Serving a Clown

I am a process server, or at least I used to be. My job was to find people that were trying to avoid legal responsibilities and serve them summonses and subpoenas so they couldn't just ignore the courts anymore. Sometimes my job sucks, like when I have to give bad news to good people who are down on their luck. Other times, I have the coolest job in the world; when some cheap bastard tries to dodge the law and stiff good people the money he owes them, I get to be the hero that serves him signed, sealed and notarized justice. The worst of them always try the hardest to hide from me, and that means I get to put my skills to the test, and I got mean skills, bro.

Not unlike Batman, I use ingenius disguises to lull the dodgers into a false sense of security. I've posed as a business client, a tourist, a mechanic.. this one time, I wore a set of doctors scrubs and a lab coat, and walked right into a clinic and served some jerk who was there waiting to get plastic surgery on his face (probably trying to change his identity). As I strolled out of the place someone asked me if I was a doctor and as I exited, I announced, "No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night!" The joke's a little dated now, but at the time it was glorious.

About a month ago, everything changed. My boss at the time did not like me. He had some stick up his ass about the dignity of the job and he seemed to think I didn't take my work seriously enough. He wanted to fire me, but he couldn't unless I messed up a job, and I never did. He'd keep giving me the toughest targets to try and trip me up, but I always found a way to get to them. Hell, I loved the challenge, so I'd rub my victory in his face and dare him to give me something harder. Then Stevens quit, and the boss gave me a summonses he had failed to deliver. I didn't really know Stevens but I knew there were only two reasons people quit this job; Either he couldn't find or reach the target and gave up, or he didn't have the heart to ruin somebody's day. I guessed it was the latter.

Donning my most sympathetic jacket and tie, I headed to the address given and rang the doorbell of a bright pink cottage in a quiet suburban neighborhood. "Knock, knock." I took a moment to process the strange greeting from the other side of the door. The voice repeated, "Knock, knock."
I replied, "Who's there?"
"Stepped Imp."
"Stepped Imp who?" The moment I uttered the words, a nozzle poked out through the mail slot in the door and the voice proclaimed,
"Then let me clean your shoes off."
A wide spray of cold water drenched my shoes and my pants all the way up to my waist. There I stood looking for all the world like I'd pissed myself with an overfilled bladder as peals of laughter seeped through the door. Angrily I shouted who I was, who I'd come for, and what I and the state would do to him if he didn't open the door immediately. The laughter stopped, which I took as a good sign, then the nozzle in the door pointed up towards my face, which I took as a very bad sign.

My reflexes were quick enough that I only recieved a light dousing before I was clear of the hose. I squelched my way back to my car and drove home to dry off and regroup my thoughts. That night, I came back to the pink house with a plan. If this prankster wasn't going to let me in, I had to find out who he would admit, and I was going to find that answer in his garbage. Under a few banana peels and paper towels, I found the answer. The freak had recently thrown out half a dozen empty jars and bottles of makeup. Maybe he had a girlfriend living with him, or maybe he wore the stuff himself, either way, makeup was going to get me through that door.

As I mentioned before, I've worn a lot of disguises in my job. One of the disguises that I put the most work into got me close enough to serve some rich chump who didn't want to let his ex-wife see their kids. The guy had a big fence in front of his property and the only people he was letting in were prospective nannies he was interviewing to watch after the afore mentioned kids. With no small influence from Mary Poppins and Mrs. Doubtfire, I got past the fence and got the documents in the man's hands by making myself look like a stockier version of supernanny. I got the wig, the makeup, the skirt suit and heels, and the sucker never saw me coming. I even carried an umbrella to help me put off that Poppins vibe (this turned out to be very wise, as said umbrella helped me fend off the dogs he sent after me as I left the premises (rich bastard)).

The next morning, I dug the old getup out of my and prepared my assualt. Some Nair on my arms and legs, and a close shave to start. Natural looking makeup to soften my features and press-on nails the feminize my hands. Nude pantyhose, granny panties, and a white ruffled blouse, then the navy blue matching skirt, jacket, and one inch pumps to complete the ensemble. A brown wig tied in a bun and bobby pinned to my head, a rolling suitcase, and at last, I was the Avon lady. I stuck the summons inside an actual Avon pamphlet and drove my car back to the neighborhood of the pink house. I parked a few blocks away from it, so I could be seen walking towards the house and be assumed to be on door to door rounds. Rolling my empty suitcase behind me, I marched confidently back up to the door of the pink cottage, rang the bell, and announced in a light and cheerful feminine tone, "Avon calling."

I heard movement on the other side of the door, but no response, so I inquired, "Hello, is anyone at home?" "Nobody here but us chickens." I laughed charitably and said, "Oh good, you are there! Sir, if I could just have a moment of your time, I'd like to tell you about some exciting new products we have and some amazing deals we can offer you." This was met with silence, so I sang out my best bluff, "I have free samples." The door opened immediately.

Standing in the doorway was a clown. Reminiscent of Harpo Marx with a white face and pink lips, the clown honked bicycle horn at me while I stared dumbly. When I found my voice, and remembered to make it feminine, I asked him if his name was that of the man I was to serve. The clown shook his head, but pointed inside the house and gestured an invitation. I timidly entered, rolling my suitcase in behind me and searching for my mark. In the next room, I found him. Sort of. The room was full of clowns. I knew what the summons recipient looked like, but brightly colored wigs, bulbous red noses, and heavy greasepaint obscured everyones' faces. I couldn't even ignore the female clowns, as I had proved that a man could pass as female if he knew what he was doing. I would have to get close to each of their faces to be sure they weren't who I was looking for.

