I've probably mentioned this on here before but I don't think I have ever told either one of these stories.
I am one of those annoying people who are really, really scared of clowns. It doesn't stop with clowns. It really has something to do with some creep in face paint or a mask. Clowns bother me the most because they are the most deceiving. With their pedophile dispositions and those exhausting smiles just really make me want to pull the sheets over my head and plug my ears. I plug my ears when I'm scared. I have no idea what that comes from. I also could not tell you where my fear of face painted jack-wholes comes from either and NO it isn't from that one Steven King movie.
It's your lucky day today because I am going to tell you two funny stories that are to some extent related. I'll go with the first story that involves me, a 7 foot clown and church.
One lovely Sunday morning I was sitting on a maroon and very comfortable pew. A pew soaked with sin and tears from both joy and pain. A pew that I will never forget how it felt or smelled for I had spent a lot of my childhood on those pews worshipping, praying, sleeping, crying, laughing and singing on. This day I would be the day I almost wet myself all over them. I was sitting with a former figure in my life when a, no joke, seven foot clown had taken up the platform because some pastor's wife thought it would be entertaining for the children. This clown was kind of arrogant and really thought he was doing the world good by dressing up like a homeless man with his face painted. (Oh man, I could take that analogy and run with it) After about fifteen minutes or so he decided he wanted a member of the congregation to humiliate so he of course bee lined straight for me. I can't remember exactly what I'm sure was a very intriguing question he had happened toed to ask because I had almost fallen into a coma already. I remember trying to avoid eye contact and shaking my head at him in a threatening way as if to warn him that he better not do what I know he was trying to do. Apparently when you dress as a clown you become oblivious to your surroundings. Even the figure sitting next to me tried warning him to move on to the next innocent bystander but he just wouldn't get it. I will say it was a small victory for me because he did, after what felt like an hour, finally move on with his show stopping performance. I remember thinking, "I thought he was doing this for the fucking kids? That asshole singled me out on purpose. What was this some sick attempt to an intervention? That motherfucker knows I hate his ass when he's dressed up as a serial killer." I knew this dude pretty well outside of the twisted children's entertainment he enjoyed beguiling. He was a nice guy but after this he was definitely cut out of my life. I mentioned that he was seven foot tall right? That part is not an exaggeration or a lie. He was really seven foot tall. Well, he probably still is seven feet tall; as far as I'm aware he's still alive and contributing to children's phobias every where. Can you just imagine a seven foot tall man dressed up like a clown trying to make a three foot tall child laugh?
Next amusing story
It was the first birthday I was celebrating at the company where I work currently. I worked on a great administrative team and we had tons of fun together (Ah, the good old days). My sneaky friend Jamie was on that team with me and decided to covert with Tyrone about what they should do for me for my birthday at work. Well those two geniuses decided to hire a singing telegram a long with some other folks in the office. Bright idea.
I was sitting at my desk minding my own business when I heard this high pitch screaming or screeching come in the front door. My heart immediately dropped. At first, I thought maybe they were performing an exorcism on Jamie at the front desk which didn't take me by surprise that they would do something like that in this office. Just as I turned around to see what the fuss was all about there was a 4' 10" sized gorilla approaching me at quite an alarming rate. My heart rate grew with every step it took towards me. And it was saying my name. It was screeching my name. IT WAS SAYING MY NAME! AND it was fucking dancing around and singing like a character from a Disney movie. A horror Disney movie. They're real I promise.
It tried to touch me and it succeeded. I tried puling away but that just fueled the singing demon even more. If you know me you know that I hate it when people touch me especially strangers. I can't even stand it when a stranger bumps into me. I'm always caught off guard for a few minutes lingering on thoughts of kicking their ass for daring to touch me. I don't care if it was an accident. I'll have to tell you all the story of the man who grabbed my arm in Walmart once; one of those rare moments when Tyrone was actually embarrassed of me.
You see while this was going on I thought I was handling myself pretty well and internalizing the fear like I've always done so successfully before. I was wrong. My face was bright read and there was sweat dripping off my forehead like a greased pig getting chased by a heard of kids suffering from childhood obesity.
You can see from the picture above I was not at my best. Half way through the spectacle I blacked out and let the gorilla do what it pleased with me while all of my newly co-workers watched like it was a peep show. The lovely dear Shelly who sat next to me at the time caught on half way through that they had just made a horrible mistake. She was mortified with me. I guess I was exuding fear all over the place. I could barely make eye contact with any of them. I, naturally, kept trying to play it off like it was no bid deal but was failing horribly. The short little gorilla who was a woman by the way finally left after I had to almost beat her down to get my arm back. I've never had a fear of little people until this day. In fact I didn't think that I had a fear of people dressed up in gorilla suits before either.
This story is not over.
My birthday is in October and a month later we were at my aunt and uncle's house for Thanksgiving. I was telling my aunt and anyone else who was listening what my co-workers did to me and she just started laughing while I was telling the story. She couldn't believe I didn't remember what she was about to remind me. She proceeded to tell me that when I was really young they had a birthday day party for my cousin Aubrey at this Chinese food place in Provo and that I had spent the entire party under my mother's arm pit and under the table because there was a guy dressed up in a gorilla suit there. She said I was so terrified of this guy in the gorilla suit. As she is telling the story I was experiencing some major post traumatic stress flash backs and little bits of the restaurant were coming back to me. I remember hiding and I remember the smell of the food. I had blocked the dude's gorilla face out though, and so much so that it was bound to sneak up on me in my adult life and really fuck things up. You would think experiencing something like I had in the office that day would have helped guide me out of my dark place but no. Every time I see a guy dressed in a gorilla suit standing on the sidewalk holding one of those "Get Cash for Gold!!" signs I take a deep breath and try not to run him down with my car.