck that next week, I was told I had to return my Gorilla Costume which I still had on me from one of my last jobs the week before. When I discovered they had shorted me some money, I made the decision not to give up my furry friend. When I got home that day, I put my Gorilla head on my Bicycle seat and grabbed the yellow pages. I must have called like every Singing Telegram Company in the City. There were a lot back then since it was still the money making eighties. After repeat calls to these companies, I finally managed to find a few who were willing to send me out on Telegrams, but the jobs were limited to just Black Gorillas since that was the only costume I owned. Most of the companies I worked for, didn’t own there own costumes. A couple of years of doing like 1 singing Telegram a month and working 2 part time phone jobs, came to a drastic change in the strangest of all ways!
One afternoon I came home to find I was robbed! The bandits took off with 80.00 in cash, all of my Brother’s CD’s that he gave me to watch while he was abroad for a year, and….believe it or not….MY GORILLA HEAD!
Of course getting robbed caused me a lot of trauma and made trouble for my brother and me since a lot of the stuff belonged to him, but I was also upset about losing that Gorilla head
After turning down Singing Telegrams because I didn’t have a Gorilla costume, I marched myself down to “Halloween adventure Shop” (a popular costume shop in the city). I not only bought myself a new Gorilla Costume, but a Chicken Costume, a Pink Gorilla Costume, a French Maid Costume, Play boy Bunny Costume and a Top hat and Top Coat as well! I think I maxed out my credit card that day, but it ended up paying a few times over since I got work as a result of all of those costumes, and all as a result of quitting a job and getting robbed!
Also something else happened as a result of this whole ordeal after that last Singing Telegram at “Western Onion”. I developed this whole new serge of confidence, causing me to get no more complaints about my low voice and lack of energy, but higher tips, a lot of compliments and repeat customers.
Eventually, I started taking it a step further and started clowning as well.
I look at it like this… The Angel gives back what the devil takes away.
My last day at “Western Onion Singing Telegram’s” came to an end about 6 months after I started working there. As a Singing Messenger for the company, I was never happy about not getting to keep my Credit Card tips, since my salary was only minimum wage to start with. I decided to grin and bare it, for fear of having to go back to a regular office job.
The job finally came to a Holt when right after getting screamed at for showing up late for a job, I had to deliver about 50 helium balloons to a woman in a Town House somewhere in Greenwich Village. While reaching for my telegram, I accidently let go of all of my balloons setting them free to fly the City sky! At that very moment my recipient opened the door. I then greeted her in my Top Hat and Tails by saying “Hi! I have a delivery from Western Onion Singing Telegrams” and then pointing up to the sky at what looked like colored polka dots, I said….”And THOSE were and ARE your Balloons!”
On the way to doing my next telegram that day, I ended up in Subway Hell, due to track work, Subway delays and getting bad directions. Needless to say, I was late to my next job. After that, I totally lost it, having a MAJOR panic attack taking it out on everyone and everything around me. In the midst of it all, I said to myself…”What am I doing?” With that thought said, I headed for the nearest pay phone, called up my office and told the Secretary to tell my boss I quit. After hearing the one sided conversation in the office, Paul grabbed the phone. Paul was this 18 year old singing messenger who had a big crush on me. Although I didn’t feel the same way about him, I liked him as a person and wouldn’t think of hurting him in any other way than not dating him. “Susan! Is there anything I can say to talk you out of quitting?” “No...I’ve HAD it!” “I’m EXAUSTED…physically and mentally!” “I don’t want to look at another balloon or ride on another Subway for the rest of my life!” In the most hysterical voice I ever heard come out of his mouth he said “OK, I understand what you’re going through!, but YOU have to understand that 2 people called in sick today, so it’s just the 2 of us working!” “I can barely make it to my OWN jobs, let alone yours!” I reluctantly agreed to take on a couple of more balloon deliveries and a Singing Telegram thinking that would be IT after that. I thought to myself…”That’s it! I’m hanging up my dancing shoes (so to speak) and doing office work!”
After I went back to the office, got my balloons and did my delivery, I went off to what I thought would be the last Singing Telegram for the rest of my life. My costume for that telegram was a Top Hat and Tuxedo. The telegram took place in a large Catering Hall somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. I was told by my recipient’s sender that I had the option of using a microphone. Thinking I was going to be performing in the small space we met up in, I told her I didn’t need it. She then led me to another room which turned out to be humungous! I figured I was doomed at this point, since I often had complaints about my voice being too low. After being introduced to an audience of about 100 people, I got into my spotlight on the stage, and out of no where, this powerful voice emerged landing me not only applause, but a standing ovation as well! Not only that, but I ended up getting the highest tip that I ever had in all the time I worked for “Western Onion”. I remember practically floating out of there like I was on some powerful drug. After all I went from feeling defeated to undefeated, but why? I already quit!
Even though I had given up on “Western Onion”, I decided not to give up on Singing Telegrams. I longed to feel that high again. Not only that, but to get paid for what I now enjoyed.
When getting my Paycheck that next week, I was told I had to return my Gorilla Costume which I still had on me from one of my last jobs the week before. When I discovered they had shorted me some money, I made the decision not to give up my furry friend. When I got home that day, I put my Gorilla head on my Bicycle seat and grabbed the yellow pages. I must have called like every Singing Telegram Company in the City. There were a lot back then since it was still the money making eighties. After repeat calls to these companies, I finally managed to find a few who were willing to send me out on Telegrams, but the jobs were limited to just Black Gorillas since that was the only costume I owned. Most of the companies I worked for, didn’t own there own costumes. A couple of years of doing like 1 singing Telegram a month and working 2 part time phone jobs, came to a drastic change in the strangest of all ways!
One afternoon I came home to find I was robbed! The bandits took off with 80.00 in cash, all of my Brother’s CD’s that he gave me to watch while he was abroad for a year, and….believe it or not….MY GORILLA HEAD!
Of course getting robbed caused me a lot of trauma and made trouble for my brother and me since a lot of the stuff belonged to him, but I was also upset about losing that Gorilla head
After turning down Singing Telegrams because I didn’t have a Gorilla costume, I marched myself down to “Halloween adventure Shop” (a popular costume shop in the city). I not only bought myself a new Gorilla Costume, but a Chicken Costume, a Pink Gorilla Costume, a French Maid Costume, Play boy Bunny Costume and a Top hat and Top Coat as well! I think I maxed out my credit card that day, but it ended up paying a few times over since I got work as a result of all of those costumes, and all as a result of quitting a job and getting robbed!
Also something else happened as a result of this whole ordeal after that last Singing Telegram at “Western Onion”. I developed this whole new serge of confidence, causing me to get no more complaints about my low voice and lack of energy, but higher tips, a lot of compliments and repeat customers.
Eventually, I started taking it a step further and started clowning as well.
I look at it like this… The Angel gives back what the devil takes away.
Diary of a Clown/ Singing for the Dead
Singing to the dead
One thing I love and hate about what I do, is that I never know where my jobs might take me. In the twenty something years that I’ve been in this business, I’ve clowned and performed Singing Telegrams in offices, Nursing Homes, Beauty Parlors, Construction Sites, Broadway theatres, Hotels, Cruise Ships, Airports, Hospitals, Police Precincts….name a profession, I’ve probably performed there!
Probably the most bizarre and awkward location was when I had to deliver a Singing Telegram in a Funeral Parlor in Forest Hills, NY. When told where I was to deliver my Singing Chicken Act, I was somewhat set back by the thought by not only singing in a Funeral parlor, but by singing in a Funeral Parlor dressed as a Chicken! What will the dead think? What will God think? Will I even be considered for heaven after this? But then I thought….”Wait a minute, if anyone needs laughter relief, its people who work in a Funeral Parlor.
It wasn’t until I saw the front of the Funeral Parlor, when it dawned on me…like 5 of my relatives had there Memorial services there, including my Grandparents on both sides of my family, 2 Aunts and an uncle, all of whom I was close to before there passing.
My contact person had me wait in the lobby for a few minutes while he talked to some teary eyed customers. He then led me to the Bereavement Room where I changed into my Chicken Costume. While I waited around for my recipient to walk in, I started feeling guilty and disrespectful for what I was about to do. Then the guilt started turning into this overwhelming thought of not being alone in the room. I silently started explaining to my dead relatives about what I was about to do, and to sit back and enjoy the show. When my recipient came in, three of his Co-workers followed him in. Although 4 people besides me were physically present in the room, I entertained a room of nine that day. The guilt I felt earlier was now buried…no pun intended!
One thing I love and hate about what I do, is that I never know where my jobs might take me. In the twenty something years that I’ve been in this business, I’ve clowned and performed Singing Telegrams in offices, Nursing Homes, Beauty Parlors, Construction Sites, Broadway theatres, Hotels, Cruise Ships, Airports, Hospitals, Police Precincts….name a profession, I’ve probably performed there!
Probably the most bizarre and awkward location was when I had to deliver a Singing Telegram in a Funeral Parlor in Forest Hills, NY. When told where I was to deliver my Singing Chicken Act, I was somewhat set back by the thought by not only singing in a Funeral parlor, but by singing in a Funeral Parlor dressed as a Chicken! What will the dead think? What will God think? Will I even be considered for heaven after this? But then I thought….”Wait a minute, if anyone needs laughter relief, its people who work in a Funeral Parlor.
It wasn’t until I saw the front of the Funeral Parlor, when it dawned on me…like 5 of my relatives had there Memorial services there, including my Grandparents on both sides of my family, 2 Aunts and an uncle, all of whom I was close to before there passing.
My contact person had me wait in the lobby for a few minutes while he talked to some teary eyed customers. He then led me to the Bereavement Room where I changed into my Chicken Costume. While I waited around for my recipient to walk in, I started feeling guilty and disrespectful for what I was about to do. Then the guilt started turning into this overwhelming thought of not being alone in the room. I silently started explaining to my dead relatives about what I was about to do, and to sit back and enjoy the show. When my recipient came in, three of his Co-workers followed him in. Although 4 people besides me were physically present in the room, I entertained a room of nine that day. The guilt I felt earlier was now buried…no pun intended!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Diary of a Clown/ Clowning for Demon Kids
Clowning for Little Demon Kids
By Susan Zwirn
Once in a while, fortunately not too much, I come across little Demon children. Here are a couple of examples.
A number of years ago, I was doubling up with another Clown at a little rich kid’s (aka Park Avenue Brat) Birthday Party in a fancy apartment on the Upper East Side section of Manhattan. We had gotten there before the guests arrived, leaving us with the seven year old Birthday Boy and his twelve year old sister. Even though we had both gotten there before our starting time, the Birthday mom almost immediately instructed us (or ordered) to twist up some balloons for her two kids. When making a Balloon Animal for the Birthday Boy, he took one look at it and obnoxiously stated…”That’s NOT what I wanted!” And then with all of his strength, punched me in the stomach! A couple of minutes later, he took Gabbooba’s (the other Clown) Laundry Bag that contained his Hard Headed costume for his next Party, and threw it across the room completely breaking the nose on the Character’s head! The sister who wasn’t much better, kept cursing at us, and when Gabbooba threatened to tell her mom, she shouted out…”Go ahead” “That’s not my real mom anyway!”
Things only got worse when the guests arrived (Thirty 7 year old boys)! I was ordered by the mom to blow up my balloons on the Balcony because the balloons were upsetting her dog. Gabbooba was told to stay inside and do face painting. The thirty boys (duplicates of the Birthday Boy) who were more into balloons than face painting, followed me out on the balcony amusing themselves by hitting me, trying to pull off my wig and putting there hands up my Clown dress! To make matters worse, the Father opens up the Balcony door, letting out the same dog that was supposedly scared of balloons. “Webster’s Dictionary could use this as an example of the word “Kayos”. I think I remember limping my way to my next job that day!
My next experience of sorts, took place in an Arab Mosque also during my less experienced days of clowning. It was for a bunch of Arab kids between the ages 2 to about 12. I was to do my combo act which entailed clowning during the first half of the party and a hard headed character during the second half.
Since I didn’t own the furry hard headed costume I was to wear, my boss had to drop it off at the Mosque. Since he was a man, they wouldn’t let him inside for fear of being spotted by the woman.
There were about 75 kids at the party who were constantly abusing me until they got there balloons twisted and there faces painted. Like the last demon party, the parents were not in discipline mode. In the middle of blowing up like my twenty fifth balloon, my cheap plastic balloon pump broke in two, leaving the other 50 demons hysterical when I told them the news. Out of the blue, this very biblical looking woman with this black head-dress and a long black robe approaches me saying something in broken English. A few minutes later, returns with a plastic balloon pump and proceeded to join me in blowing up balloons. She was the last person I would have expected to carry out this task.
When I was finished with the clown portion of the party, I went into the ladies room to change into my hard headed costume. I barely stepped one of my furry feet into the room when the little terrors seeing me like this for the first time, went into complete attack mode! After a few minutes of trying to endure this terror, I ran back into the ladies room, got changed out of my costume, gathered up my stuff and got the heck out of there!
My boss received a call the next day requesting a refund since I didn’t complete the show even though I stayed an hour and a half over time due to the high volume of kids. I for warned my boss about the whole incidence prior to the request for a refund. Fortunately, he went to bat for me, making sure we both got paid.
This goes to show you…the devil comes in many disguises!
By Susan Zwirn
Once in a while, fortunately not too much, I come across little Demon children. Here are a couple of examples.
A number of years ago, I was doubling up with another Clown at a little rich kid’s (aka Park Avenue Brat) Birthday Party in a fancy apartment on the Upper East Side section of Manhattan. We had gotten there before the guests arrived, leaving us with the seven year old Birthday Boy and his twelve year old sister. Even though we had both gotten there before our starting time, the Birthday mom almost immediately instructed us (or ordered) to twist up some balloons for her two kids. When making a Balloon Animal for the Birthday Boy, he took one look at it and obnoxiously stated…”That’s NOT what I wanted!” And then with all of his strength, punched me in the stomach! A couple of minutes later, he took Gabbooba’s (the other Clown) Laundry Bag that contained his Hard Headed costume for his next Party, and threw it across the room completely breaking the nose on the Character’s head! The sister who wasn’t much better, kept cursing at us, and when Gabbooba threatened to tell her mom, she shouted out…”Go ahead” “That’s not my real mom anyway!”
Things only got worse when the guests arrived (Thirty 7 year old boys)! I was ordered by the mom to blow up my balloons on the Balcony because the balloons were upsetting her dog. Gabbooba was told to stay inside and do face painting. The thirty boys (duplicates of the Birthday Boy) who were more into balloons than face painting, followed me out on the balcony amusing themselves by hitting me, trying to pull off my wig and putting there hands up my Clown dress! To make matters worse, the Father opens up the Balcony door, letting out the same dog that was supposedly scared of balloons. “Webster’s Dictionary could use this as an example of the word “Kayos”. I think I remember limping my way to my next job that day!
My next experience of sorts, took place in an Arab Mosque also during my less experienced days of clowning. It was for a bunch of Arab kids between the ages 2 to about 12. I was to do my combo act which entailed clowning during the first half of the party and a hard headed character during the second half.
Since I didn’t own the furry hard headed costume I was to wear, my boss had to drop it off at the Mosque. Since he was a man, they wouldn’t let him inside for fear of being spotted by the woman.
