While I was still in high school, word started spreading that a nearby theme park was hiring clowns. Wow! I can be paid to be a clown? When scrubbing pots is the most exciting job a 16-year-old can imagine, clowning sounds like Heaven. A few of us decided to try out for this new job. Being the hotshots that we were, we figured the job would be a cinch. "Hey! I'm in advanced math! I'm overqualified for the position." Well, we found that it takes more than a high grade point average to qualify for baggy pants and a rubber nose.
Even today, I sting from being rejected as a clown. To my defense, the job was a lot harder than it looked, even though the interviewer wore a T-shirt with his clown name ironed on front. He was seriously into clowning. He drew an imaginary line on the floor and asked me to pretend to walk a tightrope. Doing what I thought a clown would do, I wobbled, bobbled and fell off the line. He didn't like that at all. "You just fell off the tight rope. You just died." For a guy wearing a clown-pride T-shirt, he was a bit too serious. I failed a few more tests, and then it was all over. "Sorry, man. We can't use you." I was crushed. I wasn't good enough to be a clown? Ouch! At least I had my dishwashing career.
Since college, I've moved far beyond scrubbing pots and pans. But, I'll tell you this. Whenever anyone draws an imaginary line on the floor, I walk around it very carefully. I'm not going to fall for that one again. My clowning days were over before they even started.
David McCoy, a notorious storyteller and proud Yellow Jacket, lives in Conyers, can be reached at davmccoy@bellsouth.net.