The stuff nightmares are made of

Do you ever get nightmares about work? As an actor, I grew up with the "actor's nightmare" --- the dream that puts you on stage without knowing any lines. This kind of thing is common. It's the dream where nothing goes right, where everything that could go wrong does go wrong. When I started working for this company, I started to get nightmares about what would happen if everything went wrong. If I wasn't prepared, or if the children didn't respond. Sometimes I have bad days at work, but they're never as bad as the ones in my nightmares.

Until today.

Today's party was surreal. Another Halloween-themed party, the day after Halloween (oh, goody). Now, the Halloween party is a little juvenile. It requires suspension of disbelief. I have to tell stories about imaginary characters and act like witches and vampires are real. For little kids, they are real. But once you hit nine or ten, or if you're just a jaded rebellious pain in the ass, this party becomes downright stupid. My first warning bell was that the birthday child in question was nine years old. That's a little old for this kind of thing. But... okay! I was feeling good, because the party also was only supposed to have ten kids. Easy peasy, despite the cotton candy add-on. (Cotton candy is the worst add-on to a party. It's sticky, it's messy, and the equipment is heavy as hell. Also, kids are assholes about it and pretend to get sugar rushes. They think it gives them the right to act like monkeys. But anyway.)

One thing the mother did NOT tell me, however, is that the birthday child is mentally handicapped. I would have liked to know this prior to him coming into the room at the start of the party. I've done parties for autistic children before, or children with mentally and physically handicapped siblings/friends. I just like to KNOW. I like to know what's expected from the child, if their behavior is going to be out of the ordinary, or specific ways how to handle the child----warnings about what they can and cannot do, etc, notes on their attention span, etc. Is that too much to ask for? But no, not a word from mom! Birthday boy was loud, restless, and irritating. He couldn't control himself, and continued to get up and wander around behind my table to look at my equipment and TOUCH my equipment----something that is not allowed. He wouldn't budge when I asked him. He wouldn't budge when I told him. I don't blame him. He doesn't understand. But I would have appreciated parental assistance in handling this kid. I barely got any.

AND YET, our mentally-handicapped friend was not my problem. I can handle a child like that. I could NOT handle all his snotty friends. Only ten kids. Should have been easy. But remember what I said about this party being a little juvenile? At the start of the party, I let the kids know that I'm going to be telling some stories, so it's just fun to roll with it and pretend along with me, even if you may not think it's true.

LOL.

These kids were bastards. They were skeptics. They were at that age where challenging authority is cool. There's a huge difference between questioning something out of curiosity and being a bitch just because you can be. Yes, I have a balloon the size of an egg. Yes, I'm telling you that it's a vampire. Look, I drew a face on him! Just roll with it. Don't be an asshole and tell me it's a balloon and the fangs are magic marker and that I'm stupid. I just want to get through the experiment and move on. Every single act went like this. I present a story, I get called on my bullshit, or Birthday Boy toddles up to the table and starts grabbing things he shouldn't grab and lo, reveals the secret of the magic trick. Or, while I'm in the middle of something, another kid wanders to the corner where I have things HIDDEN and starts pointing at it and going OMG WHAT IS THAT. These kids were contrary, they were rude, they made every act take longer because all they did was argue with me----or raise their hands to say really obnoxious stuff when I think they have an actual answer.

Children TOUCHED the dry ice. I was halfway through my spiel about how dry ice is dangerous. I was holding it with gloves, telling them not to touch, when the child beside me reaches out when I'm looking the other way. And touches it. He then has the audacity to say "It's not cold!" to everyone around him. I very seriously stop the party to let them know that this is a serious safety warning and that touching it is very dangerous. I let them know that they can experience it by blowing on it and watching the carbon dioxide gas come off of it. The third kid to do this sneaks a hand under my hands while blowing and TOUCHES IT AGAIN. "It's not cold at all!" he says. You want to know why you don't feel the cold? Because it's so cold that it's killing the nerves in your fucking fingers, you idiot. How much do you want to bet I'm going to get a call like this is my fault?

But oh. Oh. OH, the final straw.

I was making cotton candy, and some kids stood on their chairs in order to be tall enough to see what was going on inside the bowl. I didn't mind that. The parents said it was okay and they weren't trying to touch anything. But then the kid beside and slightly behind me snaps out a hand and knocks my cute bat deely-boppers OFF OF MY HEAD. Not like a child who is curious and grabs because they don't know any better, but like a disrespectful, obnoxious ten-year-old brat trying to be an asshole. This is akin to walking up to a clown and tearing off their red nose, or kicking a balloon-seller in the shins just because you think it's funny. I was ready to cry. I was ready to lose my mind.

You ever see party entertainers in movies or on TV where they're abused and it's funny? Fuck you! It's sad. Next kid who touches my deely-boppers is getting hit with a sock full of rocks.



Homey don't play that.

Um, hello?