There were about 75 kids at the party who were constantly abusing me until they got there balloons twisted and there faces painted. Like the last demon party, the parents were not in discipline mode. In the middle of blowing up like my twenty fifth balloon, my cheap plastic balloon pump broke in two, leaving the other 50 demons hysterical when I told them the news. Out of the blue, this very biblical looking woman with this black head-dress and a long black robe approaches me saying something in broken English. A few minutes later, returns with a plastic balloon pump and proceeded to join me in blowing up balloons. She was the last person I would have expected to carry out this task.
When I was finished with the clown portion of the party, I went into the ladies room to change into my hard headed costume. I barely stepped one of my furry feet into the room when the little terrors seeing me like this for the first time, went into complete attack mode! After a few minutes of trying to endure this terror, I ran back into the ladies room, got changed out of my costume, gathered up my stuff and got the heck out of there!
My boss received a call the next day requesting a refund since I didn’t complete the show even though I stayed an hour and a half over time due to the high volume of kids. I for warned my boss about the whole incidence prior to the request for a refund. Fortunately, he went to bat for me, making sure we both got paid.
This goes to show you…the devil comes in many disguises!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Clowning for the big kids
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Once in a while, I get asked to clown at Nursing Homes. Usually, such requests are for Christmas Parties, barbeques, or Grandparent’s day. Sometimes I might be needed just to do cheer up visits, where I’ll mostly be doing balloon twisting and shticks. One of the barbeque visits a few years ago, led to regular monthly visits at a nursing home in the Bronx section of NY.
A lot of my fellow Clowns, turn down nursing home jobs for squeamish or emotional reasons. Having had two parents and a grandmother in Nursing Homes, I don’t have a problem with either. I can also probably relate better to how lonely residents can get when they’re not able to get downstairs to see shows or do activities, for physical reasons, there friends and family not always being able to make it down to see them, or the elevator being out of order. Once in a while, the staff will take some of the residents downstairs, but a good deal of the time, they’re bedridden. From my own personal experience, I know how a cheer up visit can be; even it’s for a short amount of time.
When I first started doing my cheer up visits in the Bronx, I noticed that I was listed on the activity schedule for the day, as “The Laughter Therapist”. Wow!, how cool is that?!, I thought…I’m no longer just a Clown, but a member of the Psychiatric staff! I even remember one of the staff coming around with an evaluation sheet of the residents’ reaction to me. It was then that I realized that I might be able to make a difference. I was told by the agent who set me up with this job, that I’m one of the few clowns that would go over to the comatose residents. A lot of clowns I’ve spoken to seem to think it’s a waste of time or that they’re just not going to get through to these people. I still had my doubts about approaching people in this state of mind sometimes. My doubt was broken one visit, by a paraplegic by the name of Edith. Edith was missing all of her limbs. During my usual visits, she would respond to my balloons and shticks with a blank stare. A week before one of my visits, I attended one of my balloon twisting workshops, and learned how to make balloon earrings. It’s not as hard as it sounds to make. It takes just one straight balloon to make three single earrings which can be made in about two minutes, plus they pinch fit very easily onto the earlobes. I decided on a whim to try my new skill out on Edith, since I didn’t see any earrings on her. After placing them on her ears, I took my Turkey Sandwich Mirror, and held it up to her face. As she gazed into the mirror, her eyes seemed to have widened. She then turned toward my ear and said something in a low muffled tone. After a few whats’ and huhs, I finally understood what she was saying…”I want to kiss you”. As I turned my cheek to let her kiss me, my eyes started welling up with tears. I had to turn away and compose myself, for fear of revealing myself as a human being.
What had happened here? Had I brought back some beauty to this woman that she thought was lost, by adding something pretty and feminine to her face? I now realized that I wasn’t wasting my time with Edith and people like her. It was then that I realized that I was more than someone clowning around with these people. I was was a “Laughter Therapist”!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Once in a while, I get asked to clown at Nursing Homes. Usually, such requests are for Christmas Parties, barbeques, or Grandparent’s day. Sometimes I might be needed just to do cheer up visits, where I’ll mostly be doing balloon twisting and shticks. One of the barbeque visits a few years ago, led to regular monthly visits at a nursing home in the Bronx section of NY.
A lot of my fellow Clowns, turn down nursing home jobs for squeamish or emotional reasons. Having had two parents and a grandmother in Nursing Homes, I don’t have a problem with either. I can also probably relate better to how lonely residents can get when they’re not able to get downstairs to see shows or do activities, for physical reasons, there friends and family not always being able to make it down to see them, or the elevator being out of order. Once in a while, the staff will take some of the residents downstairs, but a good deal of the time, they’re bedridden. From my own personal experience, I know how a cheer up visit can be; even it’s for a short amount of time.
When I first started doing my cheer up visits in the Bronx, I noticed that I was listed on the activity schedule for the day, as “The Laughter Therapist”. Wow!, how cool is that?!, I thought…I’m no longer just a Clown, but a member of the Psychiatric staff! I even remember one of the staff coming around with an evaluation sheet of the residents’ reaction to me. It was then that I realized that I might be able to make a difference. I was told by the agent who set me up with this job, that I’m one of the few clowns that would go over to the comatose residents. A lot of clowns I’ve spoken to seem to think it’s a waste of time or that they’re just not going to get through to these people. I still had my doubts about approaching people in this state of mind sometimes. My doubt was broken one visit, by a paraplegic by the name of Edith. Edith was missing all of her limbs. During my usual visits, she would respond to my balloons and shticks with a blank stare. A week before one of my visits, I attended one of my balloon twisting workshops, and learned how to make balloon earrings. It’s not as hard as it sounds to make. It takes just one straight balloon to make three single earrings which can be made in about two minutes, plus they pinch fit very easily onto the earlobes. I decided on a whim to try my new skill out on Edith, since I didn’t see any earrings on her. After placing them on her ears, I took my Turkey Sandwich Mirror, and held it up to her face. As she gazed into the mirror, her eyes seemed to have widened. She then turned toward my ear and said something in a low muffled tone. After a few whats’ and huhs, I finally understood what she was saying…”I want to kiss you”. As I turned my cheek to let her kiss me, my eyes started welling up with tears. I had to turn away and compose myself, for fear of revealing myself as a human being.
What had happened here? Had I brought back some beauty to this woman that she thought was lost, by adding something pretty and feminine to her face? I now realized that I wasn’t wasting my time with Edith and people like her. It was then that I realized that I was more than someone clowning around with these people. I was was a “Laughter Therapist”!
Diary of a ClownGet off of My Case
By Susan Zwirn AKA Polkadots the Clown
One of the reasons I like to keep my jobs close to home, is that the out of town jobs (especially the ones in The Bronx and Brooklyn) tend to start late and of course end late, which means I’m walking from the Subways late at night and sometimes in not the safest neighborhoods. Not to put down certain ethnicities’, but for some reason, Spanish, Indians and Blacks (not all, but a lot of the ones I’ve encountered) tend to not only start their parties late, but they’re notorious for arriving late as well. In other words, 7:00 pm can mean 8:00pm or even 9:00 pm, which can mean, I’m out of there close to or at mid night, not to mention what time I get home! It’s especially hard when I have a morning job the next day. I spend over an hour the night before packing for my jobs. I don’t even want to talk about what time I finally make it to bed!
On one such occasion, I was to do a Princess party in the South Bronx. The party was to start at 8:00 PM but as almost always, the guests and birthday girl didn’t arrive until 9:30, which meant I didn’t finish my show until about 11:00. By the time I packed up my stuff and was ready to change, it was about 11:20 PM. At that time (believe it or not) guests were still just arriving. Now this is a Birthday party for a five year old girl mind you, not a college frat party!
After getting my stuff packed up, I went into the only bathroom in this small overcrowded house to get changed out of my costume. After about five minutes of changing, comes this loud banging at the door of the bathroom I was in. “How rude!, I thought and just kept doing my thing. When I Finally made it out of the closet of a bathroom with all of my bulky attire in my hands, the amount of people had not only doubled from the time I went in, but gathered around my suitcase was massive screaming and kayos! I managed to look over a few shoulders only to find what appeared to be an elderly woman lying on the ground with her head and one of her arms on my suitcase! The next thing I know, the paramedics are roping off the area.
The woman on my suitcase, turned out to be the eighty something year old Great Grandmother of the Birthday girl. One of the twelve year old Grand Daughters, who was standing next to me was so traumatized by seeing her Grand Mother in this state, that she past out. So now they had to rope off my area as well, in order to tend to the new patient, leaving me and 80 hysterical guests all squished together like Sardines!
Now we’re going on like 12:30 midnight with this lady sprawled out on my suitcase getting a zillion repetitions of CPR without what looked to be any motion coming from her!
Realizing what time it was and where I was (not a safe neighborhood to be in past midnight), I realized I had to get out of there, after all, who was going to be willing to walk me to the subway with all that going on?! In order to get out of there, I would have to convince one of the cops and or paramedics into letting me get my suitcase. So, here goes….”Excuse me sir, I sympathize with what’s going on here, but is it at all possible that I can get that suitcase?” I asked while pointing to my suitcase. The six foot three Police officer replied, “Sorry mam that area is off limits. After a couple of more attempts of trying to convince New York’s finest into getting my suitcase, I very sternly approached one of the officers “LOOK!” “It’s like this…If you don’t let me get my suitcase soon, you’re probably going to have MY death to deal with too, if I have to get back downtown on the subway at this un-Godly hour!!”He nervously looked around at the crowd when he heard me say the word death and attempted to calm me down, which wasn’t going to happen. They finally took this lifeless body off of my suitcase, and without anyone’s permission, I grabbed my suitcase and fighting my way through all of the kayos, ran outside. The mother of the Birthday Girl was standing outside crying. I tried my best to calm her down, saying “Don’t worry; she’s in good hands now”. Luckily, the company I did the job for was prepaid by the client on a credit card, so I didn’t have to humiliate myself any further by trying to get money from her when she was in such a fragile state.
Unsurprisingly, (and thanks goodness, safely) it was close to 3:00 AM, when I finally made it home. I had a hard time convincing my boyfriend the next day that I was coming from a five year old girl’s birthday party at that hour! It was through my boyfriend’s constant persuasion and other sketchy situations afterwards, that finally convinced me to do jobs closer to home. As about as many jobs as I’ve had to turn down because of the distance, they have miraculously been replaced by jobs closer to home. After a couple of years of sticking to limited territories’, repeat and word of mouth customers, I found I wasn’t cutting into my income. Not only that, but people on the street, seeing me in my Clown costume or walking with my balloons when not in costume, asks me for my card, adding more neighborhood customers to my list. I find myself being less stressed out by subway and bus delays as well as people in Manhattan tend to have less people at their parties due to lack of space in apartments and restaurants.
The only drawback now is that a lot of my parties tend to be for upper class kids whose parents aren’t as generous as far as offering food and tipping, and the kids are brattier and less appreciative than the poorer kids. Oh well you can’t have everything!
By Susan Zwirn AKA Polkadots the Clown
One of the reasons I like to keep my jobs close to home, is that the out of town jobs (especially the ones in The Bronx and Brooklyn) tend to start late and of course end late, which means I’m walking from the Subways late at night and sometimes in not the safest neighborhoods. Not to put down certain ethnicities’, but for some reason, Spanish, Indians and Blacks (not all, but a lot of the ones I’ve encountered) tend to not only start their parties late, but they’re notorious for arriving late as well. In other words, 7:00 pm can mean 8:00pm or even 9:00 pm, which can mean, I’m out of there close to or at mid night, not to mention what time I get home! It’s especially hard when I have a morning job the next day. I spend over an hour the night before packing for my jobs. I don’t even want to talk about what time I finally make it to bed!
On one such occasion, I was to do a Princess party in the South Bronx. The party was to start at 8:00 PM but as almost always, the guests and birthday girl didn’t arrive until 9:30, which meant I didn’t finish my show until about 11:00. By the time I packed up my stuff and was ready to change, it was about 11:20 PM. At that time (believe it or not) guests were still just arriving. Now this is a Birthday party for a five year old girl mind you, not a college frat party!
After getting my stuff packed up, I went into the only bathroom in this small overcrowded house to get changed out of my costume. After about five minutes of changing, comes this loud banging at the door of the bathroom I was in. “How rude!, I thought and just kept doing my thing. When I Finally made it out of the closet of a bathroom with all of my bulky attire in my hands, the amount of people had not only doubled from the time I went in, but gathered around my suitcase was massive screaming and kayos! I managed to look over a few shoulders only to find what appeared to be an elderly woman lying on the ground with her head and one of her arms on my suitcase! The next thing I know, the paramedics are roping off the area.
The woman on my suitcase, turned out to be the eighty something year old Great Grandmother of the Birthday girl. One of the twelve year old Grand Daughters, who was standing next to me was so traumatized by seeing her Grand Mother in this state, that she past out. So now they had to rope off my area as well, in order to tend to the new patient, leaving me and 80 hysterical guests all squished together like Sardines!
Now we’re going on like 12:30 midnight with this lady sprawled out on my suitcase getting a zillion repetitions of CPR without what looked to be any motion coming from her!
Realizing what time it was and where I was (not a safe neighborhood to be in past midnight), I realized I had to get out of there, after all, who was going to be willing to walk me to the subway with all that going on?! In order to get out of there, I would have to convince one of the cops and or paramedics into letting me get my suitcase. So, here goes….”Excuse me sir, I sympathize with what’s going on here, but is it at all possible that I can get that suitcase?” I asked while pointing to my suitcase. The six foot three Police officer replied, “Sorry mam that area is off limits. After a couple of more attempts of trying to convince New York’s finest into getting my suitcase, I very sternly approached one of the officers “LOOK!” “It’s like this…If you don’t let me get my suitcase soon, you’re probably going to have MY death to deal with too, if I have to get back downtown on the subway at this un-Godly hour!!”He nervously looked around at the crowd when he heard me say the word death and attempted to calm me down, which wasn’t going to happen. They finally took this lifeless body off of my suitcase, and without anyone’s permission, I grabbed my suitcase and fighting my way through all of the kayos, ran outside. The mother of the Birthday Girl was standing outside crying. I tried my best to calm her down, saying “Don’t worry; she’s in good hands now”. Luckily, the company I did the job for was prepaid by the client on a credit card, so I didn’t have to humiliate myself any further by trying to get money from her when she was in such a fragile state.
Unsurprisingly, (and thanks goodness, safely) it was close to 3:00 AM, when I finally made it home. I had a hard time convincing my boyfriend the next day that I was coming from a five year old girl’s birthday party at that hour! It was through my boyfriend’s constant persuasion and other sketchy situations afterwards, that finally convinced me to do jobs closer to home. As about as many jobs as I’ve had to turn down because of the distance, they have miraculously been replaced by jobs closer to home. After a couple of years of sticking to limited territories’, repeat and word of mouth customers, I found I wasn’t cutting into my income. Not only that, but people on the street, seeing me in my Clown costume or walking with my balloons when not in costume, asks me for my card, adding more neighborhood customers to my list. I find myself being less stressed out by subway and bus delays as well as people in Manhattan tend to have less people at their parties due to lack of space in apartments and restaurants.
The only drawback now is that a lot of my parties tend to be for upper class kids whose parents aren’t as generous as far as offering food and tipping, and the kids are brattier and less appreciative than the poorer kids. Oh well you can’t have everything!
