Outwitted by a Clown-Obsessed 14-Year-Old

As much as this pains me to admit, I’ve been outwitted.

By a 14-year-old student.

If you’re an avid reader of my blogs, you’ll notice a common theme running throughout some of them–that theme being my fear of clowns.

I don’t know why I’m afraid of them. I just am. Maybe it stems from my cranky first-grade teacher, who had a classroom full of hundreds of clowns, or maybe it’s because my best friend and I got hit on by a stumbling drunk clown at the state fair while we were in high school.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that I can’t logic out why any grown adult would want to paint their faces, dance around with balloon animals, and work for a pittance, entertaining little kids at lame birthday parties for a living. Frankly, that sounds like the last thing I’d ever want to do.

In my last blog post, I mentioned that one of my students, Daniel, had written “May the clowns be with you…and also with you” on my office whiteboard.

I thought it was amusing.

Little did I know it would lead to me being the butt of one of the most well-planned pranks ever pulled on me.

A few days after blogging about this, I received a comment on my blog from a clown named “Buttons”. It said this:

“Hey! Love the blogs! Your ‘may the clowns be with you’ line made me want to comment. I’m a professional clown from Chicago! If you live anywhere near there it would be my pleasure to do a birthday party or whatever else you need! Get ready to laugh your guts out!”

Oooooh. Bone-chilling terror set in immediately.

How could this be possible? A real live clown found my blog?!

Unbelievable--my nightmares are coming true....

Luckily, Buttons had left an email address and a website. I checked them both out. Yep, she was a legitimate clown from Chicago.

St. Louis is only five hours away from Chicago. Too close for comfort.

Immediately, I texted the whole saga to Daniel, knowing that he would get a kick out of the thought that his comment on my whiteboard actually led to this whole horrible situation. I even texted him a picture of Buttons, from her website.

He laughed and agreed that it was highly creepy. And then he responded that I better hope she doesn’t pass this off to her other clown friends, because I could end up with 10 clowns following my blog.

Then, a few hours later, I received an alert that I had another comment on my blog.

I gulped and slowly signed in, hoping that this newest comment wasn’t from a clown.

No such luck. This one was from “Belle”:

“Just got done talkin with “buttons”! She’s actally my friend from Chicago. Since im located in Michigan City, which is just East of Chicago we actually went through training together..”clown school” if you will! We were talking this evening and hoping that you would write more clown stuff! Us clowns like a good laugh!! Great blogs and God bless!”

Oh, goodness. Two clowns?!

I scoured Belle’s website. She, too, was a legitimate clown.

Immediately, I did what every fearless, confident young adult would do:

I called my parents.

My parents thought the whole thing was hilarious. My mom did caution me, however, to be careful that I didn’t make the clowns mad. As she wisely told me, “The last thing you want to do is offend a whole bunch of clowns.”

That evening, I posted this subject on my Facebook page. Within half an hour, I received several comments from friends, including several unsought but still useful bits of advice–apparently, my friends took this ironic situation as a mark of my ignorance, and felt compelled to educate me with such sage wisdom as this:

“Never let a clown see your fear.”

“Never hand your cell phone to a comedian in mid-act, as he will always find a way to quickly find your mother’s phone number and dial it before you can stop him.”

“Never say goodbye, never wear sunglasses in a building unless you are trying to hide something, and it is better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission.”

Finding it curious that one of my friends implied he had actually had first-hand experience with clowns, I asked him what he meant by his “never let a clown see your fear” comment. He cryptically replied, “Once they get their clown shoe stuck in your door of fear, it’s all over.”

Oh, could it get worse?

As I sat in the darkness of my living room, praying that my website wouldn’t get posted on a clown forum somewhere on the internet, my phone rang.

It was Daniel. The words spilled out before I even had time to ask him what was up:

“Cassie, I don’t want to lie to you. Before you do anything, you need to know that it was me. I posted the clown comments.”

WHAT?!

Me (incredulously): “Yeah, but they were legitimate clown websites! I saw their pictures, and their names! And…and…they left their email addresses!”

