The time? 3 years ago. The place? Harrisburg PA. Mitch and I are house hunting. As usual. I was a Realtor at the time and we were looking to buy a house and move out of our condo. For this showing the seller's agent insisted on being there, something I absolutely hate. The house? Was phenomenal. And affordable. I almost cried when I saw the beautifully upgraded kitchen in this early 1900's stone home. It looked like something out of a movie. So I am wandering through the house, letting the listing agent ramble on and on, wondering if he knows that the only thing talking does is distract buyers from actually looking at the property.
I wander away from the kitchen and into a "den" off the side of the home. I am looking around in there and wander back out, distracted by the other Realtor's jabbering. Several minutes later, the other agent follows us upstairs and asks if we saw the full bath downstairs in the den, saying that room could easily be a first floor master. I hadn't noticed it so we went back down. And then? As I entered the room? I saw it. How the HECK did I miss it the first time?
There? On the wall? Is an oil painting of the creepiest, most sinister, evil looking clown I ever have seen in my life. EVER. I am telling ya'll, Stephen King's IT has nothing on this clown. I have an immediate reaction. I can't breathe, I can't look, I close my eyes and whirl around, scrambling for the door. Ya'll? My feet were slippin' and slidin' like a cat rounding a corner. I couldn't think. My husband grabs my arm and asks what is wrong. I can't even talk, I just point. I am supposed to be a professional, thank god I wasn't with a "real" client, thank god it was just us. I keep pointing to the wall on which the offensive clown is hanging. I try to think what to do.
The listing agent is trying to get us into the bathroom but I am going to have to walk past that THING to get in there. I can't do it. I am shaking my head furiously and I wave away hubby, telling him to go look and get him off our back. "Come on in here and look at this bathroom, it is great, very roomy." Says the agent. "Oh, I am fine, my husband will check it out for me." I couldn't breathe, I was scrambling to get out of that room and out the back door. Air I need air. "Oh, but you need to see these upgrades, and I will show you how I think this would work as a master." "Me? I can't." It was obvious at this point that Mr. Salesman-of-the-Month wasn't going to let it go so I had to tell him.
Me: "I have a clown phobia."
Him: "What?" I am sure he was thinking what that has to do with anything.
Me: (Still standing in the kitchen near the back door so I can't see the Evil Thing. And probably talking a bit too loudly.) "Clowns, I can't do clowns. That is the scariest thing I have ever seen."
Him: "What? Oh, this?" As if he just noticed it. Yeah, right. A smile comes over his face.
Me: "YES, that is horrible. It is SO creepy. Why would anyone want to own that, that, that thing?!"
Him: "Actually the homeowner painted it. She's an artist."
(well, of course she did)
Me: **staring at him through the doorway with laser beam eyes**
Him: "What, you don't like it? He's called The Creeper."
(weakly smiling and going all Southern on him because I just basically called his client a freak)
Me: "Well, I suppose it is fine. I mean I am sure she did a great job. I mean obviously she has a lot of talent. Y'know, if scaring people is the purpose of it, it sure worked." *hahaha pitiful laugh* but inside my head was....
"WHAT THE HELL KIND OF NORMAL PERSON WOULD EVER IMAGINE SOMETHING THAT FREAKY MUCH LESS WASTE THEIR ARTISTIC TALENTS PAINTING IT AND PUTTING IT UP IN THEIR HOME??????????"
Him: "Well, if that is all..."
Me: "Oh, I think that is all."
Moral of this story. Even if you love that kind of scary-art, (and I know some do. not that there's anything wrong with that) never EVER leave it up on your wall when you try to sell your house.
Same goes for nudie pictures of yourself or your spouse. (But that's a story for another day.)
You're welcome.
Showing posts with label clowns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clowns. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 25
Tuesday, August 24
The Phrase Evil Clown is Redundant
I have a ridiculous fear of clowns. Well, honestly? I don't think it is so ridiculous, but apparently some do. One of our scooter buddies was once an aspiring clown and he is the nicest person ever. Sometimes I wonder if I ever saw him in the makeup, knowing who it was, would I have the same reaction? What reaction is that, you ask? Well, I can't look at them, I just can't. I had to skip an episode of one of my favorite shows last year because it centered on killers running around dressed like clowns. My heart races and I feel like I can not breathe, like I am locked in a box and the air is running out. I feel like I might throw up and I feel panic, extreme, unmitigated panic.
Some people ask me what it is I don't like about clowns. I ask you, what is there TO like? I mean, think about it. You have a grown person, walking around, being mischievous and wearing giant shoes, a big wig and a face full of makeup. What sane person does that? Seriously, they could be anything under there. Man, woman, killer, pedophile, or (only in deference to my scooter buddy because I don't really believe they ever are) normal person. Who knows? And yet they are allowed to walk around like this on any normal day of the year. They do things that most people would never get away with, like squirting water at people or dropping trou in a public place. Who else could show their boxers, giant and flowered or not, and not get arrested for indecent exposure? Much less in a dark tent full of pre-adolescent children. The whole concept is just strange to me. And creepy. Isn't it? It can't just be me.
I have on many occasions tried to trace the root of this phobia. I don't remember being scared of clowns as a child. I had a birthday party with Ronald McDonald when I was nine for heavens sakes. I do, however, remember when I was 12 or so watching an episode of Fantasy Island which featured a particularly creepy (and evil but that is redundant) clown. I don't remember the specifics of the episode, but what I do remember is that I didn't sleep at all that night and I had nightmares for weeks about that stupid clown. I was at a sleepover at the time I watched it, my parents did not let me watch Fantasy Island, so I couldn't tell my mom why I was having nightmares. It was a long summer.