Diary of a Clown/Cab Drivers and Clowns
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
As I sit writing this in full clown attire, I’m sitting at a subway station waiting to get home from a clown job. Subway, bus or foot is usually my mode of transportation to and from jobs, until tardiness, laziness or bus and subway delays come into play then its time to bite the bullet and haul down the cabs. Aside from the prices of cabs in New York City, and the availability (especially during rush hours), it’s not always easy hauling down a cab while you’re dressed as a Clown! Why not change at my parties, you ask? Since I’m Jewish, I’ll answer that with a question….”Why tie up someone’s bathroom for an hour?”…that is if there is a bathroom. A lot of times my parties are in parks where smelly caughin sized outhouses come into play. Those two reasons, plus free advertising, since a good number of my Clown jobs have happened as a result of people seeing me in clown attire on the way to or from jobs.
Getting back to cabs…I was about to find out the hard way one of the reasons behind passing Cab Drivers. It was a Saturday afternoon (my busiest time), and I spent like fifteen minutes trying to haul down a cab, when one finally stopped. When I poked my head into the opened window of the cab to ask the driver if he could help me with my suitcase, he took one look at me and started screaming this blood curdling scream!... “OOHHH!!! WHAT THE H..LL IS THAT!!” Immediately being offended by what I perceived to be ignorant and rude, I said…”If you’re going to have that kind of reaction, I’ll find another cab!!” He then calmed down a bit and with his heavy Jamaican accent said…”Wait, get in…I explain”. He then told me his story……”About two weeks ago, two men bang me over the head and steal my money”. “The last thing I remember before I faint is seeing masks like you!” “I am so sorry, but you just brought it all back to me”. I apologized as well for traumatizing him, and of course, gave him an extra big tip!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
As I sit writing this in full clown attire, I’m sitting at a subway station waiting to get home from a clown job. Subway, bus or foot is usually my mode of transportation to and from jobs, until tardiness, laziness or bus and subway delays come into play then its time to bite the bullet and haul down the cabs. Aside from the prices of cabs in New York City, and the availability (especially during rush hours), it’s not always easy hauling down a cab while you’re dressed as a Clown! Why not change at my parties, you ask? Since I’m Jewish, I’ll answer that with a question….”Why tie up someone’s bathroom for an hour?”…that is if there is a bathroom. A lot of times my parties are in parks where smelly caughin sized outhouses come into play. Those two reasons, plus free advertising, since a good number of my Clown jobs have happened as a result of people seeing me in clown attire on the way to or from jobs.
Getting back to cabs…I was about to find out the hard way one of the reasons behind passing Cab Drivers. It was a Saturday afternoon (my busiest time), and I spent like fifteen minutes trying to haul down a cab, when one finally stopped. When I poked my head into the opened window of the cab to ask the driver if he could help me with my suitcase, he took one look at me and started screaming this blood curdling scream!... “OOHHH!!! WHAT THE H..LL IS THAT!!” Immediately being offended by what I perceived to be ignorant and rude, I said…”If you’re going to have that kind of reaction, I’ll find another cab!!” He then calmed down a bit and with his heavy Jamaican accent said…”Wait, get in…I explain”. He then told me his story……”About two weeks ago, two men bang me over the head and steal my money”. “The last thing I remember before I faint is seeing masks like you!” “I am so sorry, but you just brought it all back to me”. I apologized as well for traumatizing him, and of course, gave him an extra big tip!
Diary of a Clown/ Elmo's visit to a Shrink
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When I’m not clowning around at children’s birthday parties, singing telegrams, and corporate events, I might be seen parading around as a hard headed furry character, as well as a princess or holiday character. A typical character show might include dancing with the kids, balloon twisting, song games, or just posing for pictures. One afternoon, my most popular furry character Elmo, and I were asked to take a break from our usual routine when I got a call from one of my agents saying he needed me to take Elmo to a Psychiatrist’s office. In this case, I wasn’t needed at all except to deliver Elmo to a shrink to use for therapy for an eight year old patient who has a horrific fear of characters. My first thought when hearing this was,” eight years old?” “Isn’t that kind of old to be scared of costumed characters?” At that age, you would just assume that they know that there’s a human being inside the hard headed furry character. In any event, I thought this would be easy money. All I had to do was pack up Elmo in a laundry bag, and travel about ten minutes from my NY City Apt., hand Elmo, to the shrink, and sit in the office for an hour with the boy’s mother. To my surprise, this Elmo-phobic, eight year old boy turned out to be way beyond his years. The opposite of what I expected. In the 10 minutes I had while hanging out with him and his mom in the waiting room, I felt like I was having a conversation with a very mature fourteen year old boy. There wasn’t the slightest babyish quality about him at all. When the Doctor finally came out, I handed Elmo (in the laundry bag) to him, and the three went behind closed doors. The boy’s mom, an MD, explained to me that this is a problem her son has always had. It becomes a real nuisance when not only going to birthday parties and events, and a clown or furry costume character is walking around, even worse, if one is walking around on the street doing a store pro-mo he’ll just take off to wherever! It suddenly dawned on me…was I actually contributing to this boy’s (and boys and girls like him) fear by doing what I do for a living? Although people used to hire me a lot back then as a hard headed furry character, there are usually a couple of kids at a party that cry and or quiver at the sight of me (whoever I’m dressed as, that is). I waited out the session with the boy’s mom chatting about a number of things. When the hour was up, the door opened. First, the Doctor walked out, followed by Elmo (the boy dressed as Elmo, that is). My eyes started welling up with tears so much, I never even noticed the mom’s reaction! I mean, the very thought of the thing that caused this bright eight year old boy his biggest fear, might have actually cured him! Unfortunately, the shrink put an end to that thought by saying that this is one of at least a few more sessions. The next visit is going to be a total surprise to the boy. Next week, a costume character will physically walk in. In the weeks to come, more mystery characters will arrive as well. Suddenly, this was more than just easy money. This experience ended up paying off in more ways than one. It still is today, as a matter of fact. I now no longer do Elmo jobs; I sold Elmo, by the way. It doesn’t end there. I also completely revamped my clown costume as well, toning down my makeup and replacing my scary green wig with a cutesy red headed “Shirley Temple” wig. My costumes are more girlish and kid friendly as well. Oh yea, there’s always going to be kids out there who are scared of clowns and characters, but this is one less scary character they have to worry about. A good number of the time when I get a scaredy cat at one of my parties, they end up being almost impossible to get rid of by the end of the party, especially when they’ve seen the other kids’ reaction to me. That eight year old boy is not the only one who had therapy that day!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When I’m not clowning around at children’s birthday parties, singing telegrams, and corporate events, I might be seen parading around as a hard headed furry character, as well as a princess or holiday character. A typical character show might include dancing with the kids, balloon twisting, song games, or just posing for pictures. One afternoon, my most popular furry character Elmo, and I were asked to take a break from our usual routine when I got a call from one of my agents saying he needed me to take Elmo to a Psychiatrist’s office. In this case, I wasn’t needed at all except to deliver Elmo to a shrink to use for therapy for an eight year old patient who has a horrific fear of characters. My first thought when hearing this was,” eight years old?” “Isn’t that kind of old to be scared of costumed characters?” At that age, you would just assume that they know that there’s a human being inside the hard headed furry character. In any event, I thought this would be easy money. All I had to do was pack up Elmo in a laundry bag, and travel about ten minutes from my NY City Apt., hand Elmo, to the shrink, and sit in the office for an hour with the boy’s mother. To my surprise, this Elmo-phobic, eight year old boy turned out to be way beyond his years. The opposite of what I expected. In the 10 minutes I had while hanging out with him and his mom in the waiting room, I felt like I was having a conversation with a very mature fourteen year old boy. There wasn’t the slightest babyish quality about him at all. When the Doctor finally came out, I handed Elmo (in the laundry bag) to him, and the three went behind closed doors. The boy’s mom, an MD, explained to me that this is a problem her son has always had. It becomes a real nuisance when not only going to birthday parties and events, and a clown or furry costume character is walking around, even worse, if one is walking around on the street doing a store pro-mo he’ll just take off to wherever! It suddenly dawned on me…was I actually contributing to this boy’s (and boys and girls like him) fear by doing what I do for a living? Although people used to hire me a lot back then as a hard headed furry character, there are usually a couple of kids at a party that cry and or quiver at the sight of me (whoever I’m dressed as, that is). I waited out the session with the boy’s mom chatting about a number of things. When the hour was up, the door opened. First, the Doctor walked out, followed by Elmo (the boy dressed as Elmo, that is). My eyes started welling up with tears so much, I never even noticed the mom’s reaction! I mean, the very thought of the thing that caused this bright eight year old boy his biggest fear, might have actually cured him! Unfortunately, the shrink put an end to that thought by saying that this is one of at least a few more sessions. The next visit is going to be a total surprise to the boy. Next week, a costume character will physically walk in. In the weeks to come, more mystery characters will arrive as well. Suddenly, this was more than just easy money. This experience ended up paying off in more ways than one. It still is today, as a matter of fact. I now no longer do Elmo jobs; I sold Elmo, by the way. It doesn’t end there. I also completely revamped my clown costume as well, toning down my makeup and replacing my scary green wig with a cutesy red headed “Shirley Temple” wig. My costumes are more girlish and kid friendly as well. Oh yea, there’s always going to be kids out there who are scared of clowns and characters, but this is one less scary character they have to worry about. A good number of the time when I get a scaredy cat at one of my parties, they end up being almost impossible to get rid of by the end of the party, especially when they’ve seen the other kids’ reaction to me. That eight year old boy is not the only one who had therapy that day!
Diary of a Clown/Letter to the Niece of a Clown
By Susan aka Polkadots the Clown
Hey D!
Hope you're still in camp being the center of attention, in a good way that is! Talk about the center of attention...guess who did a show in the ladies room today? Give up...Yup, that's right, your beloved Polka dotted Aunt! While on my way back from performing at a birthday party at the Central Park Carasol, It started to down pour with a thunderous soundtrack. All the parents and kids that were in the playground seeked shelter by the awning, separating the playground from the bathrooms. Since there were so many people crowded under the awning, about fifteen more woman and children were hanging out in the ladies room. After performing my bathroom duties (maybe Pee pees, I can't remember), I took out some of my shticks’ and tricks and gave them the show of there lives! It wasn’t too much effort on my part, since I already had a lot of the stuff in my pockets, but how many people can say they saw a show in a ladies room? At the end of my show, people started asking me for my cards and taking pictures of me posing with their kids. God upstaged me towards the end of my show with a beautiful rainbow shining its rays through the opening of the ladies room door!
With that said, I'll leave you with this thought...
Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass… It’s about learning how to dance in the rain.
Love and Kisses, your Polka dotted Aunt
By Susan aka Polkadots the Clown
Hey D!
Hope you're still in camp being the center of attention, in a good way that is! Talk about the center of attention...guess who did a show in the ladies room today? Give up...Yup, that's right, your beloved Polka dotted Aunt! While on my way back from performing at a birthday party at the Central Park Carasol, It started to down pour with a thunderous soundtrack. All the parents and kids that were in the playground seeked shelter by the awning, separating the playground from the bathrooms. Since there were so many people crowded under the awning, about fifteen more woman and children were hanging out in the ladies room. After performing my bathroom duties (maybe Pee pees, I can't remember), I took out some of my shticks’ and tricks and gave them the show of there lives! It wasn’t too much effort on my part, since I already had a lot of the stuff in my pockets, but how many people can say they saw a show in a ladies room? At the end of my show, people started asking me for my cards and taking pictures of me posing with their kids. God upstaged me towards the end of my show with a beautiful rainbow shining its rays through the opening of the ladies room door!
With that said, I'll leave you with this thought...
Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass… It’s about learning how to dance in the rain.
Love and Kisses, your Polka dotted Aunt
Diary of a Clown/There’s something Fishy about this Job
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Probably the most fun I ever had at a job was when I was hired to act as a Mermaid at a corporate company picnic in New Jersey. Because the picnic had a beach theme, they wanted me (attired as a Mermaid) seated in a lounge chair for six hours (not including breakfast), that was located in this large shrimp and ice filled tub. The idea was to keep the long lines of people waiting for there seafood, entertained. I spent two weeks prior to this learning all of these fish jokes. Let’s see if I can remember some of them…”There’s something fishy about that!”, “Stay in school you little Guppies! “, “Don’t be a crab!”I wish I could remember more. I managed to get a big laugh (which always puts me on a high) and at the same time, I got to pig out on all of the shrimp, since it fit right into the scheme of things. By 1:00, I probably had over 50 shrimp! When someone came over and told me to break for lunch, I could hardly stand up! I was barely able to eat my lunch, which was mouth watering seafood!
I would definitely chalk this up as the best job I had! Where else could you get paid for laying on a lounge chair, eating your favorite food, having good looking rich guys flirt with you?.. Other than a stripper or hooker that is!
Diary of a Clown/I Got Your Number
By Susan aka Polkadots the Clown
When I returned back to the office of “Western Onion” (the singing telegram company I worked at in the mid nineteen eighties), after delivering a singing telegram, I was greeted by a roomful of smirks. My manager loudly blurts out…”Susan, there’s a dude on line two requesting you for a strip-o-gram!” “But I don’t do strip-o-grams”. “He claims he saw you doing one on Wall Street yesterday and”……..”Give me that phone!” I then took the phone and very calmly and clearly stated back…”I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else, I don’t do strips”. Then with every ear and eye in the room on me despite of all the ringing phones, I came back with….”Yes, I’m skinny with brown curly hair…..well…yes, I WAS there but….didn’t you tell my boss Wall Street? “…….”Oh, I remember you! We met again after the telegram in the elevator, but why did you tell my boss you saw me strip?” “Dinner, Saturday?”…..”I don’t know, you see I live in Jersey and”……..”Well yea, 14th street is one of the path train stops”….”Lobster and a comedy show?”…..
Well 5:00 sounds good”. …….. “Wear something fancy?”, “Sure”. After hanging up the phone, all of the smirks had suddenly turned into looks of shock. Although I was twenty seven at the time, I had a reputation for being as naive as they come. Suddenly I felt a devilish look come over my face, and with all eyes on me I grabbed my 2 bags of props and costumes and 35 pre blown helium balloons , and off I went to my next set of telegrams and deliveries.
While outside, I began having second thoughts about what just took place. But then I got to thinking, how could I possibly pass up Lobster and a comedy show with a good looking Jewish stockbroker? I mean here I was barely ninety five pounds and living off of street vender food which I woofed down on the way to telegrams. With all the heavy stuff I carried around as well as rushing to make my schedule, I pretty much burnt off everything I consumed.
The big day had arrived. I probably spent a good hour just deciding what to wear and how to do my hair. When it comes to travelling from Jersey City to NYC, dressing to the nines doesn’t exactly set well with me. We’re talking twenty minutes of walking to the bus and train as well as walking up massive amounts of stairs leading to the train, not to mention all the walking that will be happening once I get to the city as well as the trip back. This is all to be done in high heels and a snug dress, but I thought lobster and a good looking Jewish stock broker might be worth it. Well, you can imagine my surprise, when my date shows up in jeans and a bulky sweater! Today I would probably give him hell or at least a couple of sarcastic remarks. I tended to let things go back then for fear of confrontation. I mean, why tell someone to dress up when you yourself look like you’re going to do laundry?!
Anyway, I was definitely appropriately dressed because the restaurant was very upscale. Despite Michael’s attire, I found him very attractive, but as the evening went on, I started feeling very uncomfortable by the defensive way he was acting toward just about everyone around us. In the restaurant he complained so much that the waiter even threw in some freebies. Later on, he was ready to start a fight with the cab driver, not to mention some people on line to the comedy club as well as people walking down the street.
