Picking up Peanuts

Is this a story of care and compassion, or callous compliance?

The new Ringmaster came strutting in epaulettes enriched with flamboyant frills. A note under each trailer door that morning had summonsed the whole squad to sit in the stands, and the ushers shooshed them as she entered. The Ringmaster looked impressive, bordering on intimidating. She wore a suit that was spotless and perfectly pressed. Her hair was glued down to her head, with no chance of creeping out of place. She wore shoes that were sensible yet stylish and polished to the point of sparkling. The trimmings on her trousers were like tinsel, decorative but also extremely distracting.

She placed herself in prime position, precisely partitioning the pews. Her hands raised to signal for silence, and the tinsel settled. Despite the spread of staff across the seats, she was in no need of a microphone. Her voice was high-pitched but far from heavenly. It vibrated through her nose, not losing any volume.

“My people,” she began.

The clown couple cuddled in the front row, clasped hands and hung their heads, hoping to hide their hee-haw. The trapeze twosome shared a sideways glance and shifted in their seats. The contortionist cleared his throat, crudely covering up a chuckle. But these were all professional performers and pulled themselves together before the titters turned to taunts. They all knew the Ringmaster stood between them and unemployment and preferred to pander to her power than to risk poverty.

“Thank you so much for joining me here today. I know you are all incredibly busy, but we have a very important issue to address. We have a duty of care to everyone that enters this circus. We must ensure that all our spaces are safe, for staff and spectators alike. Do you all agree?”

Some people spoke and said yes; some simply nodded, and for others, their silence was assumed assent.

“Thank you for your support. Because today I am pleased to present a new policy that will make sure our circus is a place that cares for all. As of today, there will be no more peanuts in this place.”

The Ringmaster picked up a pile of papers and passed them to the ushers to dispense.

“I will give you a few minutes to read this then I will be happy to answer any questions you may have.”

The first page was a few short paragraphs. Simply put, it was acknowledged that peanuts present a risk to those with allergies and so must be abolished. Peanuts would no longer be sold at the circus, not allowed to be kept on the premises, and every shred of shell would be exorcised from the environment.

The second page comprised the peanut removal procedure and presented the processes to purify the place and prevent any peanuts from penetrating the perimeter in the future.

The third page proposed a plan. Each person was assigned a task, timeframe and a measure of success. The initial activity was assigned to all — a complete cleanup of all peanut casings. Every single person would participate in picking up every single piece of pod. Given the seriousness of the situation, salaries would be withheld until no more hulls could be beheld.

“So, does anyone have any questions?” said the Ringmaster, holding her hands in the hope that nothing more would be needed.

The canteen convenor commenced with a conundrum.

“What about all the bags that were delivered yesterday? The previous Ringmaster instructed us to save money and buy in bulk. The storeroom is stuffed with half a year’s supply!”

“Thank you for your question. I really appreciate it, and you make a very good point. But I’m afraid for this policy to be implemented asap you will need to get rid of them. I am sorry for the hassle, but safety comes first. I am sure you understand. When you do sell them, please provide me with a receipt for my records.”

It took a moment for the consequences of this courteous command to be completely considered.

The male acrobat arose, aggravated as he asked, “Speaking of laws which ones specifically state that we should remove all shells, and that you can provide penalties if we fail to comply?”

The Ringmaster jerked on her jacket and jostled in her jocks. The streamers on her strides did a shimmy.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns. I really appreciate it. Although, please be assured that I have sought expert legal advice on this matter. All of my actions are in accordance with the spirit of the work health and safety laws and industrial relations statutes. I know this may sound like a lot of work, but it is necessary to secure the safety of all our beloved spectators.”

She almost spat the final syllables, and her cheeks shone scarlet beneath her blush. Before another question could be commenced, she grinned and said through gritted teeth — “Thank you all so much for your assistance. I appreciate each and every one of you. Please begin the process that has been provided, and alert the ushers if there are any problems. I will be available to assess your work when required. Have a wonderful day everyone.”

She strutted off the stage, soon shadowed by the ushers. Only when she was well out of earshot did the elephant trainer express his disappointment that she had not introduced herself. It appeared she assumed such politeness was superfluous.

There was very little public protest. The crew had seen it all before and knew an uprising was useless. As they started to assess how they would achieve their assignment, the strong man offered his observation.

“At least she cares about the children.”

One of the clowns patted him on the back.

“You just keep believing that big boy,” she said through a smirk.

It did not take long for garbage bags to be gathered and the gang to get to work. They began to stoop where they stood and sorted the shells from the sawdust. The juggler suggested that they employ a better strategy. They should divvy jurisdictions and meet at the joins. A clumsy map of the circus compound was created, and areas were allocated across teams.

Two days were spent sweeping over every section and surface, snatching up every skerrick of shell. Every iota inside and out was attended to. Knees were bruised, backs were aching and patience pressed. The clowns were cross-eyed and made even more crazy. The acrobats were angry, and the elephant trainer was exhausted. The strong man shifted seven sacks of shells to the carpark for collection and then the contortionist confirmed with the ushers that they were ready for the Ringmaster’s review.

She entered, excited to see their “great work”. She paced through the pews, actioning her assessment and punctuating the processes with “perfect”, “wonderful”, “fantastic” and “well done”.

“It is my pleasure to announce that the pews pass inspection,” and the ushers took note. She started to clap but stopped when only the strong man provided support and descended the stairs to the stage.