Him (apologetically): “Yeah…I knew you would research the clowns to find out if they were really clowns, so I looked up clowns in the Chicago area and tracked down some feasible ones and left their websites so you would trace it back.”

Me (in wonder): “But…the two comments…they were stylistically different–one had correct grammar and punctuation, and capitalization–the other one was full of misspellings and improper grammar…”

Him (proudly): “Yeah, I did that on purpose, too. I knew you would notice that.”

(several moments pass, as I comprehend the hilarity of the situation)

Me: “Why did you tell me now? You could’ve drawn this out for weeks, and made me think that a whole army of clowns was following my blog–why confess now?”

Him: “Well, uhh…I didn’t want you to call the cops or anything…”

At this point, I just lost it and erupted into laughter, tears streaming down my face. And then I hung up on him.

I suppose the tears were from sheer relief, in part. No clowns. The hanging up part was the result of being totally poned by a teenager.

Never fear–we made amends. And I begrudgingly admit this:

Daniel, you won this round.

But the game’s just beginning, friend…

A Cacophony of Strangeness….

Have you ever sat down at your computer and wanted to talk to it?

I mean, really talk to it?

“Hey, friend…I know, you’re sick of this week, too. Tell me about it. I know I’ve been stressing you out with all of my furious typing, the frantic searches for documents, and the endless clicks and jabs I’ve put you through in the last few days. Sorry.”

To which my computer would undoubtably respond, “It’s fine. I’m passive aggressive, and I respond to your abuse by freezing up every time you need something done really quickly. Oh, and that printer error that keeps cropping up? That’s me, too.”

Oh, that vindictive computer of mine.

What can I say? It’s a stinkin’ PC, not a genuis Mac.

All this talk about vindictiveness leads me to my next point–my office whiteboards. I came into work this week to find that one of my students had written boldly across the board, “May the clowns be with you…and also with you.”

Well, that kid is Lutheran, at least. Despite knowing and capitalizing on my inane fear of clowns.

And speaking of fear–I’m pretty sure I met a criminal in my apartment complex. Pint-sized, thankfully. He came up to my shoulder, so he wasn’t too terribly threatening.

Fall in line, now, kiddos...

Let me back up and explain.

I’m apparently the Pied Piper of Oakville. Whenever I step foot outside of our apartment, I get swarmed by whatever kids happen to be around.

I do play the flute, incidentally.

Why? I don’t know. If it was something I could figure out, don’t you think I’d change what I’m doing so that I actually make it to appointments on time instead of constantly battling through a swarm of children, flinging my purse to clear the air of those pesky rascals?

Kidding. I don’t hit them with my purse. That would be child abuse. Duh.

Anyway, on one of those crisp days recently, I decided to take the dogs on a long walk. No sooner had I walked down the length of our apartment building then did a strange young ten-year-old attach himself to me for no apparent reason.

His opening words to me, “Cool dogs. Let me walk one.”

My response: “Thanks. And heck no.”

He proceeded to walk next to me, then, for the next hour. Yep. We walked all around the neighborhood, him wheeling his creaky old scooter next to me as he rambled on about everything that popped into his head. He never once asked who I was, or if I was a serial killer who specialized in capturing small children.

I guess I’m not very threatening, after all.

Anyway, this young fellow told me all about how he’s moved dozens of times in the last few years because his dad keeps finding “new jobs”, how he participated in secret “fight clubs” in Texas and won money, and how he gets “free groceries” wherever he goes because his father is a police officer, and “cops get to eat whatever they want free, all the time.”

When I asked him how he went about getting these “free groceries”, he calmly informed me how to shoplift food from the local supermarket.

Then, he asked me if I wanted to come inside for a glass of chocolate milk–a gallon he had “just grabbed earlier”.

I made a hasty exit. I haven’t seen this young criminal since that fateful day.

And speaking of not seeing something since a fateful day, I recently discovered $11 in cash in my coat pocket.

Ca-ching.

I must be a church worker, if $11 makes me feel rich.

Life. What a cacophony of strangeness….

Please…Don’t Send the Baby to Hunt Me Down! (In Other Words, Failed Attempts on My Life This Week)

I think I’m being hunted.

