April 1^st 2007

A Clown Banquet

I was brought to a Chateau and promised a Banquet but where I sit now, there’s no food, no luscious table, no Chardonet wine, or life-sized mirrors. There were many people invited to this Banquet. In fact everyone was invited. Ian, the gentleman in a duck coloured suit in the chariot was the only one on the guest list because I had elected him Queen Duck. I showed him my plastic yellow duck to justify my choice of names. He claimed it was a hat he wore but it looked much more like a crown. He said he could give a speech if he had to but he would rather not. He was a bit shy with words but he managed to slip in a very good 5 syllable one which was “in-ca-pa-ci-ta-te”. He said, “I use my CS gas to incapacitate people”. I congratulated him. He was very proud of this word. But I topped him by using “to-ta-li-ta-ri-an” which Ian pointed out was 6 syllables.

            Ian was a bit of an odd character that came from a very strange world. It was a world ruled by rules with rule number 1 being “you are not allowed to break the rules.” This world also seemed to have a severe pencil fetish. Ian and his people seemed to desire a pencil monopoly, which is why they confiscated mine. I tried haggling with him and even proposed he could have my magnifying glass or chalk instead but he wasn’t interested. All he wanted was pencils. He believed that pencils should be sharp on both ends and as long as you crossed out your mistakes (but didn’t erase them) you were fine.

            It all began when we were having a wonderful day with many other clowns near Faselane Nuclear Submarine Base. I had heard something about a picnic, others had mentioned putting the big missile for sale to raise funds for education and health services. There were clowns with red noses, clowns with black noses, and clowns that looked like yellow bananas who frowned a lot. These clowns had a fantastic imagination for making up rules for us others to break. They were constantly proposing games and suggesting places to stand and places to walk. We ended up walking and running all over the place because they couldn’t even make up their minds.

            As we stood in a place both clowns and shouting bananas deemed safe to stand, a car rolled up and stopped right in front of me. I looked around, wondering where this vehicle might have come from. It seemed to perfect to be true. A driver and a passenger watched as flock of clowns crossed the street in front of them. The back seat being empty I figure they were suggesting they would give me a ride. So I opened the door, and sat down. By the time I was ready to go, both the driver and the passenger turned and shouted in surprise. The driver shouted “getoutgetougetout” and the passenger shouted “oh no, ho no, ho no”. Within this hysteria I asked politely if a ride was on offer but they kept shouting their respective words so I returned from where I had come from. As I disappointingly left the vehicle two angry bananas welcomed me back. They must have been afraid I was going somewhere else. They seemed to have such strong feelings for me that they decided to escort me to another place where loads of big vans were parked.

            As we held hands and walked I explained to the two bananas that I was only looking for a ride but they didn’t answer. It’s at this point that I noticed, these creatures had no eyebrows. Their hats had eaten them and this I thought is why they cannot speak. We walked into a little cabin as I shouted at the hats “what have you done with their eye brows, why don’t give leave them alone !!?” A few people sat behind a desk looking curiously towards me trying to conjugate the verb “to be hospitable” in every tense they could think of. These people were very studious. I could tell because they had pen and papers and took very good notes. Before I knew it I was given a placard with the number “A 008” and a camera was pointed in my direction. “Do we get to have pictures taken?” I asked, already thinking about what pose I might be able to give. I’m very fond of pictures especially when I’m in them.

            As I held my numbers, standing between two bananas, a camera pointed towards me, I asked if I would get to see the Polaroid photo. The lady in a tight black suit with lots of toys dangling from her belt held the camera to her eye and said: “no … this is only for us.” So I frowned, and looked as unhappy as one could possibly imagine about such selfishness. In the end I go to see the photo. Ian, the friendly queen duck, showed it to me on the chariot on the way to the Banquet.