We were the first people to walk into the comedy club. Michael insisted on sitting in the seat directly in front of the stage. I tried like crazy to talk him out of it, but I might as well have been talking to a brick wall!
To make a long story short…..of all the eight comics on the stage that night, there wasn’t one who didn’t make a wise crack about our difference in attire! One of the woman comics really let him have it, saying this would probably be our first and last date!
It all made sense after the show when the manager of the club came over and told us that since we were such good sports with the comics, drinks were on the house. This was the only time the whole evening I heard Michael agreeing with someone! Needless to say, the comedienne turned out to be right; this was our first and last date! We ended the evening by saying goodnight and he very aggressively gave me a very tongey good night kiss which I was totally turned off by.
After numerous calls of Michael asking me out after our date from Hell, and me making excuse after excuse, those requests were replaced with, obscene phone calls causing me to have my number changed. As far as the stripping thing goes, he later told me he wanted to see how far I would go! With all this said, I definitely had HIS number which is why he no longer had mine!
By Susan aka Polkadots the Clown
When I returned back to the office of “Western Onion” (the singing telegram company I worked at in the mid nineteen eighties), after delivering a singing telegram, I was greeted by a roomful of smirks. My manager loudly blurts out…”Susan, there’s a dude on line two requesting you for a strip-o-gram!” “But I don’t do strip-o-grams”. “He claims he saw you doing one on Wall Street yesterday and”……..”Give me that phone!” I then took the phone and very calmly and clearly stated back…”I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else, I don’t do strips”. Then with every ear and eye in the room on me despite of all the ringing phones, I came back with….”Yes, I’m skinny with brown curly hair…..well…yes, I WAS there but….didn’t you tell my boss Wall Street? “…….”Oh, I remember you! We met again after the telegram in the elevator, but why did you tell my boss you saw me strip?” “Dinner, Saturday?”…..”I don’t know, you see I live in Jersey and”……..”Well yea, 14th street is one of the path train stops”….”Lobster and a comedy show?”…..
Well 5:00 sounds good”. …….. “Wear something fancy?”, “Sure”. After hanging up the phone, all of the smirks had suddenly turned into looks of shock. Although I was twenty seven at the time, I had a reputation for being as naive as they come. Suddenly I felt a devilish look come over my face, and with all eyes on me I grabbed my 2 bags of props and costumes and 35 pre blown helium balloons , and off I went to my next set of telegrams and deliveries.
While outside, I began having second thoughts about what just took place. But then I got to thinking, how could I possibly pass up Lobster and a comedy show with a good looking Jewish stockbroker? I mean here I was barely ninety five pounds and living off of street vender food which I woofed down on the way to telegrams. With all the heavy stuff I carried around as well as rushing to make my schedule, I pretty much burnt off everything I consumed.
The big day had arrived. I probably spent a good hour just deciding what to wear and how to do my hair. When it comes to travelling from Jersey City to NYC, dressing to the nines doesn’t exactly set well with me. We’re talking twenty minutes of walking to the bus and train as well as walking up massive amounts of stairs leading to the train, not to mention all the walking that will be happening once I get to the city as well as the trip back. This is all to be done in high heels and a snug dress, but I thought lobster and a good looking Jewish stock broker might be worth it. Well, you can imagine my surprise, when my date shows up in jeans and a bulky sweater! Today I would probably give him hell or at least a couple of sarcastic remarks. I tended to let things go back then for fear of confrontation. I mean, why tell someone to dress up when you yourself look like you’re going to do laundry?!
Anyway, I was definitely appropriately dressed because the restaurant was very upscale. Despite Michael’s attire, I found him very attractive, but as the evening went on, I started feeling very uncomfortable by the defensive way he was acting toward just about everyone around us. In the restaurant he complained so much that the waiter even threw in some freebies. Later on, he was ready to start a fight with the cab driver, not to mention some people on line to the comedy club as well as people walking down the street.
We were the first people to walk into the comedy club. Michael insisted on sitting in the seat directly in front of the stage. I tried like crazy to talk him out of it, but I might as well have been talking to a brick wall!
To make a long story short…..of all the eight comics on the stage that night, there wasn’t one who didn’t make a wise crack about our difference in attire! One of the woman comics really let him have it, saying this would probably be our first and last date!
It all made sense after the show when the manager of the club came over and told us that since we were such good sports with the comics, drinks were on the house. This was the only time the whole evening I heard Michael agreeing with someone! Needless to say, the comedienne turned out to be right; this was our first and last date! We ended the evening by saying goodnight and he very aggressively gave me a very tongey good night kiss which I was totally turned off by.
After numerous calls of Michael asking me out after our date from Hell, and me making excuse after excuse, those requests were replaced with, obscene phone calls causing me to have my number changed. As far as the stripping thing goes, he later told me he wanted to see how far I would go! With all this said, I definitely had HIS number which is why he no longer had mine!
Diary of a Clown/How To Handle Your Noisy Neighbors
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
If you’ve ever lived in a New York apartment, I’m sure you’ve had at least one dealing with noisy neighbors. Unfortunately, I’ve had way more than one experience! Put it this way, since my apartment is walking distance to a few colleges, it’s probably not much different than living in a dormitory.
One afternoon, I came home from my boyfriend’s apartment to find a note on the main door of my building which read…..Attention Tenants’, Tonight we will be having an end of semester fetish party. We will try to rap it up by midnight (yea right!) Feel free to join us and dress up as your favorite fetish.
Your neighbors in 3-E
Now, I live in 3-D, with a very thin wall and an echoing hallway, mind you! I really needed a good night’s sleep that night, since I had an early job the next morning.
That evening, I went with my actor boyfriend, to his end of season rap party for his TV show he’s a stand in on. I had a couple of drinks in me when returning home about 11:30 that night. I walked into my building to a packed hallway and elevator filled with nineteen year olds wearing diapers, loin cloths, whips and chains, you name it!
Midnight came and went and the party was still going strong. I was just getting ready to knock on there door to tell them to hold it down, when I looked around to my costume filled apartment (costumes I use to entertain at kids parties and deliver singing telegrams in). The next thought that went through my mind was…..”, Wait… costumes….. Fetish costume party ……DUUUUUH
With that thought in mind, I quickly got into my Elmo costume. With a big poster board, I printed out a sign that read……”Your next door neighbor has to get up early tomorrow! Please hold it down. I then grabbed my sign, with my red furry hands and buzzed my neighbor’s door. It was so noisy, that it took a little while until someone heard me.
The door was finally opened by a nineteen year old looking girl who looked like she was bombed out of her mind! As Elmo was standing in front of her holding a sign, she stood motionless for about twenty seconds, then out of nowhere, she let out with this loud shrill scream……..”OHHHHHH…….IT’S ELMO!!!!!!” She then slammed the door right in my (or Elmo’s face). After that, things immediately became dead silent. I barely even heard people leaving. I guess they figured that if they were too loud, Elmo would come out and attack them!
I actually felt kind of guilty that I apologized to my neighbor the next day for traumatizing her guests.
Well, this is one way to quiet your neighbors down….Wanna buy an Elmo costume?
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
If you’ve ever lived in a New York apartment, I’m sure you’ve had at least one dealing with noisy neighbors. Unfortunately, I’ve had way more than one experience! Put it this way, since my apartment is walking distance to a few colleges, it’s probably not much different than living in a dormitory.
One afternoon, I came home from my boyfriend’s apartment to find a note on the main door of my building which read…..Attention Tenants’, Tonight we will be having an end of semester fetish party. We will try to rap it up by midnight (yea right!) Feel free to join us and dress up as your favorite fetish.
Your neighbors in 3-E
Now, I live in 3-D, with a very thin wall and an echoing hallway, mind you! I really needed a good night’s sleep that night, since I had an early job the next morning.
That evening, I went with my actor boyfriend, to his end of season rap party for his TV show he’s a stand in on. I had a couple of drinks in me when returning home about 11:30 that night. I walked into my building to a packed hallway and elevator filled with nineteen year olds wearing diapers, loin cloths, whips and chains, you name it!
Midnight came and went and the party was still going strong. I was just getting ready to knock on there door to tell them to hold it down, when I looked around to my costume filled apartment (costumes I use to entertain at kids parties and deliver singing telegrams in). The next thought that went through my mind was…..”, Wait… costumes….. Fetish costume party ……DUUUUUH
With that thought in mind, I quickly got into my Elmo costume. With a big poster board, I printed out a sign that read……”Your next door neighbor has to get up early tomorrow! Please hold it down. I then grabbed my sign, with my red furry hands and buzzed my neighbor’s door. It was so noisy, that it took a little while until someone heard me.
The door was finally opened by a nineteen year old looking girl who looked like she was bombed out of her mind! As Elmo was standing in front of her holding a sign, she stood motionless for about twenty seconds, then out of nowhere, she let out with this loud shrill scream……..”OHHHHHH…….IT’S ELMO!!!!!!” She then slammed the door right in my (or Elmo’s face). After that, things immediately became dead silent. I barely even heard people leaving. I guess they figured that if they were too loud, Elmo would come out and attack them!
I actually felt kind of guilty that I apologized to my neighbor the next day for traumatizing her guests.
Well, this is one way to quiet your neighbors down….Wanna buy an Elmo costume?
Diary of a Clown/Are you the Rabbi?
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When one of my clowning customers has a death in the family around the week I’m due to do their show, they either postpone or cancel the party. On one such occasion, I was to clown at a baby naming ceremony for a new born baby girl in the west eighties section of Manhattan. Right before the date of the already planned catered event, the Grandmother of the baby girl died. Rather than cancel the party, the parents decided to combine the Baby naming Ceremony with the memorial service of the Grandmother. “A Clown?” “At a memorial service?” “How tacky!” I thought.
Since food was being served at a certain time, I was scheduled to do half of my routine for the kids and to stop while the Rabbi conducted the memorial service and baby naming. Well, things don’t always go according to schedule, especially if you have a tardy Rabbi! After waiting around for ten minutes or so, the family decided to throw their own Memorial service with close friends and family giving speeches about the departed. While this was going on, I (as a Clown) put my stuff aside and waited as quietly as possible, trying to avoid any eye contact with the kids for fear of laughter emerging. With wet eyes around me with all of the moving speeches about the Grandmother, hurriedly walks in this guy in his mid thirties, wearing a Yomeka and prayer shawl. While still huffing and puffing, he positions himself next to me. “Are you the Rabbi?” I whispered. “No, but I played one on TV once”, he whispered back. “Are you the Clown?” he asked. I responded with…”Yes, and I played one on TV” He then started whispering all of these dirty jokes to me, with the straightest of faces. The harder I tried to compose myself, the more I started laughing. To make matters worse, the so called Rabbi would return dirty looks with a “Do you believe it?” look pointing in my direction.
He actually turned out to be the Rabbi after all, finishing up both ceremonies….. or was he?
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When one of my clowning customers has a death in the family around the week I’m due to do their show, they either postpone or cancel the party. On one such occasion, I was to clown at a baby naming ceremony for a new born baby girl in the west eighties section of Manhattan. Right before the date of the already planned catered event, the Grandmother of the baby girl died. Rather than cancel the party, the parents decided to combine the Baby naming Ceremony with the memorial service of the Grandmother. “A Clown?” “At a memorial service?” “How tacky!” I thought.
Since food was being served at a certain time, I was scheduled to do half of my routine for the kids and to stop while the Rabbi conducted the memorial service and baby naming. Well, things don’t always go according to schedule, especially if you have a tardy Rabbi! After waiting around for ten minutes or so, the family decided to throw their own Memorial service with close friends and family giving speeches about the departed. While this was going on, I (as a Clown) put my stuff aside and waited as quietly as possible, trying to avoid any eye contact with the kids for fear of laughter emerging. With wet eyes around me with all of the moving speeches about the Grandmother, hurriedly walks in this guy in his mid thirties, wearing a Yomeka and prayer shawl. While still huffing and puffing, he positions himself next to me. “Are you the Rabbi?” I whispered. “No, but I played one on TV once”, he whispered back. “Are you the Clown?” he asked. I responded with…”Yes, and I played one on TV” He then started whispering all of these dirty jokes to me, with the straightest of faces. The harder I tried to compose myself, the more I started laughing. To make matters worse, the so called Rabbi would return dirty looks with a “Do you believe it?” look pointing in my direction.
He actually turned out to be the Rabbi after all, finishing up both ceremonies….. or was he?
Diary of a Clown/Another Cheating Story
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Even though this experience didn’t happen to me, it would be a waste for the story not to be told. This happen to Willard, a big burly gay black guy who worked with me at “Western Onion. “Western Onion” (changed name), was a popular singing telegram company in the 1980’s.
Willard was to do a singing Gorilla gram for this executive at an office somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. He was scheduled to do it at 5:00pm and ended up running late and got there closer to six. He walked into this big empty board room with a bunch of dark empty offices around. He looked at the name on one of the offices and saw it matched the name on the telegram. Anticipating that his recipient was probably gone for the day, he started to head out, when he suddenly heard some voices coming from the darkened office. Already attired in his Gorilla costume, Willard quickly took his bouquet of foiled Balloons that read “Happy Birthday Daddy” and “Happy Birthday Sweetheart” and looked into the window of the office and noticed 2 men stark naked getting it on. At that point, Willard (still in his Gorilla costume) angrily swings open the door and says “Which one of you gentlemen are Mr. Goldberg?” A very naked and embarrassed man indicated that he was. Willard then abruptly handed him the bouquet of balloons and the telegram and said “HERE”, Happy Birthday from your wife and kids!” and walked out slamming the door behind him.
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Even though this experience didn’t happen to me, it would be a waste for the story not to be told. This happen to Willard, a big burly gay black guy who worked with me at “Western Onion. “Western Onion” (changed name), was a popular singing telegram company in the 1980’s.
Willard was to do a singing Gorilla gram for this executive at an office somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. He was scheduled to do it at 5:00pm and ended up running late and got there closer to six. He walked into this big empty board room with a bunch of dark empty offices around. He looked at the name on one of the offices and saw it matched the name on the telegram. Anticipating that his recipient was probably gone for the day, he started to head out, when he suddenly heard some voices coming from the darkened office. Already attired in his Gorilla costume, Willard quickly took his bouquet of foiled Balloons that read “Happy Birthday Daddy” and “Happy Birthday Sweetheart” and looked into the window of the office and noticed 2 men stark naked getting it on. At that point, Willard (still in his Gorilla costume) angrily swings open the door and says “Which one of you gentlemen are Mr. Goldberg?” A very naked and embarrassed man indicated that he was. Willard then abruptly handed him the bouquet of balloons and the telegram and said “HERE”, Happy Birthday from your wife and kids!” and walked out slamming the door behind him.
Diary of a Clown/Cheating Customers
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When working for “Western Onion” in the 1980’s, they had me doubling as a regular balloon messenger when I wasn’t doing singing telegrams. This was prior to the stock market crash, so people had money to throw around for silly things. With that said, I was pretty busy, delivering as many as 8 singing Telegrams and balloon deliveries a day, which is a lot without a car. The combination of helium balloons and costumes to carry didn’t help matters. On one such day, I was working like a dog trying to get to all of my jobs on time, so I would pretty much would just take my list of jobs as they came in and read the instructions on what the jobs entailed when I got to my destinations.
I can’t remember what the costume for this particular job was, but it was a telegram for a man in a big office who had focused all of there attention on my recipient and I. After singing my song, I read the card to my wedding band attired recipient. The card read something like this….”Thank you so much for last weekend, my body is still tingling” “May it be repeated over and over again!”
