CHAPTER 5
The day care centre was a large, fairly squarish, light green building. A large sign had been erected near the entrance, which read 'Happy Clowns.'
"Cute," murmured Logan as they drove up to it.
"How many people in there do you think are actually happy?"
"Or clowns, for that matter."
"Actually, just me!" a voice suddenly said just by the outside of Logan's car window. They started in their seats.
"Who said that?" John demanded, peering his head out of his own window. "Oh, it's you. Wait, who are you?"
"And more importantly, what the hell are you doing?"
The rather large woman was, sure enough, dressed as a clown. Her flower water squirt thing hung from her jacket pocket threateningly, and two rosy circles were painted on her cheeks. What was startling, however, was the fact that she was running alongside the car while it drove at 30 mph.
"Oh, don't mind me," she panted, and began to laugh quite maniacally. "I just like the exercise. And I thought I'd welcome you to Happy Clowns personally. Me being the happy clown and all."
The two boys glanced bewilderedly at each other and then turned to Logan. He drove faster.
-----------------------------------------
Meanwhile, Kitty was in the cheese factory. Her supervisor for her first day was a mostly kindly but slightly eccentric, white-haired old man.
"You have to cut the cheese samples into 3cm cubes," he had said. "Pick them up between your thumb and forefinger – or your thumb and pinkie if you're feeling adventurous, but I wouldn't advise that for your first go. No, not like that – like this! No! Stop it! Stop it! Idiot child! You're mutilating the cheese!" The old man raised his hands to his head and growled quite unexpectedly.
"I'm really sorry," Kitty squeaked.
"Nevermind," he sighed, lowering his hands. "I guess you can't expect much from a cat. Dear, oh dear, what are we coming to these days? Everyone's hiring animals for a man's job."
"Huh?" Kitty frowned, confused as to whether the old man was making a lame pun with her name or being genuinely odd.
He blinked. "You're Kitty, right?"
"Yes, that's my name, but –"
"I know it's your name. God named all the animals, I think. My memory's a little hazy. But, what was I saying?"
"You were saying that I'm a cat, but I really don't think you –"
"Ah, yes! Hold it like this, otherwise you'll squeeze all the magic out of the cheese. If you concentrate and do it properly I'll take you to see the black tabby from the Choco-Locko factory next door later."
-----------------------------------------
Logan, Bobby and John sat in the rather spacious kitchen, drinking coffee. Clown had waddled away with surprising speed to 'check on the kids'. They spoke quietly, as though expecting Clown's colleagues to enter on unicycles and braid flowers into their hair.
"I don't like this place," Bobby said nervously. "It's too quiet. Where are the children?"
"Clown probably ate them," said John mournfully, fiddling with his lighter more and more carelessly as his uneasiness increased. "She'll eat us as well."
"What kind of a name is 'Clown' anyway? Do you think she chose to be a clown because that's her name? Or perhaps she changed it after she –"
"Does it matter? She ate the kids. Let's call the police and go back to the job centre."
"Maybe we don't even have to get jobs. We could live secretly in the grounds of the X-mansion."
"Evolve back into cavemen."
"Shhh," Logan interrupted. "Do you hear that?" They listened. It was the sound of excited chatter, followed by equally excited squeals. Then they saw. Twenty kids had somehow fit through the kitchen door all at once. They didn't take much notice of the new staff, although several did giggle and point at Logan several times.
"See? They like me," he said triumphantly, as a little girl shyly approached the table. She was brunette and pig-tailed, wearing a pretty pink dress. Her ice cream dripped down her hand, but she remained oblivious to it in that annoying way that children do.
"Hi, there," Logan said, smiling in a way that he thought made him seem more approachable. "Call me Uncle Logan." He did the smiling thing again, which was in fact just contorting his face to incredibly angular forms.
"Hello doggy."
The corners of Logan's mouth twitched slightly.
"Doggy," she repeated.
John stifled a laugh. The girl turned her attention to him.
"Smoking is bad."
He glanced down at his lighter, then at the girl. "Look, kid, I don't smoke."
"Just say no."
"I don't smoke."
"Smoking is bad."
"For the last time, I don't —"
"Can you say anything else?" Logan asked patiently.
"Doggy." She walked around the back of him, took can of whipped cream from the cupboard with some difficulty, reached up to Logan's head and began to spray.
-----------------------------------------
"No! You can't make mah!" shrieked Rogue, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Stay away! Ah'll- ah'll do something dangerous! Ah am going to throw this vase!"
'This vase' was actually 'this pencil pot', which was in fact a thin, black biro. Rogue threw the biro anyway.
"Marie, you are the one who applied for the job. And so you are going to do it."
"No! Ah want Logan. Mah Logan would never make me do this!"