            Ian was a friendly looking fellow with a yellow jacket and a funny hat that said “P-O-L-I-C-E”. He stood at the door of the chariot to welcome people in. I asked him what the letters on his hat meant but he couldn’t answer. I had many other questions for Ian. In fact I asked so many questions that he asked one of his friends if there was an any food to shut me up. “Ian, did you say you were holding a Banquet for us?” I asked. I envisioned a large wooden table with lots of luscious food and drink.
“What kind of food would you have?” I asked Ian.

“I only like to drink”, he said.

“Well, what would you drink?”

“I don’t know, anything”

“What, like beer, wine, wiskey ?”

“wine will do”

“Ok, what kind of wine?”

“I don’t know any kind?”

“Come on, you must have a preference”

“Well, how about some Chardonet”

“SSSSSHHHHHHardonet!!” I exclaimed, “A very fine choice sir”

In the first chariot where we sat, there were very strange rules. You could only sit on certain chairs and not others (and they weren’t up for haggling either … I tried), you weren’t aloud to sit next to girls in case we smooched, and many more rules that Ian liked to make up … The reason I know some of these is because as I saw the spaces in the van fill with more and more people I realized I would soon have no other choice but to remain in the seat I was sitting in. So I chose to take advantage of what little freedom of movement I might still have by testing all the seats that were free. I crossed the imaginary girl / boy chariot line and was asked to retreat. I apologised to the ladies for my intrusion and went back testing the seats on the boy side of the chariot. As I sat back down, one of the girls that came for the Banquet asked what would happen if we did mix. I indicated that the likelihood of a spontaneous orgy erupting was quite high and that it would be better to wait until we were well fed before we took our cloths off. She seemed to agree.

            As more and more people joined the chariot and confirmed their intention to participate in the Banquet I asked Ian again where he was holding a Banquet.

“I’m not holding a Banquet, you are the one that said you were having a Banquet” he repeated for the fourth time already. He still wasn’t convinced so I asked the chauffeur where the Banquet was happening. Although the destination was meant to be a surprise he let us in on the info that we were heading to the “Chateau”. Everyone was very excited.

            “Hey Ian,” I asked, “can you tell me why am I here”. He shrugged his shoulders so as to say he didn’t know so I asked if I could leave. He nodded smiling but changed his mind as I bolted to the door. I sat back down and waited for moment then asked: “ok, can I drive then?” no one was in the drivers seat and the keys were in the ignition. Ian looked at the steering wheel and back at me obviously preoccupied with something. “What are you thinking?” I asked. Ian looked at me and asked: “Isn’t it on the wrong side?” I came to the conclusion that this banana had been soaking in gin for a bit too long. The poor man had gone delirious but I went along with his tale nonetheless. “What’s the right side then?” I asked. He said he didn’t know but that was one of the conditions for driving: you must know your right from your wrong, that’s why he wasn’t driving (thank goodness!)

            Ian still had my pencil so I asked if he believed in democracy in the hope that a majority of people in the van would agree it was best for me to have my pencil if I would shut up. To my surprise, Ian answered no. I asked if he thought we lived in a democracy and he said “ of course not, those in power get chosen by those already in power. There’s no such thing as a democracy.” So I asked him what he was doing here, what was his role? He simply answered: “I enforce the law.” I told him I thought it was something to do with protecting people and making a safer world but Ian answered he only interested in pencils.

            When we changed chariots to leave the girls to whatever messy business they get up to, another chauffeur said he would be driving us but he didn’t know where we were going. He agreed that a Banquet was a fine idea and added that it would be held in hell. I told him that there are much more suitable places for a Banquet but he said he liked the heat. I asked the chauffeur if he believed in democracy. He said “of course”. I turned to Ian as he came to join our chariot and asked him if he was up for a debate with the chauffeur about democracy. He said he didn’t do debates.

            Ian told me some strange things about the world he inhabits. He hears voices every once in a while in one of his ears, he talks to himself in a bit of plastic microphone that dangles from his collar that doesn’t even work, and he writes his thoughts on a piece of paper with a sharp pencil.