Seriously.

No, really–this is not one of those times when I’m writing tongue-in-cheek (which would make for a pretty sore cheek, to be perfectly honest). I must have a target on my back. That’s the only feasible explanation I can come up with for the odd events of the last few days.

It is deer season, right?

That’s what I thought. My conspiracy theories seem a little less insane when you remember that thousands of people all over the state are constantly plotting creative ways to trap and kill nice, gentle, peaceful creatures….like me.

When and where did the hunting start? I think it started last Wednesday.

In the course of barely 4 hours, I got hit on by a man with no teeth, discovered my dogs on a sugar-high after mysteriously opening and eating an entire container of peanut brittle I left on the counter, had a squirrel fall off the third story floor of our apartment and land next to me and glare at me–yes, he glared!–and nearly got punched by a cranky grandma at Toys R Us when I grabbed the last squirt gun on the shelf.

Let me guess….you don’t see how that adds up to me feeling like I’m being hunted. Let me break it down for you and explain how each one of these people (um, and animals) made an attempt on my life:

Toothless Man Hitting On Me: he referenced “ordering a keg” to my apartment. My apartment is on the third floor. Clearly, he was trying to get me drunk so he could push me off the balcony to my painful death in the hideous, spider-infested bushes below.

Dogs on a Peanut-Brittle High: they purposely opened and ingested two pounds of peanut brittle just so they could jump an extra six inches higher–which means they can jump up past my waist. They were attempting to cause me to trip and fall while carrying in several bags, which would’ve led to me fall and accidentally stab myself in the throat with my keys.

Fallen Squirrel: The squirrel’s devious attempt to fall three flights down would (and did) cause me to rush over and make sure he wasn’t hurt. He was likely hoping that I’d slip on a leaf and crack my head open on the sidewalk, and slowly bleed to death without being to reach my phone to call for help.

Cranky Grandma Trying to Steal My Squirt Guns: I spent several days searching the entire St. Louis area for toy squirt guns, which are extremely difficult to find in November, by the way. Obviously, the employees at several area Targets, Walmart, Party Cities, and Dollar Tree stores conspired together and figured out that the only logical place I could head on that particular Wednesday afternoon would be Toys R Us. They hired an evil henchman dressed up as an old grandmother, and placed her squarely in front of the squirt gun barrel so I would bump into her while loading up on squirt guns. And they framed it so that the security cameras would make it look like I was the guilty party, when in actuality it was this cranky woman who started chewing me out and getting agitated. It was only due to my stealth and speed that I managed to dart away before she hit me in the face with her overly large purse.

Fine. I didn’t quite convince you that they were out to get me? How about the fact

 that I had 25 middle school students running around last Friday, all aiming for my face while we played a squirt gun game?

Or the fact that I sat down at my desk on Monday morning and ended up getting shot point-blank with the same squirt guns by a trusted co-worker (who henceforth will always be referred to as “The Assassin”, in my mind)?

Deadly weapons, aren't they?

(As a quick aside, I’ve learned that when your co-workers are stressed out–as this normally gentle and easy-going Assassin was, in busily planning Christmas services–it’s definitely not a good idea to leave squirt guns lying around the office. Or balls. Or toy boxing gloves. It never ends well for me.)

You’re still not convinced that I’m being hunted?

Ok, try this one: another co-worker sent her 9-month-old baby after me this afternoon.

Yes. Cunning, I know. Talk about a surprise attack…

I was minding my own business, diligently working on my computer, when I heard her baby crawl over towards me. Expecting to turn around and smile at her, I instead turned around to a sight of complete horror:

She had her paws wrapped around a giant, loaded supersoaker squirt gun. And she had managed to spin the weapon around so that it was aimed directly at me.

As if that’s not unbelievable enough, she then actually gripped the trigger.

I’ve never been so terrified in my life.

Who sends a baby to do what a toothless man, two hyper dogs, a squirrel, a grandmother, 25 teenagers, and a co-worker have failed to do?

Only someone of extreme purpose and dedication.

Gulp.

