I joined the circus. Well of course I did, I was 18 years old, I had a high school diploma, and I was qualified for nothing. I couldn’t even spell; even now, I still can’t spell the word necesary, nesecery, necse, anyway, Circus Vargas was hiring so I went down to Mission Valley and asked about a job. I filled out the application which must have doubled as an aptitude test because I got hired on the spot. I was now in show business. I was a “prop man”.

I’m not sure if I took a toothbrush with me, but at 07:00 the next morning I showed up, got an orange jumpsuit and met my new boss, Jack the Ripper. He was younger than I expected; early to mid 21 was my guess. His leadership style was what is called “Authoritarian”, which means barking orders at whoever is passing by, and then verbally pistol-whipping anyone that didn’t meet his exacting standards, which were schizophrenic. Training consisted of walking me over to the gigantic tent, from there I was on my own.

The circus itself was a little tattered; the brightly colored props were losing paint and some of the costumes were missing a few too many sequins. Still, if you didn’t look close it was exciting mingling with the stars at the artists entrance during a performance. Among the friendlier performers were a couple of German brothers with a bicycle act. Then there was the “lady on the trapeze”.

She looked pretty darn good in tights, given her age. She was the star of the show, or to be more precise, she considered herself to be the star of the show. Within two minutes of seeing me she said something venomous, and I was young enough that that kind of crap still bothered me. Then I noticed a clown standing next to me. He smiled, and confided, “She’s a bitch”. I stared at him couple moments. The phrase “She’s a bitch” was not something I expected from a man wearing a big red nose. Then I nodded and said, “no shit”.