The Ketchup and the Clown by Jarod Kintz

The Ketchup and the Clown

by Jarod Kintz

As he sat across from me, his eyes were somewhat misty and sparkled with the light, which was odd, because I still held my squirt gun pointed at him under the table. I hadn't felt the need to use it. Not yet, anyway. But this clown was potentially dangerous, and I don't think he was prepared for me to make his mascara run the instant I felt provoked.

            On the table between us sat a manila envelope, and the way his fingers tapped on it while his mouth smirked beneath that big, red nose of his, I knew he thought it held something valuable. But what, exactly, was in there? Did he have pictures linking a Rothschild to Roswell, in an illuminati/extraterrestrial conspiracy theory for world domination? No, this guy wasn't that intelligent. Did he have pictures of me eating cheese and crackers with Bigfoot in a forest just north of Seattle, which he planned on releasing to the media in the hopes of ruining my political career? Highly unlikely. The Mythical Mr. Boo (otherwise known as Bigfoot) and I took great care to ensure that we were not being followed that day. So what then?

            At that moment, our waitress, Debbie, asked us if we were ready to order. I said I'd have the meatloaf, and asked if she could bring a bottle of ketchup with that. She asked me what two sides I wanted. I said I'd take the east and the west, if she'd cover the front and the rear. Then I winked at her, subtly, of course. That was our signal to move the men into position. You see, Debbie, whose full name is Deborah Ivana Pavlovich, is an ex-KGB agent, who's now on my payroll.

            "No, Sir, I meant what two sides with your meal. You get your choice of broccoli, mashed potatoes, and green beans."

            "Oh," I replied, "just give me some mashed potatoes with lots of gravy. And can I get some gravy on my meatloaf as well? I just love gravy. Forget family, gravy is the best part about Thanksgiving."

            Gravy was our predetermined codeword for "move into position."

            "And for you, sir?" Debbie asked the clown.

            "Do you have any kids' meals?"

            He would ask for a kid's meal, wouldn't he? I'm just glad he didn't order a pie, or he'd probably be wearing it in a few minutes. Yes, things could get messy in a moment. But, as is the case when you couple a treadmill (me) with some stairs (our clown friend), things often escalate. And this clown could find himself in a rather sticky situation.

            Then I heard a crash from the front table, and a loud, thunderous boom from the back of the restaurant. Before I was fully oriented to the situation, Special Agent Orange had tackled the clown and was handcuffing him.  

            "Good work, Agent Orange. I think you've managed to scar him for life, and I couldn't be more proud."

            As I stood up from the table, I grabbed the manila envelope and strode out the door. Flipping through the contents on the sidewalk outside, I suddenly felt terribly embarrassed. What I was looking at were pictures of the clown working different Birthday parties, and his resume. "Crap," I thought. I forgot today was little Johnny's Birthday. Maybe if I rushed to the mall, I could still pick up a present and be back home in time for the party.