The label for this says "birthday parties." That's not really true. Every once in a blue moon I do a party that's not a birthday. For example, we have Halloween-themed parties that are often used as birthdays in October. Sometimes they're just Halloween costume parties. It's fun to see all the kids in their costumes----you can always count on a few Transformers, a Spider-Man, a Batman, a ninja, and one or six of the Disney Princesses.

Today was Halloween! I had a party at 4:45, which struck me as a little odd (and not just because when I booked it, I was told by my boss it was at 1:45). Weren't these kids trick-or-treating? Or did they hire me as a substitute now that their whitebread upper-middle-class neighborhood was full of pedophiles and killers who want to give their kids apples with razorblades? As it turned out, I was not a substitute. I was a time-filler. I was the appetizer before the meal. I was the sideshow before the circus.

Were the kids rowdy? Yeah. I was also told there would be 15 kids. There were 20. Yay! Fuck you. They were rowdy, and there were a bunch of older kids (12+) who were mouthy, who set a bad example, and who goofed around in a mocking way----which doesn't get the younger kids in an excited-for-science mood. All in all, the party went OKAY. Not that badly, but not something to write home about. The kids didn't care! Of course not! All they cared about was going out and getting candy afterward.

Apparently, that was all ANYONE cared about, because the second my party was over, everyone left. Twenty kids and all the parents, including the host mother. They all left. LEFT. They closed me in the basement and left. They went trick-or-treating. I cleaned up alone, thinking it was awful weird to not get a follow-up from anybody. Half an hour later I went upstairs and opened the basement door. The host dad was enjoying some wine with his friend and was freaked out that SOMEONE was in his home.

He forgot I was here, too! Fortunately their invoice was paid, and Dad and Dad's Friend helped me take my stuff back to the car. Dad also tipped me in a check because Mom left for trick-or-treating without tipping me in the cash that he'd apparently given her. The fact that I walked out with a tip stunned me. I hate Halloween parties. I then went to a grown-up Halloween party, directly after. My costume was an Overworked & Underpaid Professor.

Happy Halloween

Dear Party Mom:

I did your party on Saturday afternoon. You put me in the room the size of a bathroom and expected fourteen kids to cram in there with me and my table and all my equipment. You introduced me to your pets, you helped me out, you were friendly and chatty. The party was a lot of fun! The kids were enthralled and asked a lot of questions. I was surprised! It was a costume party, and all the kids were high on sugar and candy and the aftermath of going through a homemade haunted house. You tricked out the whole yard with Halloween activities. I don't even want to know how much it cost. Sure, a couple of the kids ducked out the back door to mess around in the yard for a couple of minutes when the dry ice went on for a little long----because most of the kids were really into blowing the carbon dioxide gas off of the cauldron. The kids had a great time despite being completely overstimulated with all these other things. Never once did I hear "I'm bored" or "When is it over?" or "I wanna make goo now" or "When are we gonna have fun?"----all of which I get from kids who can't sit still for an hour, no matter WHAT is going on.

I was feeling good when you helped me clean up. We talked about your pets, about my other job. You asked me about all the extra equipment in my kits, and I said I don't use it all for the show. I also held up a funny neon-green alien cup that has nothing to do with Halloween and said I don't know what this is for, because ... I don't. We laughed about it. You helped me carry my things to my car, you asked me how long I've been doing this. I told you two years, and I haven't done a Halloween party in a while. You know, a while, because it's Halloween. And it's seasonal. I don't get to do them often. But I'd just done one a few hours before.

You tipped me over thirty dollars, and I went home feeling like my work for the day had been completed with satisfaction.

So it really surprised me when my boss called me today to let me know that you'd called the office. You told him that you weren't satisfied with the party. You said that the kids were bored. You said I didn't know my equipment, and that the company gave her someone inexperienced because I haven't done the Halloween party in a long time. You said I seemed dissatisfied with the equipment.

But you said I was nice. So thumbs up to you.

My boss called me to yell at me today. My boss made me cry because of what you said. Because I thought I poured my heart into this performance, and I thought we were innocently chatting. I thought you were happy. You seemed happy. The kids seemed really happy. Everyone seemed happy. So I was shocked. Really. And betrayed. And offended that you would take the offhand things I said while cleaning up after the party and use it as ammunition against me for no apparent reason. You didn't want a refund, you didn't want to make me send back my tip. You made a point to tell my boss that you tipped me very well.

I don't know what your reasoning was. But my boss isn't mad at me, so you know. He yelled at me and I explained what I said, and he's convinced my version of events is correct. Do you want to know why? I've been there two years. Only one other performer has been there longer than me. We have a high turnover rate. Most performers don't last two months. They come in, thinking it's easy. They can't handle it. They walk out without finishing their afterschool sessions. They flake out. They balk. They run. They can't handle the kids. They can't handle the equipment. They can't handle the responsibility of getting places on time, planning itineraries, customizing performances for different groups and ages, memorizing scripts, being able to improvise, disciplining children in a school setting, keeping kids controlled in a birthday party setting, making confirmation calls to parents, making sure payments are made and delivered, keeping track of equipment, taking care of equipment, lugging equipment and loading and unloading and setting up and cleaning up and doing it all with energy, ease, enthusiasm, and grace.