As I was the newcomer to the room, all eyes were on me, and I felt obligated to introduce myself. "Well, hello everyone! My, what a treat! I knew I'd find a makeup user here, but I never imagined I get to meet so many mirth-makers all gathered together. My name is Pam, and I am your friendly neighborhood Avon lady!" With my introduction given, I waited patiently for their response. With any luck, one of them would give themself away as the owner of the place, and I could serve him and run. A likely suspect planted his giant shoes and rose to greet me. "Welcome Miss Pam, to our secret circus strategizing sideshow. We have all gather here today to come up with a new routine for our next season under the big top. Tell me, Miss Pam, are you a frequenter of fairs that feature facetious fools such as ourselves?"
"What? Oh, well, I haven't been to the circus since I was a little girl." Off put, but determined to find answers I forged on. "Are you the owner of this residence?"
"No, Miss Pam, I do have the honor of being Boss Clown, but this is Binky's tent."

'Ha!' I thought to myself, now I just have to figure out which one is Binky. I started to ask, "And which one of y-" "Miss Pam, now that you are here, maybe you could help us come up with some ideas for skits. What do you find funny?" "Oh, I don't know-" "But of course we couldn't ask you to tell us anything without offering you a drink first, have a glass of water and sit down." A possibly female clown handed me a tall glass of ice water, and as I accepted it and took a sip, another clown pushed a large cushioned chair into the back of my knees, forcing me to take an abrupt seat and tilting the glass of water. A hidden hole in the glass sent a stream of cold right down my blouse, causing me to yelp in surprise. The group of clowns chuckled at my expense, but after a moment to recover, I joined them, feigning good humor.

The Boss Clown told me with an appeasing tone, "The dribble glass, a classic prank, but not big enough to entertain a real crowd, I'll take that away and get you a real glass." He extended an expectant hand to me, but as he was well out of reach, I hand to stand up. As I did so, I felt a brief at my waist and looked down. My skirt still lay on the cushion of the chair, apparently glued. I dropped the glass, covered the front of my granny pants with my hands and quickly sat back down, relieved at least that I had tucked beforehand and my gender had not yet been outed. As my backside fell upon my lost skirt, a loud flatulent sound was emitted. The clowns guffawed as my cheeks burned and I pulled the whoopie cushion from beneath the chair cushion. I glared at the Boss Clown and amid snorts he uttered, "Another set of classic jokes made new by your wonderful reactions Miss Pam; Bravo! Mindy, please fetch Miss Pam a new skirt; we cant let her stay indecent."

Before I could protest, my chair was tilted back and my dangling feet were threading into a bright pink, frilly fishtail skirt. During this operation, my modest navy pumps were removed and replaced with a pair of lime green platform ankle boots. When my chair was righted, I tried to stand, but the combination of the knee restricting fishtail and the unfamiliar platforms sent me crashing back into my seat. Another explosive fart noise left me cringing in embarrassment as the clowns openly pointed at me and laughed.

"Would you like another drink?" asked the Boss Clown. Movement at my side caused me to look right and receive a faceful of seltzer that knocked my wig off. This revelation caused gasps at first, but then the clowns convulsed with laughter and some of them even started rolling on the floor. I just sat there; terrified that my exposure may have cost me any chance of completing my objective. Just then, I felt a heavy goo seeping into my hair. I turned around to see the Harpo-like clown holding a long, curly, purple haired wig in his left hand, and an upturned bottle of glue in his right hand over my head. I planted my hands on the chair and rose to escape, but the Harpo clown quickly pulled the clown wig over head before i could get anywhere. I tried to pull the wig off, but only managed to make it slightly askew before the glue gripped it tightly to my head. "Well done, Binky!" said the Boss Clown between bursts of laughter, "that ought to keep our friend's new wig where it belongs!"

Binky! My target had been the first clown all along! In my own voice, I shouted my official proclamation over the fading laughter and served the wretched clown his summons. Binky slowly accepted the papers and lowered his head in exaggerated shame. Vindicated and victorious I turned to bid the Boss Clown a bitter goodbye. I should never have turned around.

Each of the clowns held thick cream pies, and looked more than ready to avenge their now served comrade. The first pie caught me in the mouth, stifling my adieu. The next covered my left eye, the third my right eye, and the fourth my chest. Not even bothering to wipe my face clean, I hobbled and stumbled towards the door. Upon reaching it, I shook an eye clear so that I could see and operate the knob. As I pulled it open, I received a splat on the back and kick in the buns, but I didn't even bother to turn around. I was out and I wasn't going to subject myself to another minute with these clowns.

After hobbling all the way to my car amid the stares of the neighborhood, I drove home and cleaned up. I threw my entire getup into a trash bag and was about to toss it out when I noticed a scrap of paper in the mess. It was the summons; they had glued it to my back as I was leaving, and I had never obtained proof of delivery.

Along with the summons, there was a note which read 'Hilarious performance! If you want to join the troupe, call this number' followed by the number mentioned. I went back to the pink house, but the clowns were long gone. I called my boss to try to explain things, but he finally had what he needed to fire me, and he did. The job search has since not gone well. I'm unemployed in a bad economy with only one prospective job offer, and it's written on a note spattered with glue and cream pie.