Potato the Clown

by Bryce Kennedy

April 22, 2003

Nothing is more tragic than a sad clown. The irony of tears coursing down a face once so full of merriment could break even the hardest of hearts. But the pain of seeing a sad clown only pales in comparison to the torture of being a sad clown. I experienced this grim truth yesterday in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

The children. The children laughed. Oh how they would laugh! True friends of the clown they are. I would dance around and say, “I’m Potato the Clown. I’m from Potato Town!” Then I would reach into my bag give magical potatoes to all the good Wal-Mart customers. Everyone got a potato, even if they were 20 feet away, facing the other direction. But the joy that I spread made no difference to the store manager, who requested that I stop immediately. “But I’m Potato the Clown,” I said, “I bring merriment to all the children.” She told me that she didn’t care if some of the kids were laughing at me, and that wearing a plastic Ronald McDonald mask didn’t give me the right to run around the parking lot throwing potatoes at her customers. Nothing would melt her heart, not even the magical potato that I threw at her face. She just told me to “sober up” and “get off Wal-Mart property.” Then I was forcefully escorted off the premises, kicking and crying all the way.

Tears of a clown, man. Tears of a clown.