Love xxoo Marissa
After reading it aloud, the room filled with shocking gasps from the co workers not to mention the recipient who was as red as a beet! I started reading the rest of the page which read…”Do not read aloud”! Uh Oh! Needless to say, I caught flack when I got back to my office. Of course, the woman wanted her money back, which meant, I didn’t get paid either. Something tells me, Marissa wasn’t his wife!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When working for “Western Onion” in the 1980’s, they had me doubling as a regular balloon messenger when I wasn’t doing singing telegrams. This was prior to the stock market crash, so people had money to throw around for silly things. With that said, I was pretty busy, delivering as many as 8 singing Telegrams and balloon deliveries a day, which is a lot without a car. The combination of helium balloons and costumes to carry didn’t help matters. On one such day, I was working like a dog trying to get to all of my jobs on time, so I would pretty much would just take my list of jobs as they came in and read the instructions on what the jobs entailed when I got to my destinations.
I can’t remember what the costume for this particular job was, but it was a telegram for a man in a big office who had focused all of there attention on my recipient and I. After singing my song, I read the card to my wedding band attired recipient. The card read something like this….”Thank you so much for last weekend, my body is still tingling” “May it be repeated over and over again!”
Love xxoo Marissa
After reading it aloud, the room filled with shocking gasps from the co workers not to mention the recipient who was as red as a beet! I started reading the rest of the page which read…”Do not read aloud”! Uh Oh! Needless to say, I caught flack when I got back to my office. Of course, the woman wanted her money back, which meant, I didn’t get paid either. Something tells me, Marissa wasn’t his wife!
Diary of a Clown/My Request for a Tri-Boob Implant
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
A good portion of my singing telegram jobs, are set up in the form of a practical joke of some kind. I even had to go to a bodega in the middle of Spanish Harlem and pose as an immigration officer and pretend to arrest the owner (also the recipient) and stop myself in the middle of handcuffing him by singing “The DooWop Birthday song”. I can’t begin to tell you how fast the place emptied out when I said the words “Immigration Officer”!
The most unusual request I had, was to deliver a singing telegram to one of the top Plastic Surgeons in ...New York. Wait, that’s not the unusual part! The setup was for me to go to the office and pose as a potential patient wanting to have a third breast implanted. I was sent by the woman in the office who not only wanted me to sing him birthday greetings, but there main goal was for me to shock him and make him lose his cool. Apparently, they’ve had many dealings with nut jobs walking into the office, and he never seemed to lose his cool. When first hearing this strange setup, I called up my stand-up comic friend Meredith and told her the story. When asking her what character I should be, she replied…”don’t” “Huh?”, I replied back. “Just be yourself”…”If you try to be someone else asking for a third boob”, you’ll probably lose it and start cracking up”. She continued…”Ok, here’s the thing, your own character is so flighty to start with, so all you have to do, is just be you asking for a third boob, maybe saying that you have a boyfriend who’s into kinky stuff”. That’s exactly what I did!
When I arrived at the Surgeon’s office, the secretaries and nurses were all giggling. They set this up in his appointment book with my name listed in it. Next to my name, was a note….”Keep office door open, patient is claustrophobic”. They even had me fill out a form listing my name, age, and medical history, which I truthfully did. Thank G-d there were no questions about what I wanted done!
When it was my turn, I walked into the Doctor’s office and handed him my form. He shook my hand and introduced himself. We then each took a seat. He was a lot younger and better looking than I expected a Plastic Surgeon of his caliber to be. As he was looking over my form, he very casually went over my answers. With his cool demeanor, he asked me the reason for my visit. With my nervous laugh that I normally have during intense conversations, I said…”This is gonna sound like an unusual request”…He interrupted by saying...Oh, don’t worry; I’ve heard it all…go on”. “Well, my boyfriend and I have been dating for about a year now and he treats me like a queen”. “Jewelry, vacations, nice gifts, the whole bit!” Now I want to do something for him for a change”. Well….uh...this is a bit embarrassing to talk about (nervous laugh) but…”Go on”. “Well, my boyfriend is really into breasts! Still as cool as a cucumber the Doctor replied “Ok, there’s nothing unusual about that”. Oh, yes there is...”He wants me to have a third (pulling the top middle part of my shirt out, emulating a third breast) breast implanted (more nervous laughing)” With a slight change of expression, but still pretty cool, he stated….”Well, you’re right about one thing…this is a very unusual request”. “Unfortunately, I don’t agree with your decision to have a third breast implanted and I’ll tell you why”. He then went into this big explanation about how the breasts are constructed and how woman over forty run the risk of breast cancer, just having implants alone. He was so cool and caring, that I think I actually started feeling disappointed when he told me that I couldn’t have this done. I guess I’m a better actress than I give myself credit for!
With a disappointed sigh, I then remembered why I was there and said….”I am disappointed, but could I ask a question?” He responded “Sure”. With that I broke out into the “Doo Wop Birthday song”. It was then that his cool demeanor turned into a look of “You got me!!” and embarrassment. At that moment, all of the woman in the office immediately materialized and yelled out … “Happy Birthday!!” all the while hysterical laughing! Don’t forget, they had to hold it in all this time. One of the women told me she couldn’t believe I kept going as long as I did without losing it. I never told her my secret. Thanks Meredith!
The End
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
A good portion of my singing telegram jobs, are set up in the form of a practical joke of some kind. I even had to go to a bodega in the middle of Spanish Harlem and pose as an immigration officer and pretend to arrest the owner (also the recipient) and stop myself in the middle of handcuffing him by singing “The DooWop Birthday song”. I can’t begin to tell you how fast the place emptied out when I said the words “Immigration Officer”!
The most unusual request I had, was to deliver a singing telegram to one of the top Plastic Surgeons in ...New York. Wait, that’s not the unusual part! The setup was for me to go to the office and pose as a potential patient wanting to have a third breast implanted. I was sent by the woman in the office who not only wanted me to sing him birthday greetings, but there main goal was for me to shock him and make him lose his cool. Apparently, they’ve had many dealings with nut jobs walking into the office, and he never seemed to lose his cool. When first hearing this strange setup, I called up my stand-up comic friend Meredith and told her the story. When asking her what character I should be, she replied…”don’t” “Huh?”, I replied back. “Just be yourself”…”If you try to be someone else asking for a third boob”, you’ll probably lose it and start cracking up”. She continued…”Ok, here’s the thing, your own character is so flighty to start with, so all you have to do, is just be you asking for a third boob, maybe saying that you have a boyfriend who’s into kinky stuff”. That’s exactly what I did!
When I arrived at the Surgeon’s office, the secretaries and nurses were all giggling. They set this up in his appointment book with my name listed in it. Next to my name, was a note….”Keep office door open, patient is claustrophobic”. They even had me fill out a form listing my name, age, and medical history, which I truthfully did. Thank G-d there were no questions about what I wanted done!
When it was my turn, I walked into the Doctor’s office and handed him my form. He shook my hand and introduced himself. We then each took a seat. He was a lot younger and better looking than I expected a Plastic Surgeon of his caliber to be. As he was looking over my form, he very casually went over my answers. With his cool demeanor, he asked me the reason for my visit. With my nervous laugh that I normally have during intense conversations, I said…”This is gonna sound like an unusual request”…He interrupted by saying...Oh, don’t worry; I’ve heard it all…go on”. “Well, my boyfriend and I have been dating for about a year now and he treats me like a queen”. “Jewelry, vacations, nice gifts, the whole bit!” Now I want to do something for him for a change”. Well….uh...this is a bit embarrassing to talk about (nervous laugh) but…”Go on”. “Well, my boyfriend is really into breasts! Still as cool as a cucumber the Doctor replied “Ok, there’s nothing unusual about that”. Oh, yes there is...”He wants me to have a third (pulling the top middle part of my shirt out, emulating a third breast) breast implanted (more nervous laughing)” With a slight change of expression, but still pretty cool, he stated….”Well, you’re right about one thing…this is a very unusual request”. “Unfortunately, I don’t agree with your decision to have a third breast implanted and I’ll tell you why”. He then went into this big explanation about how the breasts are constructed and how woman over forty run the risk of breast cancer, just having implants alone. He was so cool and caring, that I think I actually started feeling disappointed when he told me that I couldn’t have this done. I guess I’m a better actress than I give myself credit for!
With a disappointed sigh, I then remembered why I was there and said….”I am disappointed, but could I ask a question?” He responded “Sure”. With that I broke out into the “Doo Wop Birthday song”. It was then that his cool demeanor turned into a look of “You got me!!” and embarrassment. At that moment, all of the woman in the office immediately materialized and yelled out … “Happy Birthday!!” all the while hysterical laughing! Don’t forget, they had to hold it in all this time. One of the women told me she couldn’t believe I kept going as long as I did without losing it. I never told her my secret. Thanks Meredith!
The End
Diary of a Clown/Swinging Grandmas
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
One of my agents who calls me once in a blue moon to entertain at children’s events, sent me out on a birthday party for a five year old girl, with me being dressed as a Barbie doll. My Barbie costume consists of a blond wig and a cutesy pink dress with a big bow in front. That, along with my act, is pretty G-rated, since I’m working with kids. I’m also very conscious of everything I do and say, for fear of people saying I’m not suitable for children. I even substitute the words heck and hell for “hey”….”What the hey?” I’m no martyr, but I even try and curb my tongue when I’m not with the kids, for fear of later slipping up. What happens when it’s the other way around? When you’re the SUBJECT of obscenity?!
Let’s start with the Barbie party. The party took place in a community room somewhere in the Bronx section of Manhattan. The birthday girl, who was turning five, was joined by about twenty five of her friends, most in that age group and about twenty family and adult friends present as well. While doing my magic show, I kept getting interrupted by this deep, evil masculine sounding voice followed by shocking sounding laughter. I had no idea what was being said, since it was all being said in Spanish. Believe it or not, the voice turned out to be the GRANDMOTHER of the birthday girl! Later, while doing face-painting, I was again interrupted by the same voice, but this time, in the form of a question. The question was interpreted by a seven year old boy who after hearing her question, turned to me and said….”She wants to know if she can paint YOUR face”. I naively agreed. She then proceeded to paint something on my right cheek, which was followed by shocking laughter and oooohhs. When looking at myself in my mirror, I was horrified to find that this GRANDMA had painted a PRIVATE MALE PART, on my face!!! She was quickly rushed away by her daughter in-law (mother of the birthday girl), who later apologized to me up and down saying that this woman has a lot of mental issues.
Exactly one week after this ordeal, I was sent by the same agent to be a clown at another birthday party. The party took place in a big catering hall in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn. It was one of those wedding styled birthdays complete with formal gowns and a big band playing classic Italian music. The entire length of the birthday party was spent doing my usual routine (face-painting, balloon twisting and magic) and trying to dodge this eighty five year old great grand mother of the birthday child! This barely five foot tall stereotype looking granny from Italy, kept chasing me around trying to put her hand up my clown dress!! At the end of the party, I made sure the coast was clear, before heading into the ladies room. As bad as I needed to use the bathroom, there was no way that I was going to be alone with this Perv. Granny! A few teenage girls picked up on my dilemma. One turned to me and said….”Go ahead, we’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you”. They carried out there word; I thanked them, got my money and then quickly got the heck out of there!
When I got home that evening, I called up the agent that sent me on these two jobs and said…..”Hey Al, what kind of agency are you guys running over there? Swinging granny parties?” He then let out with a loud…..”HU?! I then told him both stories. He laughed his head off and of course apologized.They say good things come in twos. Does that rule apply to perverted grannies?!
Diary of a Clown/ Singing in the Trauma Ward
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Delivering singing telegrams in the Hospital is not exactly my favorite thing in the world to do. Not so much for the obvious, but more so for the finding the patient part. Eight times out of ten, the patient is not in their room. Either they’re in x-rays, therapy, or moved to another room. After finding their location, you might as well be looking for someone in a maze! It’s like….Follow the pink lines for the Maternity ward, the blue lines for the Trauma Ward, etc. I think whoever was designing this layout was either drunk or stoned, because somewhere along the way the lines are all intertwined! By the time I find the patient, I’m ready to be one myself!
For my first Hospital telegram, I was to be a Pink Gorilla at the Trauma Ward of one of the big hospitals here in the city. It was like 95 degrees out that day and as usual, I was running behind schedule. Still being new to the city at the time, it took me forever to figure out what subway and busses to take and how to find them. Once I got off of the subway with all of my balloons, costumes and props, I realized I got off the wrong stop and ended up having a zillion panic attacks along the way.
When I finally made it to the Hospital, it probably took me another fifteen minutes of getting lost until I finally made it to my destination….The Trauma Ward!
Comming from my own trauma of making it through the NY
transportation system during rush hours amidst the heat and heavy load in my arms, hands and back, walking into “The Trauma Ward” didn’t exactly help my situation any. I immediately walked into an area filled with people in various stages of catastrophe. Amputees’, chemo patients, and worst of all, some of these patients were kids. In an absolute state of panic, I made a failing attempt to tell the nurses why I was there as well as being in a hurry and needing a place to change and leave my stuff, but hysteria completely took over my voice and actions, so G-d knows what ended up coming out of my mouth! The next thing I know, the nurses and either interns or Dr.’s are grabbing my stuff and lifting me up on a gurney! All of a sudden I hear…”Remove some of her clothing” “Give her some water”! “Keep her still”. When I finally gained some of my composure and stopped shaking a bit, the words forced there way out of my mouth. “Wait! Wait!” “I’m not a patient!” With their disbelieving looks (like “Who else acts like that around here?”) I took a deep breath and calmly explained to them that I’m here to deliver a Singing Telegram to one of their patients and I need to change into my Pink gorilla costume ASAP. Looking at me even crazier, I handed them the Telegram and showed them the Pink Gorilla costume so they could see that I’m legit and not totally off my rocker. At that point, their looks of disbelief turned into “Oh Wow!” I was then questioned up the wazoo! “Are you an Actress?”, “How long have you been doing this?”, “How many Telegrams do you usually do in a day?” Just to mention a few. They eventually found my recipient and gave me a place to change and leave my stuff.
Every time I think of that incident, I think of how close I actually came to being a patient myself...or was I?
The End
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
Delivering singing telegrams in the Hospital is not exactly my favorite thing in the world to do. Not so much for the obvious, but more so for the finding the patient part. Eight times out of ten, the patient is not in their room. Either they’re in x-rays, therapy, or moved to another room. After finding their location, you might as well be looking for someone in a maze! It’s like….Follow the pink lines for the Maternity ward, the blue lines for the Trauma Ward, etc. I think whoever was designing this layout was either drunk or stoned, because somewhere along the way the lines are all intertwined! By the time I find the patient, I’m ready to be one myself!
For my first Hospital telegram, I was to be a Pink Gorilla at the Trauma Ward of one of the big hospitals here in the city. It was like 95 degrees out that day and as usual, I was running behind schedule. Still being new to the city at the time, it took me forever to figure out what subway and busses to take and how to find them. Once I got off of the subway with all of my balloons, costumes and props, I realized I got off the wrong stop and ended up having a zillion panic attacks along the way.
When I finally made it to the Hospital, it probably took me another fifteen minutes of getting lost until I finally made it to my destination….The Trauma Ward!