Ian was very well equipped for a banana. I enquired about what all the toys dangling from his belt were and why he would use them. Ian had a stick he said he would use on my only if I “attacked” him. I wondered what “attacked” meant so I decided to test those boundaries by putting out one finger in his direction and asking if I was “attacking” yet. He shook his head so I put out a second finger and checked with him. “That’s a bit more vicious,” he said. By the third I saw Ian getting nervous so I put the whole hand away and told him to relax.

Ian also has something called CS gas in a very little bottle. He said that’s what he uses to “in-ca-pa-ci-ta-te” people. I congratulated him on such a big word and asked him what it meant. He said something about burning eyes, crying, falling to the ground and hurting for at least 15 minutes. It all sounded pretty horrific so I asked if he had ever used it. Someone in the back of the chariot yelled “use it on him so he’ll shut up”. Ian smiled mischievously and said, “I haven’t had to use it … yet” so I asked if I could taste it but he declined the offer.

Ian also had what he called “hand cuffs”. I asked if he would give them to me if I came up with a bigger word than “in-ca-pa-ci-ta-te”. He declined and wouldn’t even let me have a go at them.

“So Ian, who would you invite to your Banquet?” I asked

“I’m not having a Banquet, you’re the one …”

“Yeah whatever,” I interrupted “who would you invite?”

“Maybe people with mid-evil black capes,” replied Ian.

“What, like super heroes?” I asked.

“Super heroes don’t have black capes,” said Ian with sneer.

“Yeah they do” I quickly replied.

“Oh yeah like who?” asked Ian.

“What about Batman?” I inquired.

Ian stood looking into emptiness for a few seconds then conceded: “ok, I’ll give you that one.” He stood corrected.

Talking about super-heroes got me all excited and Ian looked kind of like a superhero with his toys on his belt.

“Who’s your favourite super-hero Ian?” I continued.

“I don’t know … Superman?”

I laughed envisioning Ian dressed up in blue tights and a red cape pretending like he could fly and rescue Louis Lane from the villains like me.

Ian, although equipped well enough to be a super hero could only do one thing at a time. To my surprise his only superhero model was superman. He even said that there weren’t any super heroes with black capes that might be attending the Banquet. I promptly reminded him of Batman amongst many … he stood corrected.

Ian was quite good at waving with his black gloves. That’s something that he learned in a place called P-O-L-I-C-E. I taught Ian how to point and informed him about the repressed expressivity his crown imposed on his beautiful eyebrows.

“Why do you hide your eye-brows?” I asked.

“I’m not hiding them, look you can see them,” replied Ian as he checked his reflection.

“Do you know what happens when you hide your eye brows?” I asked.

“But I’m not hiding my eye-brows!” exclaimed Ian.

“Let me explain” I replied. “If you smiled, your eye brows would be very expressive but your hat keeps us from seeing that because it makes you look human.”

 Ian said that he only smiles when goes home and that he didn’t like his eyebrows anyway. He didn’t think they looked nice. “Says you” I replied enthusiastically, “I think they’re just wonderful”. Ian smiled shyly and promised to check out his eyebrows when he found mirror.

A younger banana that went by the name of Jonathan Bumblebee accompanied Ian. It was like the super hero and his sidekick. Bumblebee was quite odd as well. He said that if I wanted my pencil I would have to sign a paper saying that I wouldn’t’ write any swear words with it. “If you did” he said “ and we could prove that you used that pencil for which I swore not to swear, then we could prosecute you.” I erupted in laughter before urging Bumblebee to tell me more. He continued to explain that this rule has an exception. If a Clergy or a religious person says a ‘’bad’ word then it’s ok to write it as long as it is in quotations. I asked if this was some sort of religious backstabbing but both replied that it was just more “notable”. I asked if they ever used ‘bad’ word in their life and Ian assured me that he had never used one ever. I congratulated him, that’s very impressive.

Shortly after Bumblebees explanation of the rules about swearing he said:

“You know, a lot or people thing police are thick as shit but actually we are quite clever …”

“Bumblebee?” I interrupted, “did you just say “shit”?”