You didn't get an inexperienced performer, lady. You got one of only three or four performers able to do the Halloween specialty party. At the party before yours, I was told by parents that they'd seen other performers from my company and I was head and shoulders above the rest. You got the best of the best. You know why? Because I give a damn. Because what you said to my boss, even when he wasn't angry at me, made me cry for half an hour. Because I felt betrayed by you. Because I don't just brush this shit off, take my thirty dollar tip, and go on to another day at the races. I care. I care about you, I care about your kids, and I care about giving you the best damn party I can. And when you're not happy, I don't sleep.

So in the end, my boss is right: I won't be chatting up customers again. It may be friendly, but I don't know what you're really hearing.


Kait.

Study in Contrasts

In addition to after-school programs, I also perform at birthday parties. This Saturday, I had two very different groups of kids and two very different experiences. The outline of my day goes like this: I take a bin full of materials to your home or other location of your choice. I arrive half an hour early, I set up, I wait for everyone to be ready (ideally at the scheduled time) and then I do my show. I finish my show, I pack up, I take your payment----and hopefully a tip----and either go home or to the next party. I have had birthday parties that leave me feeling ridiculously good about myself, and I've had parties that make me question all my life choices. I've been tipped as much as $70 and as little as... nothing. (Please tip me. That $200-$500 you spent on this party? About $30 of that goes to me. You have no idea how hard this job is.)

So, Saturday:

The first party was at a rustic rented hall, about twenty kids. Mostly eight-year-old boys who decided it would be awesome to chase one another on the hardwood floors in big circles around the table. There were three little girls who huddled off to one side looking scared. The birthday boy was inquisitive and excited, and he couldn't have been happier to have a science party. He kept asking me questions while I was setting up, peppered with little science factoids that he'd learned in school and on the internet. Kid's really into science. Like, seriously. The family doesn't come off as all that wealthy, but since I didn't see their home I have no idea. Parents were incredibly pleasant and accommodating. Lots of kids, and I was scared for my sanity when I saw them running around. However, once it came time to start the show, they all sat down and listened and were really, really involved. They loved it. It went smoothly, I had a great time, and it was probably the easiest time I ever had controlling twenty kids at once. There were several parents there, and they all watched the show too (keep this in mind, it will be important later). For my efforts, I got two slices of pizza, lots of thanks from all the kids, and the dad remembered a $25 tip even though they'd already paid the invoice amount in advance.

The next party was in the basement of a massive brick house. More money than I could ever imagine. I remember being a kid and having friends with houses like this. I wasn't poor when I was a kid, but I definitely didn't have a house like this. It was all shiny and new and insane. Full bar in the basement, fridge and kitchenette, bathroom, living area... I didn't see the REST of the house, but I had a feeling it was all new and shiny and un-lived-in like anywhere else. When I arrived, I had to carry all of my equipment down the street, up the driveway, around the back, and into the storm cellar. My back was killing me (I injured it with birthday parties last year). I had a cotton candy machine to carry as well. All of the parents had drinks in hand and they were all looking at me like "WTF are you here for?" The only one who was remotely welcoming was the father of the birthday child. (As a rule, dads are the best, and always helpful.) Despite the fact that I arrived forty minutes early instead of thirty, the mother still acted like I was late. My setup area was crowded with children playing foosball, driving around toy trucks, and playing with way, way, way, WAY too many toys. All of the parents were chattering and it was ridiculously loud. The birthday girl was shy and it was obvious she really didn't care whether I was a scientist, magician, clown, or whatever. This wasn't about putting on a science show. This was about getting some entertainment to set her party apart from other parties. There was a bounce house in the backyard, too, did I mention that? Halfway through the party parents started chattering to the point where I had to shout to be heard. I had kids asking if it was over yet because they were bored. Keep in mind this was the SAME SHOW as earlier, and I didn't change anything. Different kids, who didn't care. Kids who have too much and are overstimulated. When I was done----all they cared about was me making them cotton candy anyway----the girl opened about a million and a half presents. I made a $15 tip. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because any tip is a good tip, but I tend to make the smallest tips at the places with the most money. I'm also treated the rudest. Mom was not friendly to me. I got the feeling that she thought I was ... help. I don't know. Maybe she was stressed with all those fucking people in her house.

Maybe I'm just going through an economic crisis at the moment. Maybe I'm adjusting to frugal living. Maybe I just hate spoiled kids, but while I was cleaning up, I heard parents talking about another little girl getting a Coach wristlet for her birthday. SEVEN YEARS OLD, getting a designer wristlet. This little birthday girl opened up a Pandora bracelet while I was there. Designer jeans. I was horrified. No wonder these kids didn't care about my dinky entertainment. I can't compete.