Life Choices, Man

On July 4th last year, I was in San Antonio, Texas, living in the parking lot of the Alamodome. Really.

I was on the road with the circus, and this was my third city—I was still really new, and very unsure of my social position. It took quite a bit of courage for someone as shy as I am to talk to new people. Especially if those people were clowns.

There was no show on the 4th, so the “building” was relatively empty. The animal crew were the only ones who had to work that morning, because holiday or no, animals eat and poop. So early that morning we were there, doing our jobs, in the strangely quiet Alamodome. I walked outside to talk to some of the guys who were having a cigarette break, and some of the clowns started to come by from inside the building. They were NOT happy about being in full costume and large shoes so early in the morning. I was brave enough to ask Molly where they were going, and she said they were going to be in the parade. A clown would come out, mumbling and trying to balance a muffin, a flowered suitcase, and perhaps a beach ball while making final costume adjustments. One particular clown, who I found amusing simply because he had blue hair,to which I am quite partial, seemed particularly put out. He was carrying an oversized plastic beach pail and shovel, a banana, and trying to light a cigarette. He stopped in front of where I was standing to gather himself together. He was cursing under his breath. So I held mine, and tentatively suggested, “you could stay here with us and clean up elephant poop, “ with as much irony as I dared muster in the presence of a clown. He turned to me and shrugged, “life choices, man. Life choices.”