Comming from my own trauma of making it through the NY
transportation system during rush hours amidst the heat and heavy load in my arms, hands and back, walking into “The Trauma Ward” didn’t exactly help my situation any. I immediately walked into an area filled with people in various stages of catastrophe. Amputees’, chemo patients, and worst of all, some of these patients were kids. In an absolute state of panic, I made a failing attempt to tell the nurses why I was there as well as being in a hurry and needing a place to change and leave my stuff, but hysteria completely took over my voice and actions, so G-d knows what ended up coming out of my mouth! The next thing I know, the nurses and either interns or Dr.’s are grabbing my stuff and lifting me up on a gurney! All of a sudden I hear…”Remove some of her clothing” “Give her some water”! “Keep her still”. When I finally gained some of my composure and stopped shaking a bit, the words forced there way out of my mouth. “Wait! Wait!” “I’m not a patient!” With their disbelieving looks (like “Who else acts like that around here?”) I took a deep breath and calmly explained to them that I’m here to deliver a Singing Telegram to one of their patients and I need to change into my Pink gorilla costume ASAP. Looking at me even crazier, I handed them the Telegram and showed them the Pink Gorilla costume so they could see that I’m legit and not totally off my rocker. At that point, their looks of disbelief turned into “Oh Wow!” I was then questioned up the wazoo! “Are you an Actress?”, “How long have you been doing this?”, “How many Telegrams do you usually do in a day?” Just to mention a few. They eventually found my recipient and gave me a place to change and leave my stuff.
Every time I think of that incident, I think of how close I actually came to being a patient myself...or was I?
The End
It's all in the Family
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When I first started clowning at children events, I was so set on doing my skills that I had recently learned, like magic tricks, face painting and balloon twisting, that comedy never really figured into things. I guess I figured that as long as I looked funny, the kids were happy, provided they got there show, balloons and faces painted.
Frustration really started getting the best of me that first year, when I not only felt like a clown factory painting face after face and twisting balloon after balloon with a line full of pushy impatient kids fighting for there turn. To make matters worse I was getting complaints from kids saying I wasn’t funny enough. The parents were complaining that the kids were impatient and out of control, and worse yet, some even wanted there money back. Repeat customers and tips were something that I only heard of from other clowns. The last straw was at my niece’s second birthday party which I did for free. When volunteering to do her third birthday party, I was out right told by my brother he didn’t want me back. My own brother!
I was just getting ready to hang up my big clown shoes (so to speak), when while in the middle of one of my parties, this weird laugh emerged out of my mouth. It wasn’t even planned. It just kind of happened. I stopped questioning it when the kids and adults were so into my laugh that they not only laughed back, but started imitating me as well! From then on, my Clown personality started taking on a whole new turn. I started initiating comedy into just about every movement I made and all of the jokes started spurting out naturally. I also started outsmarting the kids’ comments, which were no longer negative ones. It was just a matter of time that I started getting repeat customers, and the tips came about around the time of the change. Since I was now making twice the amount of money as I was before, my former $10.00 “Woolworth costume”, turned into a $400.00 “Pricilla Moose burger” costume, the lady that makes the clown costumes for “The Big Apple Circus”. I also invested in custom made clown shoes by a company that also designs shoes for the circuses. My scary green wig was replaced by a red cutesy “Shirley Temple” wig. This change of attire which fit in perfectly with my new personality caused me to make even more tips as well as obtain repeat customers.That same year, my mom suffered a stroke, causing her her speech as well as paralyzing the left side of her body. It wasn’t until her funeral when the origin of my laugh made sense. Sitting behind me was a group of my mom’s friends. While waiting for the services to start, one of them commented…”you know, the thing I remember most about Claire, was her crazy laugh”. The rest of her friends all agreed and I think I even recall one of them imitating it. I heard the laugh so much over the years, that it never quite registered with me as being something out of the ordinary.Suddenly some of my sadness had taken a break and turned into wonder and amazement! I mean, what had happened here? Did my mom’s laugh leave her own mouth and somehow make it to mine? My father, who had died a year and a half before my mom, had an incredible sense of humor as well, winning him a number of awards for stand up comedy at the “Toastmasters Club”, a speech club for government workers.I’ve often heard that when people die, parts of there souls are passed onto there loved ones. I think I figured out which parts those parts were!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When I first started clowning at children events, I was so set on doing my skills that I had recently learned, like magic tricks, face painting and balloon twisting, that comedy never really figured into things. I guess I figured that as long as I looked funny, the kids were happy, provided they got there show, balloons and faces painted.
Frustration really started getting the best of me that first year, when I not only felt like a clown factory painting face after face and twisting balloon after balloon with a line full of pushy impatient kids fighting for there turn. To make matters worse I was getting complaints from kids saying I wasn’t funny enough. The parents were complaining that the kids were impatient and out of control, and worse yet, some even wanted there money back. Repeat customers and tips were something that I only heard of from other clowns. The last straw was at my niece’s second birthday party which I did for free. When volunteering to do her third birthday party, I was out right told by my brother he didn’t want me back. My own brother!
I was just getting ready to hang up my big clown shoes (so to speak), when while in the middle of one of my parties, this weird laugh emerged out of my mouth. It wasn’t even planned. It just kind of happened. I stopped questioning it when the kids and adults were so into my laugh that they not only laughed back, but started imitating me as well! From then on, my Clown personality started taking on a whole new turn. I started initiating comedy into just about every movement I made and all of the jokes started spurting out naturally. I also started outsmarting the kids’ comments, which were no longer negative ones. It was just a matter of time that I started getting repeat customers, and the tips came about around the time of the change. Since I was now making twice the amount of money as I was before, my former $10.00 “Woolworth costume”, turned into a $400.00 “Pricilla Moose burger” costume, the lady that makes the clown costumes for “The Big Apple Circus”. I also invested in custom made clown shoes by a company that also designs shoes for the circuses. My scary green wig was replaced by a red cutesy “Shirley Temple” wig. This change of attire which fit in perfectly with my new personality caused me to make even more tips as well as obtain repeat customers.That same year, my mom suffered a stroke, causing her her speech as well as paralyzing the left side of her body. It wasn’t until her funeral when the origin of my laugh made sense. Sitting behind me was a group of my mom’s friends. While waiting for the services to start, one of them commented…”you know, the thing I remember most about Claire, was her crazy laugh”. The rest of her friends all agreed and I think I even recall one of them imitating it. I heard the laugh so much over the years, that it never quite registered with me as being something out of the ordinary.Suddenly some of my sadness had taken a break and turned into wonder and amazement! I mean, what had happened here? Did my mom’s laugh leave her own mouth and somehow make it to mine? My father, who had died a year and a half before my mom, had an incredible sense of humor as well, winning him a number of awards for stand up comedy at the “Toastmasters Club”, a speech club for government workers.I’ve often heard that when people die, parts of there souls are passed onto there loved ones. I think I figured out which parts those parts were!
Balloons bursting in Air
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
When I was working for “Western Onion”, a popular singing telegram company in the nineteen eighties, I was blowing up a bunch of helium balloons for my next job, when I heard my crack head boss yell out…”Where the f... is Clinton”? “His customer just called up saying he never showed up!” His assistant answered by saying “He has the new guy trailing with him today, maybe they had trouble getting on the subway with all those balloons they were carrying”. Clinton was this very showy gay singing messenger. The new performer was this drop dead gorgeous aspiring actor with this deep sexy voice who I had a huge crush on. All of a sudden the phone rings. The assistant picks it up and says…”Clinton, what happened?!” “Your customer just called and…”She then stops talking and after listening for not more than a minute starts bursting out laughing. She proceeded to tell the story…Clinton and the new guy walk into the lobby of this big midtown Manhattan office with there one hundred helium balloons’ in hefty bags. They were immediately interrupted by this hysterical woman screaming…” Yas can’t go past there with those!” “Can’t yas see that this woman just had a heart attack?!” Clinton at the time was changing into his Gorilla costume handing his balloons to the new guy who already had a bunch of balloons in his hands to start with. He was so stunned by her screaming that he immediately let go of the balloons, causing them to float directly above the heart attack victim, hitting the lights and popping! This outburst (no pun intended), caused the security guards and the newly arriving paramedics to throw them both out!
Later that day when they returned to the office, Clinton walks in hysterically laughing with tears streaming down his face, telling us the entire story in his very showy way of reenacting the whole scene. He was later followed by the new guy who walked in with tears streaming down his face, but not the same kind of tears that were streaming down Clinton’s face. Suddenly, a totally new voice emerged out of the new guy’s mouth with a feminine pitch higher than mine…”I have never been so humiliated in my entire life!” Needless to say, it was the new guy’s first and last week!
Diary of a Clown/The Case of the Reappearing Balloons
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
One Saturday afternoon, a few days after the infamous 9/11, I had just gotten to the first of my three clown jobs for that day, when I discovered that I had left my bag of twisting balloons (the balloons used in making balloon animals) at home. I was just getting ready to tell the birthday mom that these kids were going to have a balloon-less birthday party. When closing my suitcase, I noticed some balloons were scattered amongst the bottom of the case. With that, I checked the outside compartment of my suitcase, and noticed some more scattered balloons! Ok, I thought, this would be enough for this party, but what about the next two parties? Would I have enough time to make it home to get my bag of balloons and make it on time for my next two parties? Let me just point out that these are the long skinny balloons specifically for twisting into shapes and not easy to find in local stores.
Walking to the subway (in full clown attire) with very limited time, since I had to stop home for my balloons, I encountered a barrier by one of the fire stations. Going around this, would mean going a few streets out of my way, definitely making me late. When starting to cut through, I was stopped by one of the firemen saying that the area was closed off. With panic in my voice, I told him I needed to get to the subway ASAP or I was going to be late for both my jobs. With a brainstorming clever look on his face, he responded…”I’ll make a deal with you, Clown”, I’ll let you through on one condition, that you go into the station and entertain the kids for a couple of minutes.” I without hesitation, agreed. When walking in the back room of the station, I noticed about eight long faces sitting at a long table coloring. After trying to cheer them up as best as I could with shticks and jokes, I felt it still wasn’t enough. Just on a whim, I reached into my pockets and found not only some balloons, but exactly eight balloons which was the exact number of kids present. Without thinking about my dilemma, I very briefly and comically made all eight kids balloons, achieving my goal of turning those long faces into smiles!
Afterwards, realizing the time, I just started heading for my next job, and figured on dealing with the balloon dilemma later.
When I got to my next party, I again opened up my suitcase, which I could have sworn I emptied out at my last gig, and noticed some MORE balloons! I even had enough balloons to make up for the popped ones!
On the way to my last party, I was approached by some more kids requesting balloons…Yup! You guessed it!! I reached into my pockets and there they were! The same all happened again when I got to my last party, as well as being approached by some more kids on the way home. Balloons just seemed to be materializing!
Now I swear to the guy that probably planted all those balloons in my pockets and suitcase that
The Case of the Reappearing Balloons
One Saturday afternoon, a few days after the infamous 9/11, I had just gotten to the first of my three clown jobs for that day, when I discovered that I had left my bag of twisting balloons (the balloons used in making balloon animals) at home. I was just getting ready to tell the birthday mom that these kids were going to have a balloon-less birthday party. When closing my suitcase, I noticed some balloons were scattered amongst the bottom of the case. With that, I checked the outside compartment of my suitcase, and noticed some more scattered balloons! Ok, I thought, this would be enough for this party, but what about the next two parties? Would I have enough time to make it home to get my bag of balloons and make it on time for my next two parties? Let me just point out that these are the long skinny balloons specifically for twisting into shapes and not easy to find in local stores.
Walking to the subway (in full clown attire) with very limited time, since I had to stop home for my balloons, I encountered a barrier by one of the fire stations. Going around this, would mean going a few streets out of my way, definitely making me late. When starting to cut through, I was stopped by one of the firemen saying that the area was closed off. With panic in my voice, I told him I needed to get to the subway ASAP or I was going to be late for both my jobs. With a brainstorming clever look on his face, he responded…”I’ll make a deal with you, Clown”, I’ll let you through on one condition, that you go into the station and entertain the kids for a couple of minutes.” I without hesitation, agreed. When walking in the back room of the station, I noticed about eight long faces sitting at a long table coloring. After trying to cheer them up as best as I could with shticks and jokes, I felt it still wasn’t enough. Just on a whim, I reached into my pockets and found not only some balloons, but exactly eight balloons which was the exact number of kids present. Without thinking about my dilemma, I very briefly and comically made all eight kids balloons, achieving my goal of turning those long faces into smiles!
Afterwards, realizing the time, I just started heading for my next job, and figured on dealing with the balloon dilemma later.
When I got to my next party, I again opened up my suitcase, which I could have sworn I emptied out at my last gig, and noticed some more balloons! I even had enough balloons to make up for the popped ones!
On the way to my last party, I was approached by some more kids requesting balloons…Yup! You guessed it!! I reached into my pockets and there they were! The same all happened again when I got to my last party, as well as being approached by some more kids on the way home. Balloons just seemed to be materializing!
Now I swear to the guy that probably planted all those balloons in my pockets and suitcase that
this story is in no way fabricated! Was this G-d’s way of repaying me for cheering up people during a rough time?
I know what you’re thinking….There just balloons! To a child, having a balloon twisted right before there very eyes by a clown walking down the street, is like Ed Mc Mahon showing up at your home and telling you you’ve won the “Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes”! How do I know, not just by words, there faces say it all!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
One Saturday afternoon, a few days after the infamous 9/11, I had just gotten to the first of my three clown jobs for that day, when I discovered that I had left my bag of twisting balloons (the balloons used in making balloon animals) at home. I was just getting ready to tell the birthday mom that these kids were going to have a balloon-less birthday party. When closing my suitcase, I noticed some balloons were scattered amongst the bottom of the case. With that, I checked the outside compartment of my suitcase, and noticed some more scattered balloons! Ok, I thought, this would be enough for this party, but what about the next two parties? Would I have enough time to make it home to get my bag of balloons and make it on time for my next two parties? Let me just point out that these are the long skinny balloons specifically for twisting into shapes and not easy to find in local stores.
Walking to the subway (in full clown attire) with very limited time, since I had to stop home for my balloons, I encountered a barrier by one of the fire stations. Going around this, would mean going a few streets out of my way, definitely making me late. When starting to cut through, I was stopped by one of the firemen saying that the area was closed off. With panic in my voice, I told him I needed to get to the subway ASAP or I was going to be late for both my jobs. With a brainstorming clever look on his face, he responded…”I’ll make a deal with you, Clown”, I’ll let you through on one condition, that you go into the station and entertain the kids for a couple of minutes.” I without hesitation, agreed. When walking in the back room of the station, I noticed about eight long faces sitting at a long table coloring. After trying to cheer them up as best as I could with shticks and jokes, I felt it still wasn’t enough. Just on a whim, I reached into my pockets and found not only some balloons, but exactly eight balloons which was the exact number of kids present. Without thinking about my dilemma, I very briefly and comically made all eight kids balloons, achieving my goal of turning those long faces into smiles!
Afterwards, realizing the time, I just started heading for my next job, and figured on dealing with the balloon dilemma later.
When I got to my next party, I again opened up my suitcase, which I could have sworn I emptied out at my last gig, and noticed some MORE balloons! I even had enough balloons to make up for the popped ones!
On the way to my last party, I was approached by some more kids requesting balloons…Yup! You guessed it!! I reached into my pockets and there they were! The same all happened again when I got to my last party, as well as being approached by some more kids on the way home. Balloons just seemed to be materializing!
