One Ringmaster Down
Is this a story of heroic sacrifice or sadistic self-importance?
“I’m sorry I am running a few minutes late. I just had to stop into the toilet.”
The Ringmaster raced in, as always in his gilded garb, and joined the trapeze artists who were already in the throes of planning some new tricks.
At the whiteboard stood the woman, dressed down from the usual dazzling bodysuit, today touring about in track pants and a t-shirt. She was smiling as she listed out an extravagant agenda for opening night. Her partner sat in front, styled in football shorts, singlet and thongs, his arms an advertisement for his ability. He was engrossed and excited and made intermittent offerings of “gotcha”, “what about”, “awesome” and “perfect.”
After twenty minutes of additions and adaptations, The Ringmaster reclined, put his hand over his mouth and contributed a contemptuous contemplation.
“That is all well and good, a great start. But I don’t think it is what the audience wants.”
“What do you mean, these sequences are spectacular?” The woman, who initially ignored the Ringmaster’s entrance, was now irate.
“Have you actually asked the people that come what would please them?” The muscly man swung around in his seat and sneered at the Ringmaster.
“No. I haven’t had time. But I‘m taking a mental note — nice idea. I just doubt they will be thrilled with something so sedate. I think they want to be completely shocked and stunned. This just doesn’t do it for me.”
“Well, what do you think we should add in?”
“I am not quite sure, but it needs more pizazz. What about some pyrotechnics?”
“Do you know how dangerous it is to fire off crackers when we are flying about?”
“Oh, don’t be a wuss. You guys are great at what you do, and I’m sure you could make it work.”
The Ringmaster began shifting around in his seat, jerking his legs.
“Would you sign it off without the fireworks?”
It only took a fleeting moment to force out an answer.
“No. It’s what the audience needs.”
The Ringmaster’s jerking progressed to constant jiggling, and an anxious look spread over his face.
“Have you got ants in your pants, mate?” the man asked.
“No, I just have to go to the toilet.”
“Then go!”
“No, I need to make sure you have this right.”
The high-flyers headed back to the plan, adding a schematic of the stage sphere and spots where the crackers could be set off safely. While one faced away to hide her fury, the other slumped in a sign of submission.
Before long, the Ringmaster’s trembling turned to bumping and bobbing. Up and downs were succeeded by side-to-sides until the woman could not stand it anymore.
“We are willing to wait for you to widdle. We swear not to change anything until your return.”
“Pinky promise”, said her partner, subduing a smirk. “You better take care of that bladder before it gets embarrassing.”
Prompted with permission, the Ringmaster sped out of the room, returning a few minutes later, looking relieved and refreshed but also more forceful and focused. Only when the plans were perfected did he allow an adjournment.
Opening night came in all its glory. The Ringmaster energized the crowd and had them cheering on the commencing act. The clowns came and went, and while he was waiting in the wings, the Ringmaster started wiggling. The trapeze twosome watched for what would come next.
Four performances had passed before the Ringmaster began bobbing.
The acrobats, awaiting their turn, looked at each other. They exchanged glances, sharing a sadistic enquiry of how long he could endure.
But he was in charge of the crowd.
And he was indispensable.
And this was important.
“They probably just think he has ADHD.”, said the man.
“Stop it.”, said the woman. “I do. And I find that offensive.”
“Sorry,” said the man. “I didn’t know.” Then, to twist scorn into smiles, he said, “Well, it might not be long before he finds his socks flooded.”
Finally, it was time for them to fly, and the Ringmaster put his bouncing into abeyance while he aroused the audience. The artists entered to applause, showed off their skills and stirred shrieks of surprise.
When the fireworks went off, the Ringmaster wet himself.
Not enough to be revealed, but just enough to provide a little relief.
The next day, the team was back around the whiteboard, waiting for the debrief drill.
The Ringmaster entered with a ring binder and began rattling off what was recorded within.
“So, I took action and got the ushers to do some exit surveys. Eighty-four per cent of the audience said they enjoyed the show. That just doesn’t sound big enough. But then it gets worse. We only got an average of 3.5 stars, and only 72 per cent of people would promote our circus to others.”
The Ringmaster’s frustration was putting fire into his face.
The muscly man asked, “How many people put forward their opinion?”
“Fourteen. A whole fourteen people called our show a flop.
This time, the woman wanted to know more. “Out of how many? What was the audience size?”
“240”.
The woman pulled out her phone and did a quick calculation.
“You realize that is less than six per cent of the people that came.”
“That’s not the point,” said the Ringmaster, trying to suppress rage.
“I got them to get specific feedback about your section. It was as I feared. You put the pyrotechnics in the wrong spot. They did not surprise or delight. In fact they only scared the children and distracted the adults.”
“So did you get any ideas for what we could improve?” said the man.
“Yes, some very generous guests said you needed to do more aerials, and have better music.”
The woman could not tell whether he was simply relaying vagueness or adding his own vindictiveness.
“How many people suggested this?”
“One. But again, it’s not the point. We need to do better, be better. I have the ushers researching what the average rating is for our competitors. In the meantime, we need to make a plan so that tomorrow night will pop! I want everyone walking away proclaiming our praise!”
So, the trio tossed ideas around and assessed their aerials from every angle until the Ringmaster agreed the act was audacious enough.
They were selecting the soundtrack when the Ringmaster began to jiggle. Then he got up and jogged away, shouting as he went, “Just make it happen.”
The Ringmaster raised his hands, and the drum roll stopped. Tonight, the audience was in for a real treat. This was their best show yet. The team was holding nothing back to bring the honored guests happiness.
His charisma was met with cheering, which, with his encouragement, turned to a cacophony when the clowns came in.
As each act transitioned to the next, the Ringmaster regaled the audience with the terrific feats they were fortunate to witness. Then, just after the jugglers, the trapeze artists saw the jiggling begin.
The suspense that shrouded the illusionist was nothing compared to the curiosity of the catapulting couple. How would this end?
By the time the Ringmaster had to brag about the bravado of the balancing act, he had already begun bouncing.
As the stuntmen led the ponies out by the bridle, the bobbing was brutal.
The Ringmaster entered to present the trapeze pair. He was a professional extraordinaire, and it was difficult to determine if he was experiencing an excruciating episode or making an endearing exhibition of extreme excitement.
“Behold”, he said in his big, booming voice.
Then his bladder burst.
He collapsed, cringing and crying out for help. The clapping ceased, and the chatter commenced.
The strong man sighed and stated that the Ringmaster was singularly selfless and a true saint.
The male trapezist said he was stupendously stupid, and the woman said that “this suffering was inevitable. Such self-importance could not be sustained.”
The ushers could not agree whether this was a sign of sacrifice or self-hatred.
And the magician made his move, careening around the fallen Ringmaster to start making announcements.
The paramedic had seen it all before — how easily priorities were perverted when people put on performances.
As the Ringmaster was wheeled out, waving to the crowd, he wondered if it was all worth it.
The next day, he knew it was.
4.5 stars. They loved the drama.