Bumblebee waited a few seconds without answering as he realised he had just said something stupid.

“Can I quote you saying that when I get my pencil back?” I asked.

Bumblebee remained silent for a while but was not one to let his mistakes keep him down. He launched him self into a very excited and vivid description about “COPS” the TV program. I explained I didn’t know what “COPS” or “TV” were so he told me about people going around shooting each other then putting pistols in other people’s hands so they would get blamed. It was all a bit confusing so I asked Bumblebee if that’s what he did. Did he go around shooting people? He half jokingly said he shoots about 10 people a week. I asked if I could quote him on that too when I got my pencil back. He said I could but he doubted my credibility on the matter before I reminded him that people from P-O-L-I-C-E had just recently shot someone dead. I thought I might actually have a pretty strong case for investigation. I took out my magnifying glass to begin investigating Bumblebee’s ears as he said he was going to shut up now.

            At that moment Ian and Bumblebee began listened to the voice in their heads telling them more resources were needed back at the base we had just left. I had visions of giant custard pies moving in, armed on catapults controlled by trigger happy clowns; a very nice (and scary) image.

            Ian and Bumblebee told me about how they sign off their names when they join the P-O-L-I-C-E. They adopted a few numbers and letter and their superiors then sell their names on the name market. “It’s tricky economics,” they explained “because lots of people have the same name, there’s potential of flooding the market and loosing money.” Bumblebee said they also tend to separate the first and the last name to make smaller cuts and maximise profits. I pointed out that they would be very good drug dealers. “If you’re interested” says Bumblebee “you can get a ‘Bumblebee’ for 7 pounds either from a guy in a trench coat on a street corner or on e-bay.”

Ian kept going on about all the rules he had to follow so I asked what the game was and what do you win at the end? He claimed he wasn’t playing a game but I had to disagree. Just like us clowns he seemed to be playing this game for the sake of playing no more no less. Ian mentioned he spends lots of time in court.

“How is it?” I says.

“Very boring” says Ian.

“Well why do you do it?” I asked.

“Because otherwise I’ll get arrested.” replies Ian “It’s part of my job.”

“But why do you do your job?” I inquired.

“Because it pays the bills and it’s better than being a plumber” says Ian.

I had to agree … I mean, look at all the toys they give you, and you get to make up loads of rules that others have to follow. A much better deal than any tools and tubes fun you could muster.

            So the Chauffeur finally arrived at the Chateau “Greenoch” where the Banquet was happening. I was very excited although a bit tired. I was starting to get really hungry.

            We entered through the cage; some sort of mid-evil waiting room. We went up the stairs and into another small waiting room. All the Banquet guest were in the small room while Ian and Bumblebee remained right beyond the door talking with the waiter to arrange our table. The tables weren’t ready yet. It seemed we were to be seated one by one at our own individual tables as they began calling on us one by one. I was the third person to be called upon.

            I stood in front of the waiter right between Ian and Bumblebee. All three of us held hands as the waiter asked for reservation details. I figured this must be a very important Banquet because they needed me to answer many questions. I felt very special. They asked me for my first and last name. I wanted them to get it right so I helped them by spelling it loud and clear: “L for Lucky, G for good …”. I really hate it when they get my name wrong. The waiter also asked for my place of birth and my country of origin, which I chose to keep a secret. He then asked for my address and my date of birth all of which I answered with grand success. The last two questions were my favorite:

“Have you had any drugs or alcohol recently” asked the waiter.

I figured he was already taking orders.

“No” I answered, “not yet, but do you have any to offer?”

He declined and continued by asking:

“Profession?”

“Professional Buffoon” I replied proudly with a very big smile.

The waiter mumbled something between his lips as waiters do then a man approached and asked me to remove certain items of clothing. I thought we had agreed we would eat before taking off our cloths but either way suited me fine.