Now I swear to the guy that probably planted all those balloons in my pockets and suitcase that
The Case of the Reappearing Balloons
One Saturday afternoon, a few days after the infamous 9/11, I had just gotten to the first of my three clown jobs for that day, when I discovered that I had left my bag of twisting balloons (the balloons used in making balloon animals) at home. I was just getting ready to tell the birthday mom that these kids were going to have a balloon-less birthday party. When closing my suitcase, I noticed some balloons were scattered amongst the bottom of the case. With that, I checked the outside compartment of my suitcase, and noticed some more scattered balloons! Ok, I thought, this would be enough for this party, but what about the next two parties? Would I have enough time to make it home to get my bag of balloons and make it on time for my next two parties? Let me just point out that these are the long skinny balloons specifically for twisting into shapes and not easy to find in local stores.
Walking to the subway (in full clown attire) with very limited time, since I had to stop home for my balloons, I encountered a barrier by one of the fire stations. Going around this, would mean going a few streets out of my way, definitely making me late. When starting to cut through, I was stopped by one of the firemen saying that the area was closed off. With panic in my voice, I told him I needed to get to the subway ASAP or I was going to be late for both my jobs. With a brainstorming clever look on his face, he responded…”I’ll make a deal with you, Clown”, I’ll let you through on one condition, that you go into the station and entertain the kids for a couple of minutes.” I without hesitation, agreed. When walking in the back room of the station, I noticed about eight long faces sitting at a long table coloring. After trying to cheer them up as best as I could with shticks and jokes, I felt it still wasn’t enough. Just on a whim, I reached into my pockets and found not only some balloons, but exactly eight balloons which was the exact number of kids present. Without thinking about my dilemma, I very briefly and comically made all eight kids balloons, achieving my goal of turning those long faces into smiles!
Afterwards, realizing the time, I just started heading for my next job, and figured on dealing with the balloon dilemma later.
When I got to my next party, I again opened up my suitcase, which I could have sworn I emptied out at my last gig, and noticed some more balloons! I even had enough balloons to make up for the popped ones!
On the way to my last party, I was approached by some more kids requesting balloons…Yup! You guessed it!! I reached into my pockets and there they were! The same all happened again when I got to my last party, as well as being approached by some more kids on the way home. Balloons just seemed to be materializing!
Now I swear to the guy that probably planted all those balloons in my pockets and suitcase that
this story is in no way fabricated! Was this G-d’s way of repaying me for cheering up people during a rough time?
I know what you’re thinking….There just balloons! To a child, having a balloon twisted right before there very eyes by a clown walking down the street, is like Ed Mc Mahon showing up at your home and telling you you’ve won the “Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes”! How do I know, not just by words, there faces say it all!
Diary of a Clown/The Wrestling Dinosaur Verses the BRAT
By Susan aka Polkadots the Clown
What started me in clowning, you ask? Answer: An ad in the paper. The ad read: “Looking for Clowns and costumed characters to entertain at children’s’ birthday parties and events, will train”. After answering the ad, I was asked to come down for a training session. My first day, was spent doing comedy exercises, the second day focused more on clowning and costume characters, along with a mock birthday party, where we were all playing the part of kids at a birthday party, conducted by our clown teacher and his furry hard headed costumed character.
I eventually got the job. They first started me off by doing costumed characters. The first costumed character I was hired to do was “Boo Bop”, the sidekick of “The Purple Dinosaur”. I was to trail another hard headed furry character who was playing “The Purple Dinosaur”. We met up at “Chad’s Fun House”, the company we worked for. Russ, “The Purple Dinosaur”, drove me from “Chad’s in Brooklyn, to the birthday party in this fancy Italian restaurant in Staten Island. While in the car with Russ, I discovered that he was a former prize fighting wrestler. Judging by his gravelly voice and the humongous size of him, there was no doubt in my mind that he was right!
The party took place in an upscale Italian Restaurant. After introducing ourselves to the birthday parents, we walked up a winding staircase and went into the bathrooms to change into our costumes. Going down that staircase (in that furry monstrosity) was definitely harder than the trip up! If you ever wore one of those hard headed furry costumes, you would know exactly what I’m talking about. For one thing, your body is completely engulfed in fur, along with your feet that are wearing these conspicuous plastic, fur covered shoes. Your face feels like it’s inside a covered goldfish bowl, with two small holes to see through. Since there is no peripheral vision, you are pretty much limited to seeing things directly in front of you, not down or to the side, unless you physically turn yourself or turn your head completely down, can you look completely down, can you see things like stairs, crawling babies and people walking along side you.
While Russ and I (now “The Purple Dinosaur” and “Boo Bop”), were dancing and doing song games with the kids, along with being kicked pretty regularly, I felt my tail getting pulled as well. This continued for about five minutes, and then it stopped.
On the way back from the party, Russ brought the taunting up. I said “Oh, Yea!, that was so annoying, what a brat!”. “Thank God it didn’t last that long!” With that said, Russ replied…”Here’s the story…”When no one was looking, I cornered the little bastard, when I saw him making his way up the stairs!” “I waited until the coast was clear, when I whipped off my Dinosaur Head right in front of him!” “The kid goes….Dinos!!, and I interrupted him and said….”Yea, That’s right!!!, you little piece of SHIT! “This dinosaur sweats and bleeds just like you’re going to if you don’t leave me and Boo Bob the HELL alone!!!” “So, you have two choices, you little bastard!” “You can go downstairs and keep your hands to yourself, or have to deal with me up here!” Well, that explains the sudden change in this tail pulling, kicking terror! I wish I could take Russ with me to all of my jobs!
By Susan aka Polkadots the Clown
What started me in clowning, you ask? Answer: An ad in the paper. The ad read: “Looking for Clowns and costumed characters to entertain at children’s’ birthday parties and events, will train”. After answering the ad, I was asked to come down for a training session. My first day, was spent doing comedy exercises, the second day focused more on clowning and costume characters, along with a mock birthday party, where we were all playing the part of kids at a birthday party, conducted by our clown teacher and his furry hard headed costumed character.
I eventually got the job. They first started me off by doing costumed characters. The first costumed character I was hired to do was “Boo Bop”, the sidekick of “The Purple Dinosaur”. I was to trail another hard headed furry character who was playing “The Purple Dinosaur”. We met up at “Chad’s Fun House”, the company we worked for. Russ, “The Purple Dinosaur”, drove me from “Chad’s in Brooklyn, to the birthday party in this fancy Italian restaurant in Staten Island. While in the car with Russ, I discovered that he was a former prize fighting wrestler. Judging by his gravelly voice and the humongous size of him, there was no doubt in my mind that he was right!
The party took place in an upscale Italian Restaurant. After introducing ourselves to the birthday parents, we walked up a winding staircase and went into the bathrooms to change into our costumes. Going down that staircase (in that furry monstrosity) was definitely harder than the trip up! If you ever wore one of those hard headed furry costumes, you would know exactly what I’m talking about. For one thing, your body is completely engulfed in fur, along with your feet that are wearing these conspicuous plastic, fur covered shoes. Your face feels like it’s inside a covered goldfish bowl, with two small holes to see through. Since there is no peripheral vision, you are pretty much limited to seeing things directly in front of you, not down or to the side, unless you physically turn yourself or turn your head completely down, can you look completely down, can you see things like stairs, crawling babies and people walking along side you.
While Russ and I (now “The Purple Dinosaur” and “Boo Bop”), were dancing and doing song games with the kids, along with being kicked pretty regularly, I felt my tail getting pulled as well. This continued for about five minutes, and then it stopped.
On the way back from the party, Russ brought the taunting up. I said “Oh, Yea!, that was so annoying, what a brat!”. “Thank God it didn’t last that long!” With that said, Russ replied…”Here’s the story…”When no one was looking, I cornered the little bastard, when I saw him making his way up the stairs!” “I waited until the coast was clear, when I whipped off my Dinosaur Head right in front of him!” “The kid goes….Dinos!!, and I interrupted him and said….”Yea, That’s right!!!, you little piece of SHIT! “This dinosaur sweats and bleeds just like you’re going to if you don’t leave me and Boo Bob the HELL alone!!!” “So, you have two choices, you little bastard!” “You can go downstairs and keep your hands to yourself, or have to deal with me up here!” Well, that explains the sudden change in this tail pulling, kicking terror! I wish I could take Russ with me to all of my jobs!
Diary of a Clown/ The Pink Gorilla gets the Boot
By Susan AKA Polkadots the Clown
I was called early one morning, to do a singing Gorilla-gram in the Nicolodeon building in Manhattan. My contact person was this nervous looking guy with dark rimmed glasses in his thirties. He explained to me that I was to recite a poem he wrote to a woman in his office that he had this huge crush on. I was also instructed that under any circumstance, do not reveal the sender.
While walking over to my recipient (attired as a Pink Gorilla), a crowd of about twenty people started gathering and cheering. I sang the generic silly love song that was written by the owner of the singing telegram company that sent me. As I started reciting the poem, written by the sender, the presence of this tall man with a suit and glasses caused everyone in the room to stand back. I responded with my usual Gorilla sounds and said…”Hey, if I knew you were so cute, I would have shaved!” He then intercepted in an angry tone “Hi, My name is Tom Meyers; I’m Lilly’s (the recipient) boss.” “Who were you sent by?” Adding some more Gorilla sounds and motions, I said…”Sorry, I was sworn by secrecy” He angrily interrupted with…”Do you realize, this is a place of business?, and Lilly here and all of these people around her have an enormous amount of work to do, that they’re obviously not doing with you standing here!” “So, I highly suggest that you reveal the sender of this, unless you want to see Lilly here lose her job!” With that said the sender who was nervously pacing and adjusting his glasses up until this point, boldly approached, saying… “It was me!” “I’m sorry, but I knew no other way to tell you (Lilly) that I’m nuts about you!” Lilly then jolts back with… “How could you?!” She turned to her boss who started reprimanding the sender and said… “You don’t have to fire anyone!”...”I quit!” I tried calming the boss down (in all my pink furriness) and begged him to give them another chance, it was all in fun. Instead of giving in, he ordered me to leave. When I started walking out, Lilly called after me…”Wait!” “Do they have any job openings at your company?!”I started answering her and at the same time, kept walking out. She called out to me again, “Wait! Stop!”Following me as I was walking she yelled…”Have you ever been on T.V.?”This time stopping in my tracks, I turned around to a crowd of people laughing. “Take your head off and smile!” one of them yelled, as they all pointed to the camera. My immediate reaction was…”Oh no...I have no makeup on!” It was so early in the morning, that I barely had enough time to eat and shower, so forget makeup! I didn’t think it would matter since my face would be covered anyway.
This whole stunt, turned out to be for a VH1 show called “Sledge Hammer”. It was a “Candid Camera” knock off. I found out later that there were a bevy of other performers before me, including, a clown, a male stripper, a male “Marilyn Monroe” impersonator, a Barbershop Quartet, and my boss (the one who sent me on this) wearing a top hat and tails. They told me that I took it the best out of everyone. The clown was so pissed that he refused to sign a release and threatened to sue if they aired his sequence.
When I watched it back, a couple of weeks later, I saw the look of terror and guilt in my eyes. My body was covered in pink fur which was wearing a tutu around my waist, and my hands were wearing black Gorilla hands, so you know which part of me got the close up!
By Susan AKA Polkadots the Clown
I was called early one morning, to do a singing Gorilla-gram in the Nicolodeon building in Manhattan. My contact person was this nervous looking guy with dark rimmed glasses in his thirties. He explained to me that I was to recite a poem he wrote to a woman in his office that he had this huge crush on. I was also instructed that under any circumstance, do not reveal the sender.
While walking over to my recipient (attired as a Pink Gorilla), a crowd of about twenty people started gathering and cheering. I sang the generic silly love song that was written by the owner of the singing telegram company that sent me. As I started reciting the poem, written by the sender, the presence of this tall man with a suit and glasses caused everyone in the room to stand back. I responded with my usual Gorilla sounds and said…”Hey, if I knew you were so cute, I would have shaved!” He then intercepted in an angry tone “Hi, My name is Tom Meyers; I’m Lilly’s (the recipient) boss.” “Who were you sent by?” Adding some more Gorilla sounds and motions, I said…”Sorry, I was sworn by secrecy” He angrily interrupted with…”Do you realize, this is a place of business?, and Lilly here and all of these people around her have an enormous amount of work to do, that they’re obviously not doing with you standing here!” “So, I highly suggest that you reveal the sender of this, unless you want to see Lilly here lose her job!” With that said the sender who was nervously pacing and adjusting his glasses up until this point, boldly approached, saying… “It was me!” “I’m sorry, but I knew no other way to tell you (Lilly) that I’m nuts about you!” Lilly then jolts back with… “How could you?!” She turned to her boss who started reprimanding the sender and said… “You don’t have to fire anyone!”...”I quit!” I tried calming the boss down (in all my pink furriness) and begged him to give them another chance, it was all in fun. Instead of giving in, he ordered me to leave. When I started walking out, Lilly called after me…”Wait!” “Do they have any job openings at your company?!”I started answering her and at the same time, kept walking out. She called out to me again, “Wait! Stop!”Following me as I was walking she yelled…”Have you ever been on T.V.?”This time stopping in my tracks, I turned around to a crowd of people laughing. “Take your head off and smile!” one of them yelled, as they all pointed to the camera. My immediate reaction was…”Oh no...I have no makeup on!” It was so early in the morning, that I barely had enough time to eat and shower, so forget makeup! I didn’t think it would matter since my face would be covered anyway.
This whole stunt, turned out to be for a VH1 show called “Sledge Hammer”. It was a “Candid Camera” knock off. I found out later that there were a bevy of other performers before me, including, a clown, a male stripper, a male “Marilyn Monroe” impersonator, a Barbershop Quartet, and my boss (the one who sent me on this) wearing a top hat and tails. They told me that I took it the best out of everyone. The clown was so pissed that he refused to sign a release and threatened to sue if they aired his sequence.
When I watched it back, a couple of weeks later, I saw the look of terror and guilt in my eyes. My body was covered in pink fur which was wearing a tutu around my waist, and my hands were wearing black Gorilla hands, so you know which part of me got the close up!
Diary of a Clown/ the Japanese Clown Connection
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
This story isn’t really clown related, but I think (for comical and circumstantial purposes) it has to be told, since it eventually led to the clown in me coming out into the world.
The first year and a half that I was in New York City in the mid nineteen eighties, I probably had about eight short lived clerical jobs. I can’t even begin to tell you how many job agencies turned me down or gave me the run around since my typing speed was really low and my past jobs were short lived.
I can’t remember how I came upon this particular agency, but I remember walking into this dirty looking office waiting room that reeked of cigarette smoke, in Mid Town Manhattan somewhere. The waiting room contained a reception-less phone and about four typewriters. Another twenty something year old girl was in the waiting room as well and had gotten there first. After a few minutes of small talk, the phone rings. The door to the office finally opens and out pops the head of the sleaziest looking man I ever laid eyes on, with hair that was in dire need of being washed and combed, not to mention the wads of hair emerging from his ears and nose. He annoyingly yells out…”Hey! Can one of yous get that?! And answer wit Amazing Employment (or whatever the name was) Oh, and take there number on that piece of paper there and say I’ll be right back with them.” After doing so I waited around some until the girl before us walked out of the office and went over to one of the typewriters. Max, (the sleezebag) walks over and tells the girl to sit down and start typing (pointing to sample typing in a book) and turns on a timer and again yells out “Start typing!” In the same breath *which was bad) he turns to me and calls me into his office. After very briefly looking over my resume, he tosses it in the trash can and hands me a bogus resume and says “Here, look this over and memorize it in case someone asks you questions about your back round” “But that’s not my resume”, I replied. “It is now! Oh, and don’t forget to change the name!” “When your done, come out here and take a typing test”, he said as he walked back into the waiting room. Like the girl before me, he sets the timer and hands me a typing test. As he’s leading the next girl into his office, he turns back to me and says…”If the phone rings turn off the timer and take a message”. He came out of the office a few minutes later and says….”let’s see, what ya got there?” I hand him back my five minute typing test which (including some miss-spelled words) contained like twenty words on it. Typing skills was something I didn’t inherit from my late mom, a former secretary of thirty something years. This is before the computer kicked in and made typing easier on our fingers and spell-checking bad grammar. He took one look at my test, tossed it in the trash, and said…”Congratulations you now type sixty five words a minute” and adds it to a blank spot on my new resume, and then says…”Right now I have nothing for yas” “Come back tomorrow”.
