Helloween

My life had come to this. I was going to asphyxiate in the smoke filled room an arms length away from a Barbie radio that could have saved my life. Did I mention that I was dressed as a wizard?
The talent agency had hired me to tell stories at a Halloween party. An event production company needed someone to tell some fairy stories for one of their parties. The agency asked me if $300 for 30 minutes would be enough. After my tongue crawled back into my head, I said as calmly as I could, “Yes, that will be sufficient.” They asked me if I would wear a costume. For that much, I'd wear a dress. The client ended up making a counter offer for a sum that was less, but still almost criminal. They booked me for two parties: one on Friday night and another on Saturday. Both parties were located, of course, in some of the richest parts of town.
The first one was in the Museum district. I passed by the valet parking and parked my own car. Valet parking for a party! Woof! I made my way to the back as per my instructions. I was supposed to meet the coordinator, Mark. One of the many wait-staff led me into the kitchen. Mark had the dapper outfit, short grey hair and lisp of someone who had scored high on flower arrangement and interior decorating on his career aptitude tests. I could tell that he was the man in charge because he was already drinking heavily. “Eight o'clock, already?” he asked looking at his watch. “Here's the costume,” he said passing a small package of black nylon and a pointy hat with silver stars on it to my guide. “Take him upstairs.”
Downstairs of the house was darkened. The kids were running around poking the waitstaff dressed as Frankenstien with their pitchforks. The staff was playing with them as well, saying, “Kill the Children!” in menacing tones. The waiter led me upstairs to a little girls room. We past the lacy ghost hanging from the stairwell ceiling with the strobe light behind it. A smoke machine periodically spewed out creepy smoke into the stairwell. The walls were decorated with teddy bears and a wrought iron bed took up most of the space in the middle. A wooden doll house complete with wooden people and cars lay spread out on one of the tables. The Barbie radio lay next to it. The waiter left me to change in privacy. The costume was one of the prepackaged wizards outfits, black nylon with silver trim. I hoped it was short enough. If it were too long, that would be a problem. It was just about right. I'd arrived early, so I sat in the wooden rocking chair to warmup my voice and relax a bit.
That's when the smoke from the machines outside began billowing in. It arrived in great clouds and lingered in the air so thick that I could barely see the windows across the room. I could breathe alright, but I had the odd sensation that I should be dancing and industrial music should be thumping through the air. Unfortunately, all I heard was the sound of the children terrorizing the waitstaff, “Get them guys!” they rallied the troops.
“No one go upstairs,” the staff pleaded with the kids as they tried to fortify their positions upstairs. The kids begrudgingly returned to the land of light to leave the storyteller to panic. Kids running around poking adults is not a good omen.
Eight o'clock rolled around. I comforted myself that thirty minutes passes quickly and that when it was over, I'd have $200 in my pocket.
I carefully negotiated my way down the stairs. Between my heavy boots, the long cloak and the flashing of the strobe lights, I'm lucky that I made it down without cracking my skull in a tumble.
I had forgotten to ask the coordinator where I was supposed to be performing. I assumed it was in the living room that I'd seen on my way up.
“Come on kids, I've got some magic tricks to show you and some stories to tell.” The kids cautiously rallied around a sofa in the living room. I showed them a few slight of hand tricks that I know with a string. Two boys in the back started booing and giving me the thumbs down sign. “That's the worst trick I've ever seen,” they opined. A few more boos from some of the younger boys imitating them. The coordinator burst into the room, “No, not here, outside,” he said pointing to the patio next to the house.
“Come on kids! Let's go outside!” I tried to be as enthusiastic as possible. We got settled outside. They had me performing in front of the bar. The kids were sitting on miniture red plastic chairs that had been gathered around sugar cookie stations where they decorated the cookies. Great! They'd been eating sugar for hours before I showed up.
I showed them some more tricks and received a rousing round of boos from some of the older kids. “How about a story?” Some of them, true to form, exclaimed “No!” I started with a mild Halloween story. Somewhat scary, but no ghosts to offend any sensitive parents. Some of the kids left and others stayed sinking into the experience. Loud music flooded the yard so I had to tell as loudly as I could. I finished the first one. More boos peppered the responses. I'd been hired to tell fairy stories, magical tales of wonder. “Screw that!” I said to myself. “I'm going to scare the holy Hell out of these little monsters. I want them to go to bed tonight so scared that they pee in their Ralph Loren pajamas.” I started with the Gold Arm, an oldie but goody jump story. By the time I came to the end, the kids were hanging on my words and the spiteful comments were less and less. When I jumped out at them, one little girl jumped so much that her mock cocktail spilled all over her princess outfit. “Too bad,” I maliciously thought. Sweat was running down my neck and had begun to gather on my face. Yes, October in Houston and it was still in the eighties during the day and the seventies at night. The next one wasn't as scary, but a good story that I could scare them at least a little with. In the middle, a three year old with a Spiderman costume walked toward me with a plastic devil's pitchfork. He walked past the chairs and poked me in the thigh with it. I waved a finger at him and continued. Near the end of the story, a ghost pulls out a long, sharp silver knife. A boy dressed as a pirate gave me his plastic knife. I hid it in my sleeve and pulled it out at the appropriate moment. It added to the verisimilitude quite well. I finished with a few more scary stories. They clapped when I was done. My throat felt like I'd gargled with paving stones and my nerves were jumbled. Still, it was over. No staying afterward and chumming it up with the kids. I'd paid my time and now it was time to collect my money and leave. On the way toward the staircase, a little girl stopped me and said something. I couldn't hear her so I bent over. “You're the worst storyteller ever,” she reported.
“That's nice,” I said. “Happy Halloween to you.” I made my way as quickly as possible to the stairs. In the room, I ripped off the costume, folded it and placed it in the bag. I was going to wait until the kids cleared out a bit to preserve the magic that I was actually a wizard come to tell them stories, but then I thought, “No way! They don't deserve the magic. I'm getting the hell out of here.” I walked downstairs and toward the back where I thought that Mark would be. On my way out, one of the ruder children said, “You were the wizard who told stories.”
“No, that was my brother,” I said keeping a brisk walk to the kitchen. By this time, Mark had hidden in the garage surrounding himself with wait-staff and tamales. I gave him the costume.
“How was it?” he asked.
In a moment, scenes of iron maidens, hot pokers, and cat-o-nine tales flashed through my mind. The torture of sorcerers, witches, and warlocks by robed priests followed. “They were a little rambunctious,” I replied. “You know how kids can get.”
“See you tomorrow night,” he said. “It will be a lot lighter, more pink, more Wiccan.” I wondered if I would have to test whether little witch children float in swimming pools.
I left as quickly as I could reflecting on the experience. If someone pays you a million dollars to eat a turd sandwich, two things are true. First, you will eat a turd and no amount of condiments will hide that fact. Second, you will walk away with a million dollars. I walked away with breath that was a little stinky and a pocket that was a little lighter than a million dollars.

p.s.

The next night's job was much better. Beforehand, I ate loads of multi-flavored jelly beans (my favorite) to remind myself that the world was a good place. Afterward, my faith in humanity was at least partially restored. Huzza! for little kids.
- posted by Brian Herod @ 10:32 PM