"It's chocolate. A small, 30g bar of chocolate. What we think will prove to be our finest."
"Mah Logan would never make me do this. He wouldn't. He doesn't even like chocolate," she wept pathetically, ignoring her co-worker and shrinking into the corner. The Choco-Locko employee left the room wearily.
Another Choco-Locko employee asked how the new girl was doing.
"Terrible," she answered. "We've never had such a whiny thing. All she does is ask for something called a Logan."
"Weird. Do you think we should find one for her?"
-----------------------------------------
Logan paced around the field. It was 3pm. One more hour. The day had gone so slowly.
"Alright," he called out wearily, signalling to two mildly interested young boys. "Let's try this again. You, stand there. Yes, that's right. Wonderful. I am so blessed. Right there. No, don't move. Good. Now, you, throw the ball in the air. Hit it. Use your racket, not your head. Not a bad shot. Hey, why didn't you move? Move, you little freak! You must move with the ball! You and the ball are one! Oh, God. You, stop moving! Wait, why are you moving there? Who the hell would want to move *there*? And you? He hit the ball back at you, so what do you do? NO! Stop using your frickin head!"
"What's going on?" Clown frowned, dragging her large frame towards Logan.
"I am trying," he panted with as much dignity as possible, "to teach them tennis."
"The boys you have here are three years old." Clown gave him a stern look. "Why didn't you start with some of the older children?"
"Can't. They just want to sit and dribble."
"Logan, the youngest children here are the two that you have padlocked into the tennis court. They do not just want to 'sit and dribble.'"
"Well, *I* want to sit and dribble!" Logan yelled, dropping to his knees and tugging on Clown's shirt. "I don't want to do this anymore… I don't like kids. This wasn't educational. I was wrong. Scott's going to gloat and show off until he evolves into a one man circus."
"Circus," Clown murmured thoughtfully.
"Oh God, don't start," Logan groaned, guessing where this was leading.
"When I was in the circus…. Those were the best days of my life. If you want fast money, and if you're not happy here, you could always see if they could take you in."
"What about the other two?"
They turned and looked past the court and across the field. Bobby was creating ice slides for the children, while John was arguing with a small group who were warning him about the hazards of smoking.
"They'll manage." Clown smiled the nicest and most honest smile she had smiled all day. "You have to do what's right for you, Logan. If that means new fields of work, then so be it."
Logan took a dramatically long, deep breath. "Okay."
The day care centre was a large, fairly squarish, light green building. A large sign had been erected near the entrance, which read 'Happy Clowns.'
"Cute," murmured Logan as they drove up to it.
"How many people in there do you think are actually happy?"
"Or clowns, for that matter."
"Actually, just me!" a voice suddenly said just by the outside of Logan's car window. They started in their seats.
"Who said that?" John demanded, peering his head out of his own window. "Oh, it's you. Wait, who are you?"
"And more importantly, what the hell are you doing?"
The rather large woman was, sure enough, dressed as a clown. Her flower water squirt thing hung from her jacket pocket threateningly, and two rosy circles were painted on her cheeks. What was startling, however, was the fact that she was running alongside the car while it drove at 30 mph.
"Oh, don't mind me," she panted, and began to laugh quite maniacally. "I just like the exercise. And I thought I'd welcome you to Happy Clowns personally. Me being the happy clown and all."
The two boys glanced bewilderedly at each other and then turned to Logan. He drove faster.
-----------------------------------------
Meanwhile, Kitty was in the cheese factory. Her supervisor for her first day was a mostly kindly but slightly eccentric, white-haired old man.
"You have to cut the cheese samples into 3cm cubes," he had said. "Pick them up between your thumb and forefinger – or your thumb and pinkie if you're feeling adventurous, but I wouldn't advise that for your first go. No, not like that – like this! No! Stop it! Stop it! Idiot child! You're mutilating the cheese!" The old man raised his hands to his head and growled quite unexpectedly.
"I'm really sorry," Kitty squeaked.
"Nevermind," he sighed, lowering his hands. "I guess you can't expect much from a cat. Dear, oh dear, what are we coming to these days? Everyone's hiring animals for a man's job."
"Huh?" Kitty frowned, confused as to whether the old man was making a lame pun with her name or being genuinely odd.
He blinked. "You're Kitty, right?"
"Yes, that's my name, but –"
"I know it's your name. God named all the animals, I think. My memory's a little hazy. But, what was I saying?"
"You were saying that I'm a cat, but I really don't think you –"
"Ah, yes! Hold it like this, otherwise you'll squeeze all the magic out of the cheese. If you concentrate and do it properly I'll take you to see the black tabby from the Choco-Locko factory next door later."