After a couple of more days of sitting in this sleazy smelly office all day, answering phones, I was ready to call it quits, thinking that this was just this sleazebags way of getting a free receptionist, but as soon as the words started forming in my mouth, he jolted out of his office “Do yas have your resume memorized?” He responded to my uh hu with ….”Good, here’s where your going” and hands me an address.
Under the circumstances I expected my first job interview with this so called agency, to be as sleazy as the office, but to my surprise, it turned out to be on the thirty fifth floor of “The World Trade Center”. The company was called “Kanematzu Goshu” Don’t ask me what it means in Japanese! It was a Japanese import/ export company. I walked into a huge office filled with desks in groups of threes. Each area contained one or two Japanese men and a young American secretary, each one not typing much faster than me (I found out later, we were all sent from the same agency). The receptionist (The only Japanese woman in the office) told me to have a seat. Shortly afterward, she brought me to an area in the back, and introduced me to a nice middle-aged woman who reminded me of my mom. After we both took a couple of seats by her desk, she told me a little about the job which entailed varied clerical duties and booking plane and dinner reservations for my two bosses.
After a few minutes of questions, she (the secretary to the only American man at the company) brought out two Japanese men a little shorter than me (five feet four inches). There names were Kise Sun and Suonobu Sun, Sun being the Japanese equivalent of Mr. After the introduction, they shook my hand and bowed a couple of times, and then after looking very briefly at my application, they asked in very broken English if I would be willing to make and serve tea and coffee to there clients. I said yes, they excused themselves bowed , went over to the corner of the room, said a few words back and forth to each other in Japanese and came back over to me and shook my hand while one of them said, “We hile you”. When I was walking out, the woman who interviewed me earlier stopped me and said…”Oh, Susan, we need you to take another typing test for clerical reasons.” Uh Oh! I thought. After all, I was no where near the sixty five words per minute that the other typing test and application stated. After taking the test, she didn’t seem taken back by my sperratic typing. Judging by the sounds of the other secretaries typing, she probably was used to it. After studying my test, she looked up at me and said…”This job does require some typing, so promise me you’ll brush up on yours and it will be our little secret”. I agreed to do so with a relieved smile on my face.
After starting the job, “Some typing” was an understatement! Every morning starting at nine o clock, a five page voucher had to be typed out and was to be finished no later than ten thirty AM. I know that five pages doesn’t seem like that much, but each page contained a bunch of numbers and calculations to be made by me. Now here’s the catch…each page had four different colored carbon copies attached to it, which meant, that every time I made a mistake, each copy had to be whited, blued, green and yellowed out! In the mean time Kise Sun my high strung boss would yell out “Suzan! I have crient! Bring tea with bottled water and flesh milk only!”
My two bosses, Kis’e Sun and Suonobu Sun, were like night and day. Suonobu was very laid back to the point where when he stretched back in his chair, his back would almost hit the ground. If the phone rang during one of these stretches, he wouldn’t even bother to straighten up. In the middle of reclining, he would slowly reach for the phone, and with his eyes barely opened would say…”Suuu o no buu”. If the person on the other end were English speaking and calling for the first time, you would hear in an annoyed sleepy voice…”No, that is my nam…I spell…S….U…” He never usually made it past the U. When the person would interrupt, his eyes would widen while he said…”HU!?” Then he would slowly go into his sales pitch. Sometimes he would disappear three or four hours at a time, when no matter how busy I was, Kis’e Sun, who was extremely hyper would hand me a piece of paper with a phone number on it and say…”Suzan! Find Suonobu Sun!” I would quickly call the number which was received by a Japanese sounding woman with some other female voices in the back round. While I was on hold, I turned to Kis’e Sun and said…”Was that his wife?” “Suzan!! Don’t ask questions!” After being on hold for like fifteen minutes, he would finally come to the phone. As soon as Kis’e sun heard me say Suonobu’s name, he would grab the phone out of my hand and started screaming G-d knows what in Japanese. When Suonobu returned about an hour and a half later, he would look around to make sure the coast was clear of Kis’e Sun and hand me an entertainment voucher to record his latest pleasure in the books. No, I didn’t write “Geisha Girls”. It was always recorded as “Entertaining client”.
A couple of days before the fourth of July, I’m sitting at my desk, when all of a sudden, the sound of fire crackers started up. Kis’e Sun sprung up from his seat and dodged under his desk, yelling…”BOMB!!” I tried calming him down by saying that they were just fireworks. An hour after he came out from under his desk, and he started calming down (calm for him, anyway) a loud siren went off followed by a voice over the PA system in English and afterwards in Japanese announcing a bomb scare! Needless to say, Kis’e Sun was the first out of the door. A few seconds later, Suonobu Sun, slowly snuck past Kis’e Sun, neither returning the rest of the day, even though it was a short lived scare. This was over a decade before nine eleven. I’m guessing that Suonobu went back to his Geisha Girls, because the next day, he snuck me another entertainment voucher.
On the very few occasions when I wasn’t working like a dog, or Kis’e Sun wasn’t trying to make a play for me by pretending to read my palm, he would yell out…”Suzan! Plactice typing!”
Needless to say, that job was short lived. Suonobu Sun gave me my two week notice. Kis’e Sun avoided me most of that time. When I finally did hear from him, it was an order to bring in some coffee and tea for him and a blond he was interviewing for my job. “How dare he!!, I thought. As I’m preparing his tea, I started to pour water from the purifier, when the devil and clown in me took over! As luck had it, the tap water happened to be coming out brown that day, but brown water wasn’t enough, so I reached into the back of the refrigerator and reached for a carton of soured curdled milk. I didn’t do anything to the blonde’s coffee, since she hasn’t done anything to me. Just as I’m starting to hand Kis’e Sun his tea, my hand started shaking when I realized what I had done and that there was no turning back and I ended up spilling some of the hot tea and coffee on his lap. He did end up drinking some of his tea. Luckily, it was late in the day and he was flying out to Japan for my remaining few days and that was the last I saw of him.
Shortly before my two week time frame was to come to an end, I just couldn’t bring myself to doing the agency thing, especially after that last experience with the sleaze bag. Luckily, I came across an ad in “The Village Voice” advertising for a singing messenger... and so a clown was born!
By Susan Zwirn aka Polkadots the Clown
This story isn’t really clown related, but I think (for comical and circumstantial purposes) it has to be told, since it eventually led to the clown in me coming out into the world.
The first year and a half that I was in New York City in the mid nineteen eighties, I probably had about eight short lived clerical jobs. I can’t even begin to tell you how many job agencies turned me down or gave me the run around since my typing speed was really low and my past jobs were short lived.
I can’t remember how I came upon this particular agency, but I remember walking into this dirty looking office waiting room that reeked of cigarette smoke, in Mid Town Manhattan somewhere. The waiting room contained a reception-less phone and about four typewriters. Another twenty something year old girl was in the waiting room as well and had gotten there first. After a few minutes of small talk, the phone rings. The door to the office finally opens and out pops the head of the sleaziest looking man I ever laid eyes on, with hair that was in dire need of being washed and combed, not to mention the wads of hair emerging from his ears and nose. He annoyingly yells out…”Hey! Can one of yous get that?! And answer wit Amazing Employment (or whatever the name was) Oh, and take there number on that piece of paper there and say I’ll be right back with them.” After doing so I waited around some until the girl before us walked out of the office and went over to one of the typewriters. Max, (the sleezebag) walks over and tells the girl to sit down and start typing (pointing to sample typing in a book) and turns on a timer and again yells out “Start typing!” In the same breath *which was bad) he turns to me and calls me into his office. After very briefly looking over my resume, he tosses it in the trash can and hands me a bogus resume and says “Here, look this over and memorize it in case someone asks you questions about your back round” “But that’s not my resume”, I replied. “It is now! Oh, and don’t forget to change the name!” “When your done, come out here and take a typing test”, he said as he walked back into the waiting room. Like the girl before me, he sets the timer and hands me a typing test. As he’s leading the next girl into his office, he turns back to me and says…”If the phone rings turn off the timer and take a message”. He came out of the office a few minutes later and says….”let’s see, what ya got there?” I hand him back my five minute typing test which (including some miss-spelled words) contained like twenty words on it. Typing skills was something I didn’t inherit from my late mom, a former secretary of thirty something years. This is before the computer kicked in and made typing easier on our fingers and spell-checking bad grammar. He took one look at my test, tossed it in the trash, and said…”Congratulations you now type sixty five words a minute” and adds it to a blank spot on my new resume, and then says…”Right now I have nothing for yas” “Come back tomorrow”.
After a couple of more days of sitting in this sleazy smelly office all day, answering phones, I was ready to call it quits, thinking that this was just this sleazebags way of getting a free receptionist, but as soon as the words started forming in my mouth, he jolted out of his office “Do yas have your resume memorized?” He responded to my uh hu with ….”Good, here’s where your going” and hands me an address.
Under the circumstances I expected my first job interview with this so called agency, to be as sleazy as the office, but to my surprise, it turned out to be on the thirty fifth floor of “The World Trade Center”. The company was called “Kanematzu Goshu” Don’t ask me what it means in Japanese! It was a Japanese import/ export company. I walked into a huge office filled with desks in groups of threes. Each area contained one or two Japanese men and a young American secretary, each one not typing much faster than me (I found out later, we were all sent from the same agency). The receptionist (The only Japanese woman in the office) told me to have a seat. Shortly afterward, she brought me to an area in the back, and introduced me to a nice middle-aged woman who reminded me of my mom. After we both took a couple of seats by her desk, she told me a little about the job which entailed varied clerical duties and booking plane and dinner reservations for my two bosses.
After a few minutes of questions, she (the secretary to the only American man at the company) brought out two Japanese men a little shorter than me (five feet four inches). There names were Kise Sun and Suonobu Sun, Sun being the Japanese equivalent of Mr. After the introduction, they shook my hand and bowed a couple of times, and then after looking very briefly at my application, they asked in very broken English if I would be willing to make and serve tea and coffee to there clients. I said yes, they excused themselves bowed , went over to the corner of the room, said a few words back and forth to each other in Japanese and came back over to me and shook my hand while one of them said, “We hile you”. When I was walking out, the woman who interviewed me earlier stopped me and said…”Oh, Susan, we need you to take another typing test for clerical reasons.” Uh Oh! I thought. After all, I was no where near the sixty five words per minute that the other typing test and application stated. After taking the test, she didn’t seem taken back by my sperratic typing. Judging by the sounds of the other secretaries typing, she probably was used to it. After studying my test, she looked up at me and said…”This job does require some typing, so promise me you’ll brush up on yours and it will be our little secret”. I agreed to do so with a relieved smile on my face.
After starting the job, “Some typing” was an understatement! Every morning starting at nine o clock, a five page voucher had to be typed out and was to be finished no later than ten thirty AM. I know that five pages doesn’t seem like that much, but each page contained a bunch of numbers and calculations to be made by me. Now here’s the catch…each page had four different colored carbon copies attached to it, which meant, that every time I made a mistake, each copy had to be whited, blued, green and yellowed out! In the mean time Kise Sun my high strung boss would yell out “Suzan! I have crient! Bring tea with bottled water and flesh milk only!”
My two bosses, Kis’e Sun and Suonobu Sun, were like night and day. Suonobu was very laid back to the point where when he stretched back in his chair, his back would almost hit the ground. If the phone rang during one of these stretches, he wouldn’t even bother to straighten up. In the middle of reclining, he would slowly reach for the phone, and with his eyes barely opened would say…”Suuu o no buu”. If the person on the other end were English speaking and calling for the first time, you would hear in an annoyed sleepy voice…”No, that is my nam…I spell…S….U…” He never usually made it past the U. When the person would interrupt, his eyes would widen while he said…”HU!?” Then he would slowly go into his sales pitch. Sometimes he would disappear three or four hours at a time, when no matter how busy I was, Kis’e Sun, who was extremely hyper would hand me a piece of paper with a phone number on it and say…”Suzan! Find Suonobu Sun!” I would quickly call the number which was received by a Japanese sounding woman with some other female voices in the back round. While I was on hold, I turned to Kis’e Sun and said…”Was that his wife?” “Suzan!! Don’t ask questions!” After being on hold for like fifteen minutes, he would finally come to the phone. As soon as Kis’e sun heard me say Suonobu’s name, he would grab the phone out of my hand and started screaming G-d knows what in Japanese. When Suonobu returned about an hour and a half later, he would look around to make sure the coast was clear of Kis’e Sun and hand me an entertainment voucher to record his latest pleasure in the books. No, I didn’t write “Geisha Girls”. It was always recorded as “Entertaining client”.
A couple of days before the fourth of July, I’m sitting at my desk, when all of a sudden, the sound of fire crackers started up. Kis’e Sun sprung up from his seat and dodged under his desk, yelling…”BOMB!!” I tried calming him down by saying that they were just fireworks. An hour after he came out from under his desk, and he started calming down (calm for him, anyway) a loud siren went off followed by a voice over the PA system in English and afterwards in Japanese announcing a bomb scare! Needless to say, Kis’e Sun was the first out of the door. A few seconds later, Suonobu Sun, slowly snuck past Kis’e Sun, neither returning the rest of the day, even though it was a short lived scare. This was over a decade before nine eleven. I’m guessing that Suonobu went back to his Geisha Girls, because the next day, he snuck me another entertainment voucher.
On the very few occasions when I wasn’t working like a dog, or Kis’e Sun wasn’t trying to make a play for me by pretending to read my palm, he would yell out…”Suzan! Plactice typing!”
Needless to say, that job was short lived. Suonobu Sun gave me my two week notice. Kis’e Sun avoided me most of that time. When I finally did hear from him, it was an order to bring in some coffee and tea for him and a blond he was interviewing for my job. “How dare he!!, I thought. As I’m preparing his tea, I started to pour water from the purifier, when the devil and clown in me took over! As luck had it, the tap water happened to be coming out brown that day, but brown water wasn’t enough, so I reached into the back of the refrigerator and reached for a carton of soured curdled milk. I didn’t do anything to the blonde’s coffee, since she hasn’t done anything to me. Just as I’m starting to hand Kis’e Sun his tea, my hand started shaking when I realized what I had done and that there was no turning back and I ended up spilling some of the hot tea and coffee on his lap. He did end up drinking some of his tea. Luckily, it was late in the day and he was flying out to Japan for my remaining few days and that was the last I saw of him.
Shortly before my two week time frame was to come to an end, I just couldn’t bring myself to doing the agency thing, especially after that last experience with the sleaze bag. Luckily, I came across an ad in “The Village Voice” advertising for a singing messenger... and so a clown was born!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
