I don't like clowns, it's as simple as that. I find them disturbing at best and tend to suspect them all of either being alcoholic child molesters or insect-like Lovecraftian monsters. The words cute and or funny have no association to these fiends; and as I understand it, I am not alone in this neurosis. Many people seem to find clowns unpleasant, the reason for this is unknown to me, but I suspect it has something to do with the bright colors and baggy clothes, how they could seem enticing to children and yet leave the human(?) behind the clown enough anonymity to carry out their evil deeds with no fear of being caught. While placing clowns in a child's room is a time honored decorating choice, one can not ignore the other associations made by Steven King and John Wayne Gacy. The Animaniacs, and the Simpsons both had episodes featuring this fear. This, I think is no accident, the damn things are creepy... in a bad way. Several years ago I was in a local theatrical makeup and costume store to look for some hard to find makeup items. I walked up to the counter, to ask a question somehow not noticing what was there already. A clown, in full regalia arguing with the slightly effeminate clerk behind the counter. The horrid thing was insisting that it needed a "blue one" as "yellow one" was not sufficient, and apparently the time it would take to order one was not satisfactory either. I stood there like a deer caught in headlights, unable to retreat, and barely able to speak when the annoyed salesperson asked if he could help me. I placed the item I was clutching on the counter, asked if they had any in black, and tried to back out of the situation when the answer was no... but it was too late.

Apparently it thought I was attractive, because it started hitting on me, and went so far as to ask if I had plans for the evening. Who would try and pick someone up in a clown costume? What kind of psycho was this? I feigned a time-constraint, and left as quickly as I could, got in my car and headed away from the place. Just when my heart was slowing down and I was starting to feel the panic bleed away, the car next to me honked it's horn. I tired to ignore it, but it wouldn't stop. I turned, and driving an old hatchback with a faded silver paintjob was the clown, waving at me. I stepped on the gas and the chase was on, which was difficult in the bumper to bumper traffic. I was near full-on panic, it was like a bad nightmare.

Eventually I managed to shake him by getting on the interstate. The whole incident had almost seemed silly in the mellow glow of the calm that followed, but then I realized that most guys who ask you out and you turn down won't start waving at you in traffic afterwards. Perhaps I had taken the most advisable course of action at the time, is there something really wrong with these people? Well, I may never know, but I feel safer assuming that there is and acting on that assumption.