I knew the day would come where I got kicked out of clown school. I wanted to like it, but in practice I ended up hating it. I couldn't stand the all the students, babbling incessantly, blurting unfunny joke after unfunny joke and doing circus acts that would make a stand-up comedian feel awkward. My teacher was fine, but he was the captain of a sinking ship that could not be salvaged, and I would soon learn that the captain did not want anyone to jump overboard and abandon ship.

"Sorry, Mr. Samson, but clown school just isn't for me. I've had a great time, but I feel that I want to follow a different path with my life," I said. Mr. Samson locked his eyes onto mine and glared at me angrily. "Get out!" And with that, I got out, strangely satisfied with myself.

On the bus ride back home, I realized that I had, without realizing, lied to Mr. Samson. I had no idea what path I wanted to follow in my life, let alone a different one. Acting and clowning had been my passion forever, but after attending clown school it became the bane of my existence. Facepaint had gotten so infuriating to the point where even makeup began to bother me. I knew the only job I could get was in the acting or clowning field, and after a short while thinking I came to the conclusion that working at an amusement park would be my best option- I could easily put my skills to good use without having to stare at hideous makeup all day. The perfect job, or so I thought.

Six and a half months later I found myself wishing I was still in clown school. I was happy that I had a job, but at the same time I hated myself for selling my soul to a heartless company. The first few weeks had been great; I loved seeing people react to Spongebob in real life, but after that it just became routine. My focus had shifted from people's happiness and faces to the clock sitting at the top of the main office.

Today was a particularly unique day. For whatever reason, I began to notice every little bit of the monotony of my routine. The same kiosks, the same rigged games, the co-workers who secretly hated their job as well, masquerading behind the face of a joyous cartoon character. I always thought the juxtaposition between the happiness of the employee and that of the character was ironic and funny.

Later in the day, one of my co-workers came up to me, letting me know that I had to go into Marisa's office after work. There was nothing good about this, I knew that much. The day seemed to pass by in a minute with nothing eventful to remember. The clock struck five and the park began to close, marking that I should be on my way. I knocked on the door and was prompted to enter and remove my mask. I saw her open her mouth to speak, but it there was no point to listening. I knew what she was going to say. Thoughts raced through my mind, thinking of whether or not to tell her that she looked like a horse, that she failed to recognize my skills, that I got paid so little for all of work to the point where I could barely afford dinner. My thoughts blurred with each other, turning into an undecipherable mush of anger and frustration.

Eventually, I re-grasped control of my emotions, said nothing and walked out the door.