Contrary to what some people might presume, being a clown in a Cirque du Soleil touring production is not a job for pansies. “Au contraire!”, one might say…(unless, of course, one doesn’t ‘parles francais’!) Performing slapstick and physical comedy can take its toll on one’s body, and occasionally in the heat of the action, injuries do happen.
Once upon a time, while on tour, I had a medical checkup for an injury which I sustained while doing a show. The appointed doctor happened to also be the official team doctor for a couple of that city’s professional big-league sports teams. So, he had some ‘cred’, as they say. Some ‘attitude’ as well, which you will soon discover.
After checking in at this doctor’s reception desk, I was instructed to take a seat in the very plush waiting room…er…salon, behind me. Before I could finish my complimentary chilled mini-bottle of artesian mineral water, I was ushered down a long hallway to a private examination room. The white walls of this long hallway were an impressive gallery of large, framed colour photos of celebrity sports stars in game action. Sports stars that were obviously past patients, as each photo was personally autographed to this one doctor.
I was deposited into the compact examination room that barely accommodated the cupboard, sink and prerequisite uncomfortable-looking examination bed/table…with stirrups. As I took my designated spot on the folding chair in the corner, the receptionist told me, “The doctor will be with you shortly.”, then she stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. I heard the muffled shuffling of my clipboarded medical chart being dropped into the file holder on the other side of the door.
After a few minutes of silent solitary, my mind began to wander, wondering if I was being watched by a hidden camera. My common sense said, “No. Of course not!”, but, still, some slight doubt convinced me ‘not’ to try the stirrups on for size.
This crazy train of thought was suddenly derailed, interrupted by approaching footsteps, then the muffled shuffling of my clipboarded medical chart being lifted out of the file holder on the other side of the door. A moment later, doctor ‘Fancypants’ entered the room, sporting trendy jeans and a dress shirt with a loosened tie, and a gleeming stethoscope symmetrically draped around his neck.
He was glancing at my medical chart when he appeared from behind the opening door. Then he saw me and froze in his tracks like a deer caught in the headlights. With frowning brows, he re-checked my chart, then without uttering a single word, backed out through the door, softly closing it behind him.
I heard him call down the hallway, “I thought you said there was a performer from Cirque du Soleil in treatment room one.” From a distance, the receptionist responded, “Yes. That’s right.”
Dr. ‘riding-in-on-his-high horse’ re-entered the treatment room. Peering down at me over his half-rimmed reading glasses, he asked skeptically, “Are you really a performer with Cirque du Soleil?”
Well, as a wrinkling, grey-haired clown in my mid-fifties, and not a chiseled & tattooed 20-something acrobat, I suppressed my laughter and replied with my own very serious face, “Yes, I am. Are you really a doctor?”. He didn’t think that was funny at all.
Never the less, I passed inspection with flying colours and was granted medical clearance to return to the show. As I was departing the office, the doctor called down the long hallway, “Any chance of getting some free tickets to the show?” I responded, “Sure! If you send me free tickets to the next hockey game.” Rendered speechless, he just blinked twice, then slinked off and into another examination room.
“Hmm…”, I thought to myself, “…I wonder if he’d appreciate a large, framed & autographed colour photo of me in the show…Naaahhh!”
I stepped out into the hallway, and closed that door behind me.