Being a clown is no laughing matter.
An amusement park is a place of happiness, a carefree escape from the daily grind. But if your life is spent making sure other people have fun, then having fun is the daily grind.
Along with a grind like that imagine doing it in pancake makeup or as the back end of a horse and you’ll see why the laughter of children gets old pretty fast.
Now top all that off with a boss who doesn’t give a rat’s ass for the craft of clowning and zero job security, because sure as shit, if an investigation into that incident doesn’t close the park, then any day now some developer’s going bulldoze it to make way for 500 self-storage units so a group of assholes can delay the inconvenience of having to throw away their fucking beany baby collections!
It’s bad enough being a clown without being a cliché too, but sometimes you just can’t hold in the tears, and to a little punk, the only thing funnier than your tears of impotent rage is the look on your face after they’ve just punched you in the balls.