            Once I was suitably dressed to move to the next level, a short bald man brought me up some stairs and asked if I wanted covers. “yes please” I answered, “I’ll take 10!” He must’ve been hard of hearing because he only gave me 2. Then he brought me to a small individual room and asked me to remove all my strings, which included my shoelaces, and my hoody, and my little pink bit of fluff. “Why can’t I keep my pink fluffy bits?” I asked. He said something about strangling myself as I looked back at the 6-foot long sheets he handed over to me. I remained very confused but though pink must be his colour and I’m sure he doesn’t get to see very much of it in this Chateau.

            Now where I sit there’s still no news of the Banquet but faces keep coming to a little window in the door with cups of tea as well as vegan and vegetarian appetizers composed of carrots, pees, mashed potatoes, and roasted sweet potatoes. Although I wonder what happens beyond that little window, this place is actually quieter than my house in the city. I live on a very busy road. I’ve finished my book, done some stretches, and stood on my head for longer than I should have. The 44 windows that rest between my room and the outdoors are getting dim. I think I’ll sleep.

            “Everything alright?” yells a face through the little window in the door. I lie up, look towards the voice and nod. I rub my eyes and realise I’m in a cell in a police station, that yesterday I got arrested for hoping in an old couple’s car and today I might be released or charged with Breach of the Peace. It’s still dark out but it seems like things are starting to move again. It’s 7am.

“want any breakfast?” I could hear a man ask one of the other guests across the way.

“Sure, if I’m a vegetarian though” answers the guest.

“Of course”, answers the waiter, “Hallal?”

“As long as it doesn’t have any meat that’s fine” replies the guest.

“Of course, beef or chicken?”

The thought of Halal courgettes make me loose my appetite.

“Put your clothes back on, you should be leaving soon now,” said a man. Aha, that’s right, the Banquet is still to come. I can hear the other guests doing the same. The door opens and a man shows me down the stairs where another man with a blue glove lets me have a go at the same handcuffs Ian had on his belt yesterday. They are a bit cold but not too tight. It is a perfect fit to tell the truth. I follow the man closely so as to help him down the stairs. He seems a bit older so I can understand why he wouldn’t want his helper to run away. We walk out through the cage and into a chariot like I’ve never seen before. A mechanical voice yells, “Door 3 unlocked, Door 3 unlocked …” over and over as I am shown my own individual private seat. A man very kindly opens the door for me as I find my place. I can see one of the other guests across the hallway from me and we wave to each other. It’s a beautiful day out. If I knock on the wall in front of me I get 2 knocks back. I don’t know what that means but it’s nice and it makes me smile. As I look around my new little compartment I notice the different letters and names burnt above my head. I don’t like these kinds of decorations. They make me feel angry, afraid, and like I’m not the first to sit on this seat. In fact I’m starting to doubt the hospitality of these people all-together. Once all the doors are closed the irritable mechanical relaxes and we take off.

            The drive through the city is short but signs indicate that we are heading straight back toward Faselane where we had been picked up. Before I know it we are being welcomed into a new building. They call it “The Sheriff’s Court”. Sounds very important. All the guests are reunited and we are all very happy to see each other. Much chatter and laughter is shared. The aperitifs served here aren’t nearly as good as at the Chateau but the company is much better. Some of the guests, although different from the bananas, also come from very strange worlds. They all claim to be a bit smelly (although I have yet to notice any odours but my own), don’t eat meat or dairy products, and don’t seem to like to play the games we clowns enjoy so much. Some of them do seem to have a tendency to walk in circles and make everyone around them very nervous. All very good people nonetheless.

            It’s around 4pm when a man invites us one by one to leave the room we are staying to in. When I’m called I am taken to a desk, given all my toys back and shown to the exit. As I step out into the sunshine, a magnificent Banquet of luscious skipped food lies before my eyes on the green grass across the road. A large group of our friends welcome me and all the other guests. I think there are better ways of organizing a surprise party than driving people around and having them stay in odd place but I am very happy to see all these good friends once again.