I guess I’d better watch my back….

Vegas…or A Weekend With Middle Schoolers?

It’s been too long since I last posted. I know, because I’ve heard it from nearly a dozen of you people–”Cassssssie, when are you going to write another post?”

It harkens me back to my days on the mission trip this summer, when I literally got sick of hearing my own name because I heard it so dang often:

“Cassie, what time is dinner?”

“Cassie, where’s my medicine?”

“Cassie, where are we going next?”

Multiply that by 30 kids for 7 days straight, and you get the picture.

So, the reason for my absence from the blogosphere is pretty simple–I’ve been crazy busy. In the last few weeks, I’ve been writing curriculum for our Wednesday night Bible studies, planning a whole slew of winter and spring classes and activities, and putting together our annual Encounter Camp, a giant retreat for our middle school students and their small group  leaders–among the other rigorous duties of my job.

Incidentally, while I was spending my weekend with a slew of middle schoolers busy teepeeing my door at 3:00 am, my brother was at a conference in Vegas, schmoozing it up with cocktails, fancy dinners, and expensive shows.

Hmm...must be nice...

I don’t have the most glamorous job in the world, that’s for sure.

But–sometimes glamor fizzles in the face of unmistakably real, life-shaking events that punctuate my ministry on occasion.

Let me explain.

Our Encounter Camp was incredible this year. It’s always a privilege to work with such wonderful and servant-minded leaders, and I always leave this weekend feeling blessed to interact with so many people.

This year, for only the second time, we had a “Parent Recap”, where we spent half an hour sharing details from the weekend–highlights of where we had seen God working, what we talked about, our favorite things from the Camp, and how parents could help their kids carry that spiritual growth they experienced at Camp with them through their daily life. It was inspiring to see so many parents excited about their kids’ relationship with Christ.

Honestly, I think one of my favorite parts of this whole weekend was simply hanging out with people. I absolutely love getting to know these kids and adult leaders–and it’s been fascinating to watch how the Holy Spirit has worked through them to mold them in the last few years.

I’ve been able to witness first-hand how some of these kids have grown into Godly young adults.

I’ve been privy to conversations about how some of our students didn’t know Christ at all, and now have a thriving relationship with him.

I’ve watched kids cry as they start to comprehend how much their God has done for them for the first time.

I’ve seen boys grow from hashbrown-slinging terrors into young men eager to live meaningful lives of purpose.

I’ve watched girls toss their ridiculous drama aside and strive to live up to their calling as Christian women.

Recently, one of my youth confided to me that when she came into the confirmation program last year, she was a Wiccan. Now, her faith in Christ is so solid that she’s not only rejected all of her old ways, but she’s reaching out to others who are caught up in the same spiral of evil and sharing her testimony with them.

Over the weekend, I saw one of our eighth grade girls stand up and choose to learn about God rather than go to a hockey game and get a backstage pass to meet her favorite hockey player, who’s been her role model for over half her life. Even though her parents drove up an hour and a half to present her with this surprise present, she chose to stay at the Camp and learn more about her God–because, as she put it, “This hockey player is my idol, but he’s not my Savior.”

Additionally, in the last few weeks, I’ve had the absolutely incredible experience of watching two young men start to step into leadership roles. They started out helping in small ways with our Fusion 56 Wednesday night Bible studies, and with a little encouragement, started taking on more and more leadership responsibility. Last week, they both led small groups for the first time–all on their own.

The coolest part? They totally rocked those small groups. The fifth and sixth grade kids were completely enthralled with having these teenagers as teachers. And I was blown away by the teaching ability of these two young men. I mean, seriously–I was floored. I felt like I just stumbled across a buried treasure that was hidden in plain sight, right in front of me all along.

I guess I’m rambling right now…this isn’t exactly my most cohesive and well-planned post. But, it’s a glimpse of what’s swirling around in my mind right now.

Even though my brother may be livin’ it up in Las Vegas, I’m still pretty happy with my weekend and the little rays of sunshine that shine into my life every once in a while.

However, don’t get me started on missing out on the famous Monte Carlo buffet…