Super Bowl Commercials, Clown Creepiness and Social Suicide
Watching Super Bowl commercials yesterday reminded me of one of my favorites from last year - the ETrade “Bobo the Clown” commercial.
Not only does it strike a chord with me, it also reminded me of one of my most embarrassing moments…
Back in my seminary days, I was at a party talking with another student who had a gift for clowning. Not clowning around — literally being a clown. He was also a talented mime.
He told me about the clowning/miming ministry he had, which was obviously near and dear to his heart. Problem was (and is), I hate clowns. Always have. Hate mimes even worse.
Nothing personal, it’s just that clowns creep me out. Mimes are even worse because they get in your face and don’t say anything, pretending to be engaged with objects that don’t exist.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that 
It’s just not my cup of Earl Grey…
It’s just not my cup of Earl Grey…
Being the good Southern gentlemen I was raised to be, I listened to his stories attentively. I even praised him (genuinely) for his enthusiasm, and encouraged him to keep following the dreams/desires God had placed in his heart.
Then my bride Lee showed up.
Overhearing the subject of our conversation, she (inexplicably I might add, because she’s typically the queen of social graces) blurted out:
“Clowns? Steve hates clowns!!“
[Insert seemingly endless awkward pause...crickets chirping, beads of sweat forming, and the like]
Keeping a stiff upper lip (and trying not to make eye contact with the student), I shot my bride a knowing glance, and said meekly, “We were just talking about how [student's name] has a clowning ministry, and it’s actually really neat.”
To which Lee replied, helpfully, “Oh — well it’s mimes he really hates!!“
[Insert even longer awkward pause, while I calculated whether I should fake a seizure or eek out another reply]
Rebounding, I replied [stammering], “Well…you see…he actually does miming ministry also…and it all sounds…very interesting…[trailing off weakly]“
Just as I was internally congratulating myself for hanging in there, and hoping for my wife to pick me up off the floor, she replied, “Well, I’ll leave you two to talk. See ya’.”
And just as swiftly as she arrived, she was gone.
Leaving me. And the student. In her wake.
Eventually I mustered the courage to stop staring after my wife, realizing the likelihood of her returning to save me from this social prison was nil.
Pressing on, I turned to face the student — bravely hoping against hope to find a way to salvage the situation.
But the damage was done. I could see it in his eyes. That look of “I thought you were my friend.” That sense of “You mean you let me bear my soul to you when you don’t actually give a crap?!!”
I wanted to tell him it was all a lie. That my wife was off her meds. Unfortunately, her status as an accomplished seminary student herself was now working against me…
He could see it in my eyes as well. I really do hate clowns. Hate mimes even worse. The fact that he was not just one, but both of these things was hard for me to get my arms around as well, since he was otherwise a very likeable guy
The truth is that I really was genuinely happy for him that he had found something he loved and felt called to do. Had our relationship continued, I might have even grown to love (ok, let’s be real, tolerate) clowning and miming.
But that was not to be. Hurricane Lee had struck, and it was just too raw, too painful to rebuild…
I don’t remember if another word was actually spoken. I do remember that he turned and left first, leaving me standing alone for some indeterminate amount of time. Could have been minutes. Could have been hours. Don’t really know. It’s all a blur to me now…
Postscript: My wife and I get Christmas cards from dozens of old seminary friends/acquaintances. Inexplicably, we’ve never received one from this student…
If you’re out there, somewhere, please accept my [and my bride's] apology — if you gave up clowning, I hope if wasn’t on my account. If God really placed it in your heart, I hope you’re clowning/miming up a storm — not to spite me, but in spite of me.
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For everyone else out there, what’s your most embarrassing moment? Have you ever committed social suicide?
Do clowns/mimes creep you out too, or is it just me?
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Many years ago, when I was still employed in corporate america, I’d gone to the ladie’s room one afternoon. When I came out of the stall to face the mirror that lined the wall, I thought to myself, “Wow–this new dress looks great on!” (Back in the day, we all dressed formally to go to work.)
Anyway, happy like a little girl in a fancy Sunday dress, I strode out of the bathroom and headed across the large lobby to my office. The lobby was filled with men waiting to get on the elevators. They all stopped what they were doing and gawked quietly. One or two jaws dropped. I thought, “Man, I must really be looking GOOD.” Rather self-satisfied, I headed into my office. As I entered two of my coworkers burst out into laughter. “What is it?”, I asked. “Oh nothing…except the back of your dress is tucked into your pantyhose”. Well, needless to say, my ego was like a balloon that’d been inflated but not tied at the end, and suddenly released. (Imagine the sound- effect of a squealing balloon at this point).
Thankfully those men were not company employees. But I can just imagine the conversation that followed…
Regarding social suicide: I have committed it so many times that my husband cringes when we go to his family gatherings and I act as if I have something to say. In that setting, I have come to realize that no topic is safe. With 60 people in the room, what do you think the odds would be that a clown or mime would be present? Well, I’m just sayin’…But like the Bible says, “When words are many, sin is not absent…” Proverbs 10:19. Ah well, some lessons are hard-learned.
As for clowns, I think the only thing creepier is maybe a demon-possessed ventriloquist’s dummy or wait–a clown HOLDING a demon-possessed ventriloquist’s dummy. Or, bigger still: a middle-aged male clown w/sagging makeup, bloodshot eyes, razor stubble, holding a demon-possessed ventriloquist’s dummy, and both have black widow spiders and a few scary-looking scorpions dancing in and out of the pockets. I think that just about paints the picture, don’t you? Oh and soggy brussel sprouts and liver thrown in somewhere.
Wow - that’s a great story! Makes me glad I never chose to wear panty hose…
You have a pretty scary, and vivid imagination as well. Hard to top what you’ve described there re: creepiness. Only thing I might add is the clown and dummy are in the back of an unmarked van handing out candy to kids…
Okay you win.
That is sooo funny! I could picture the three of you! BTW, Philip and you could spend a good amt of time discussing mimes being the lowest form of entertainment…