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Call for Ban!
by Jim Rose and Melissa
Rossi from "Freaks Like Me"
The border crossing
took eight hours as guards rifled through our equipment, looking
warily at the electrocution machine, string of razor blades,
jumbo-sized needles, meat skewers, a force-feeding tube.
The troupe, except for Lifto's pink hair, looked wholesome
enough, but immigration officers gave us the eye and the third
degree........
"We're a circus,
here to entertain little children," I lied. "Please give us back
those T-shirts and maggots."
Once we were over the border, the unwelcome-wagon treatment
continued. The province of Alberta prematurely bade us adieu,
hastily passing new laws that barred us from playing the clubs
where we'd been booked. Toronto's mayor threatened to boot us
out of her city before we'd even arrived. The whole tour was
teetering on the brink of cancellation, and I wondered if we'd
all meet back in Seattle next week, in the unemployment line.
I didn't care at that moment, though. I didn't care if the press
labeled meJim Rosethe world's most mesmerizing circus troupe
leader, I didn't care if they talked about Lifto's dick swing or
the Tube's bile beer. I didn't care if we got raves or pans, or
if Montreal kicked us out too. I didn't even care if the troupe
disbanded at the next rest stop, smashing my dreams of
reinventing the sideshow.
I just wanted to sleep.
Sitting in the same
place for eleven
hours,........................................... I hadn't slept
in four days, and we had three interviews and two shows that
night. And everybody was snoring but me.
My eyes looked down, questioningly. My mind said no. My legs
said yes. I crawled onto the floor, found a space above the
one-step stairwell that we called the Donkey......Vat, because
of the gunk and freak muck that oozed from it, and curled up
like a dog.
The floor, home to many a spilled beer and Pepsi, was like a
layer of rubber cement. The shocks from this level were worse,
and a bump in the road reverberated through every cell in my
body. I longed for something to lay my weary head on. Lifto's
cowboy boot would have made a tempting pillow, but glued as I
was to the floor in my curled-up form position I was unable to
crawl toward it. Besides, it was too close to the Tube's
malodorous feet.
It was truly a dismal moment in my careerworse than the years
I'd spent professionally exterminating the creatures that Slug
now swallowed for fun. And with one sharp bend in the road that
low, low moment dipped lower. As the rickety van rounded the
curve, the heaping ashtray perched on the seat arm above me went
flying, flipping midair and dumping its contents onto my head.
All stories and photos are
re-printed with the permission of Jim Rose
Photographs
1- Slug: photo by
Alison Braun on news print
2- Slug with pet
cricket on lip: by Mark Van-S
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stories are copyrighted
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1995-2007
Jim Rose and posted here with his express permission,
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