-----------------------------------------
Logan, Bobby and John sat in the rather spacious kitchen, drinking coffee. Clown had waddled away with surprising speed to 'check on the kids'. They spoke quietly, as though expecting Clown's colleagues to enter on unicycles and braid flowers into their hair.
"I don't like this place," Bobby said nervously. "It's too quiet. Where are the children?"
"Clown probably ate them," said John mournfully, fiddling with his lighter more and more carelessly as his uneasiness increased. "She'll eat us as well."
"What kind of a name is 'Clown' anyway? Do you think she chose to be a clown because that's her name? Or perhaps she changed it after she –"
"Does it matter? She ate the kids. Let's call the police and go back to the job centre."
"Maybe we don't even have to get jobs. We could live secretly in the grounds of the X-mansion."
"Evolve back into cavemen."
"Shhh," Logan interrupted. "Do you hear that?" They listened. It was the sound of excited chatter, followed by equally excited squeals. Then they saw. Twenty kids had somehow fit through the kitchen door all at once. They didn't take much notice of the new staff, although several did giggle and point at Logan several times.
"See? They like me," he said triumphantly, as a little girl shyly approached the table. She was brunette and pig-tailed, wearing a pretty pink dress. Her ice cream dripped down her hand, but she remained oblivious to it in that annoying way that children do.
"Hi, there," Logan said, smiling in a way that he thought made him seem more approachable. "Call me Uncle Logan." He did the smiling thing again, which was in fact just contorting his face to incredibly angular forms.
"Hello doggy."
The corners of Logan's mouth twitched slightly.
"Doggy," she repeated.
John stifled a laugh. The girl turned her attention to him.
"Smoking is bad."
He glanced down at his lighter, then at the girl. "Look, kid, I don't smoke."
"Just say no."
"I don't smoke."
"Smoking is bad."
"For the last time, I don't —"
"Can you say anything else?" Logan asked patiently.
"Doggy." She walked around the back of him, took can of whipped cream from the cupboard with some difficulty, reached up to Logan's head and began to spray.
-----------------------------------------
"No! You can't make mah!" shrieked Rogue, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Stay away! Ah'll- ah'll do something dangerous! Ah am going to throw this vase!"
'This vase' was actually 'this pencil pot', which was in fact a thin, black biro. Rogue threw the biro anyway.
"Marie, you are the one who applied for the job. And so you are going to do it."
"No! Ah want Logan. Mah Logan would never make me do this!"
"It's chocolate. A small, 30g bar of chocolate. What we think will prove to be our finest."
"Mah Logan would never make me do this. He wouldn't. He doesn't even like chocolate," she wept pathetically, ignoring her co-worker and shrinking into the corner. The Choco-Locko employee left the room wearily.
Another Choco-Locko employee asked how the new girl was doing.
"Terrible," she answered. "We've never had such a whiny thing. All she does is ask for something called a Logan."
"Weird. Do you think we should find one for her?"
-----------------------------------------
Logan paced around the field. It was 3pm. One more hour. The day had gone so slowly.
"Alright," he called out wearily, signalling to two mildly interested young boys. "Let's try this again. You, stand there. Yes, that's right. Wonderful. I am so blessed. Right there. No, don't move. Good. Now, you, throw the ball in the air. Hit it. Use your racket, not your head. Not a bad shot. Hey, why didn't you move? Move, you little freak! You must move with the ball! You and the ball are one! Oh, God. You, stop moving! Wait, why are you moving there? Who the hell would want to move *there*? And you? He hit the ball back at you, so what do you do? NO! Stop using your frickin head!"
"What's going on?" Clown frowned, dragging her large frame towards Logan.
"I am trying," he panted with as much dignity as possible, "to teach them tennis."
"The boys you have here are three years old." Clown gave him a stern look. "Why didn't you start with some of the older children?"
"Can't. They just want to sit and dribble."
"Logan, the youngest children here are the two that you have padlocked into the tennis court. They do not just want to 'sit and dribble.'"
"Well, *I* want to sit and dribble!" Logan yelled, dropping to his knees and tugging on Clown's shirt. "I don't want to do this anymore… I don't like kids. This wasn't educational. I was wrong. Scott's going to gloat and show off until he evolves into a one man circus."
"Circus," Clown murmured thoughtfully.
"Oh God, don't start," Logan groaned, guessing where this was leading.
"When I was in the circus…. Those were the best days of my life. If you want fast money, and if you're not happy here, you could always see if they could take you in."
"What about the other two?"
They turned and looked past the court and across the field. Bobby was creating ice slides for the children, while John was arguing with a small group who were warning him about the hazards of smoking.
"They'll manage." Clown smiled the nicest and most honest smile she had smiled all day. "You have to do what's right for you, Logan. If that means new fields of work, then so be it."
Logan took a dramatically long, deep breath. "Okay."