She shyly stepped through the sawdust and scraped her splendid, shiny shoe across the surface. A single small piece of peanut pod popped up to the surface.

“I am so sorry,” she said seriously. “This needs to be completely clean. Can you please redo this area and call me when you are ready for me to reinspect.”

“Excuse me,” said the mime. “I did the sawdust to the best of my ability, but it is almost impossible. Every time you move, more comes up. You just can’t separate sawdust from shell. The only way to get what you want is to vacuum the whole thing up and be content with concrete.”

“I can see what you are saying, and thank you for sharing. I’m really sorry, but sawdust is a sentimental necessity for a circus. I really need your help to find a way we can keep the sawdust and people safe from peanuts at the same time. And please, could I suggest it be completed by Wednesday before our first show. Otherwise, I really don’t want to, but I will have to withhold your wages. I am so sorry, but this is really important.”

The mime’s head hung, and his colleagues shared his hurt. The Ringmaster, however, seemed very satisfied with herself.

The canteen convenor approached and presented a receipt.

“What’s this for please?” the Ringmaster said pleasantly.

“The sale of the stash.”

“I’m sorry, but it only says ten dollars. Is this all?”

The tassels gave a tiny thunder as the Ringmaster’s legs trembled.

“I’m sorry”, said the convenor, making no attempt to mask his sarcasm. “It was the best I could get at such short notice.”

The trapeze artists stood to attention, awaiting any torrid turn of events. The arrangements made with the trusted townfolk had provided enough cash for each person in case their pay was delayed. Or, if all went well, it would make a terrific end-of-year bonus for the whole band. Getting found out would be fatal, but the Ringmaster was too tormented to think further than how to contain her fury. She was too busy accommodating her anger to make any allegations.

“Thank you,” she said through gritted teeth and a strained smile. She stomped out of the tent, flinging the flaps before her.

The next thing they heard was a crash, followed by a lengthy scrape. They ran outside to find the Ringmaster standing at the back of her car, way up near the compound gate. She was pulling a near-empty sack of peanut shells off the tow bar. It appeared the Ringmaster had reversed into the pile, and one had become pinned. As she travelled, the seams had split, spewing shards for a hundred meters to the main road.

“I’m so sorry, sorry!” she screamed. “I will need you to clean this up as well. Thank you so much. Sorry again. Remember, safety is important!” She climbed back into the car and catapulted out the gate.

“She just has no respect for our time at all,” said the contortionist.

“No, to her it is truly worth peanuts,” said the elephant trainer.

“But she is really nice,” said the strong man.

His opinion gained him another pat on the back from the clown.

It took every person working together for eight hours to cleanse the inner circle completely and do over the driveway. Sieves were tested to speed the separation from the sawdust, but the only effective way found was to quarantine piles and poke through by hand. The next day, the Ringmaster was “pleased to announce” that the final areas had been completed to standard and their salaries would be paid as per usual. Wearily, preparations began for the first show. Signs were installed at every food station advising customers that peanuts were no longer sold on site. At each entrance, visitors were also educated that all that peanuts were prohibited. No one seemed to notice these signs were obstructed when the tent was tacked open.

Wednesday came, and as the sun set, the seats were filled. When the audience settled, the Ringmaster ran in, and the crowd roared. Her raised hands signalled for silence. She welcomed everyone and thanked them for their support, not noticing the snickers that followed her first sentence. Excitedly, she called in the elephants. The trainer still looked strained and tired from the peanut pandemonium. But he was still intent on impressing and eager to bring enjoyment, and his elephants shared his enthusiasm. The crowd clapped and cheered with every stupendous stunt, and the trainer felt his energy rapidly restored.

The Ringmaster was the first to notice the person three rows back who opened a bag of peanuts. The recalcitrants then passed out several more packets to their friends in the proximate pews. As the eager eaters watched in awe at the acrobats, peanuts were pried open, mouths missed, and shells shoved under the seats. The Ringmaster quickly turned from concerned to confused and then conflicted. How could two customers be right? The clowns watched as she turned white and thought her face would be a fitting addition to their act.

The Ringmaster decided to wait until intermission to intervene, preventing a scene while still caring for the people. As was tradition, while people wandered out for the break, the animals came into the ring for children to pat and to collect a slew of selfies. One kind gentleman and his grandchild brought the peanuts down as a gift for the elephants. The Ringmaster was busy with the ushers up in the stands but turned just in time to see shards flying across the centre circle and being stomped into the sawdust. The man and child chuckled and shared a special moment while the Ringmaster sprinted down the stairs.

“Please, please, no peanuts. I’m so sorry, but we can’t have peanuts here.” Her arms were waving wildly, and the tassels on her trousers lurched with every lunge, their rustling a warning.

She shuffled the spectators away, pleading and apologising in equal measure. But the damage had been done. Peanut shells were strewn across the stage, shuffling into the sawdust and spawning a sinister synthesis.

The mime entered the arena as the elephant crunched a stack of kernels into crumbs. His hand sped to his heart. His eyes enlarged, and his mouth made the shape of a scream. But no sound came out. Instead, he slumped to the floor, his hand clawing at his chest. The onlookers who had not yet left the tent turned and laughed. What a wonderful mime he was! Only the crew knew this was no show. The strong man rushed to the mime’s side and held his hand as the trapeze twosome ran to get help. The Ringmaster ran up to him, repeatedly whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She was not quite sure who she was saying it to.

And as the mime melted into the sawdust, the past few days flashed through his mind. He wondered whether his last act and legacy would be picking up peanuts.