Fast forward. Much later in life I had continuing run-ins with a real life clown in downtown Nashville. Now this freak? Let's just call him Sprinkles*. He would go out to bars dressed up in FULL clown regalia. **HOW IS THAT EFFING NORMAL?** So, how did this affect me? I had just moved to Nashville full-time and had a job at a local nightclub. Now, I normally worked in the daytime as their accountant but after I was there a while, I started filling in as the coat check girl. $$$$ Good money! So that meant I worked all day 5 days a week, then all night Fridays and all night Saturdays. Every now and again Sprinkles came into the club. Yep, full clown makeup, clown clothes, shoes, everything. No, he was not paid to be there. Yes, I asked him to pay the $5 cover charge every time, standing as far away from the counter as I could get and without looking him in the eye. However the owner let him in for free every single time. What bothered me about this guy? Was that if I had to go out into the club for any reason, like to take a break or to the ladies room, he would silently follow along behind me. I would turn around and he was just there. It creeped me out.
Early one Sunday morning a group of us went to a favorite place for breakfast after the club closed. Wouldn't you know it, there was Sprinkles. In all his clown glory. Being all creepy and making balloon animals for a bunch of drunken and hungover college students who couldn't have cared less, but were apparently buying him breakfast in return for leaving them alone. I looked at my friend Allison and said "I am not doing it. I am not eating here if that freak clown is here." At which point she reminded me that it was 4 am and we didn't have many choices. So when the waitress came over to seat us Allison calmly said, as if it were a perfectly normal request, "We'd like to be seated away from Sprinkles, please." "Excuse me?" the waitress said. "We need a table in a Sprinkles-free zone" said my friend with a straight face. The waitress, apparently unsure about who, among a room of 40 Vandy college students and one clown, would be named Sprinkles, said "Whuuut? Sprinkles? I don't know what that is." To which Allison replied, in her fabulous Bronx accent and with all her fabulous Bronx attitude, "THE CLOWN. Sprinkles is the clown, over there? My friend has clown issues. We need a table away from Sprinkles the clown."
God, girlfriends are awesome!
Some people ask me what it is I don't like about clowns. I ask you, what is there TO like? I mean, think about it. You have a grown person, walking around, being mischievous and wearing giant shoes, a big wig and a face full of makeup. What sane person does that? Seriously, they could be anything under there. Man, woman, killer, pedophile, or (only in deference to my scooter buddy because I don't really believe they ever are) normal person. Who knows? And yet they are allowed to walk around like this on any normal day of the year. They do things that most people would never get away with, like squirting water at people or dropping trou in a public place. Who else could show their boxers, giant and flowered or not, and not get arrested for indecent exposure? Much less in a dark tent full of pre-adolescent children. The whole concept is just strange to me. And creepy. Isn't it? It can't just be me.
I have on many occasions tried to trace the root of this phobia. I don't remember being scared of clowns as a child. I had a birthday party with Ronald McDonald when I was nine for heavens sakes. I do, however, remember when I was 12 or so watching an episode of Fantasy Island which featured a particularly creepy (and evil but that is redundant) clown. I don't remember the specifics of the episode, but what I do remember is that I didn't sleep at all that night and I had nightmares for weeks about that stupid clown. I was at a sleepover at the time I watched it, my parents did not let me watch Fantasy Island, so I couldn't tell my mom why I was having nightmares. It was a long summer.
Fast forward. Much later in life I had continuing run-ins with a real life clown in downtown Nashville. Now this freak? Let's just call him Sprinkles*. He would go out to bars dressed up in FULL clown regalia. **HOW IS THAT EFFING NORMAL?** So, how did this affect me? I had just moved to Nashville full-time and had a job at a local nightclub. Now, I normally worked in the daytime as their accountant but after I was there a while, I started filling in as the coat check girl. $$$$ Good money! So that meant I worked all day 5 days a week, then all night Fridays and all night Saturdays. Every now and again Sprinkles came into the club. Yep, full clown makeup, clown clothes, shoes, everything. No, he was not paid to be there. Yes, I asked him to pay the $5 cover charge every time, standing as far away from the counter as I could get and without looking him in the eye. However the owner let him in for free every single time. What bothered me about this guy? Was that if I had to go out into the club for any reason, like to take a break or to the ladies room, he would silently follow along behind me. I would turn around and he was just there. It creeped me out.
Early one Sunday morning a group of us went to a favorite place for breakfast after the club closed. Wouldn't you know it, there was Sprinkles. In all his clown glory. Being all creepy and making balloon animals for a bunch of drunken and hungover college students who couldn't have cared less, but were apparently buying him breakfast in return for leaving them alone. I looked at my friend Allison and said "I am not doing it. I am not eating here if that freak clown is here." At which point she reminded me that it was 4 am and we didn't have many choices. So when the waitress came over to seat us Allison calmly said, as if it were a perfectly normal request, "We'd like to be seated away from Sprinkles, please." "Excuse me?" the waitress said. "We need a table in a Sprinkles-free zone" said my friend with a straight face. The waitress, apparently unsure about who, among a room of 40 Vandy college students and one clown, would be named Sprinkles, said "Whuuut? Sprinkles? I don't know what that is." To which Allison replied, in her fabulous Bronx accent and with all her fabulous Bronx attitude, "THE CLOWN. Sprinkles is the clown, over there? My friend has clown issues. We need a table away from Sprinkles the clown."
God, girlfriends are awesome!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
