And What? A rough clown, its hour come round at last? No!

The other day, a coworker and I went to my favorite punk themed diner.  Yeah, like there are very many of those.  We were seated a few tables to left of the door and I had my back the giant picture window.  As we enjoyed our lunch and talked of weather, lunch trucks and work, my eye was drawn toward the door.  Just inside stood a woman that looked as out of place as the Jello I found hiding behind the polenta in my pantry.  I guess one might glance at her and think nothing of it.  For me that was not the case.
I immediately picked up on a vacant look in her eyes and general demeanor that ran somewhere between knuckle dragger and mouth breather.  She was of indeterminate age between 42 and 62, slightly stocky with spiky orange Kool-aid colored hair.  As she walked toward us, I could tell her wardrobe was clearly designed to be worn in this restaurant.  Her top was in somewhat military in nature and her cargo pants were tucked into her boots.  On first glance they looked like odd combat boots, but I eventually came to realize they were more in the wrestling boot category, with zippers up the back. Or we could go with high topped, zippered bowling shoes.  It didn’t matter, they looked more like clown shoes with the left zipper completely unzipped.
I think “clown” might have been on the right track.  She made her way toward us, much to my dismay.  I was horrified at what I saw.  If I thought her hair was bad at first, a longer look convinced me it was worse; the color was hideous and the humorless spikes seemed out of place on a face more appropriate for Sheldon Cooper’s mee-maw.  Her lipstick was a pinkish orange, turning her lips into some sort of mutant alien larva.  The aliens were reproducing moving up from the middle of her lip to the outside of right nostril like ants looking for water.  I couldn’t look and I couldn’t look away.  She wasn’t clownish, she was a refuge from a clown snuff film.
She stammered her way through the explanation that she worked at the salon across the street, as she handed me a postcard with her name written in a very shaky hand.  I’ve seen Tabitha’s Salon Takeover enough to know what this was – incompetent marketing to drum up business.  It works for Tabitha, so it must work for clowns, right?   I am not getting my hair done at any place that makes me think of bail bonds.  This is a rule.  But then it got inexplicably worse.
She sat down on the bench next to me.  I didn’t issue an invitation and lamented not bringing my bear trap with me.  There was no small talk, only “you look like you need a haircut.”  What?  Seriously?  Why didn’t she lead with “you look like shit and I can make it worse,” because that is what I heard.  I can respect anyone trying to drum up business and working hard to do so.  But please don’t insult me to get my business.  I guess leading with “you have great hair and I’d love to be able to work with it” was too much of a stretch. And yes, even I know I have great hair — but it doesn’t play nice with everyone.  No wonder she never got the call back from Clowns Gone Wild — Everything Wrong Edition; she probably sent her reel to the wrong place.
I was starting to feel a little guilty as I was thinking pure snark and nasty toward someone’s mee-maw.  But then, those thoughts went away. This escapee from  the central valley clown concentration camp went all the way over the top.   With her nauseatingly colored spikes reflecting in the sun like a beacon for the Enola Gay she announced to my friend, “I do color too.”  “Your hair looks like it could use some color.”
My parents never taught me much about girls, but I know you don’t tell a woman her hair needs to be colored.  We were mortified, with nothing left to say. Luckily, she slouched off like some wretched beast towards Bethlehem. She spotted her next potential victims a few tables away.  Away from us was all I wanted.  Luckily, there wasn’t too much of our lunch left.  Nothing else was being eaten on this day.
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  1. Ann

     /  July 24, 2012

    Thanks for the laughs and entertaining read while I’m brewing the morning’s first cup of strong Berlin brew. 🙂

  2. I was caught between shaking my head and snickering. Excellent writing.


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