The Invasion

Everywhere I look, I see them. They’re running between the caravans, climbing all over everything in the tent, leaving a trail of debris in their wake. They’re eating all the food. They’re screaming at every decibel. They’re using all the hot water. The washing machines are completely inaccessible, and the wait for the washroom is probably causing me kidney damage.

In short, they’re heeeeeeeeere…

It’s the school holidays in France and every child in the country is on break. Which means that every person in the troupe who has kids now has them here. Not to mention their spouse or significant other. Plus some extras people (girlfriends, sisters, etc) thrown in for good measure.

Normally, we’re twenty-five people at the circus. That includes artists, technicians, musicians, bar staff and kitchen staff. We are now forty-nine. Forty-nine!

You know how many showers we have?

One.

You know how many sit-down toilets we have?

One.

True, there’s the Turkish toilet, but I’d take my chamber pot over the Turkish toilet any day of the week. And so I do.

Personally, I can’t take it anymore. There are just too many people here. Between the pressure of having rehearsal every day, the fate of the show in tatters, random passers by soliciting information while I’m eating dinner, and screaming families consuming everything in sight (site), I going to lose it.

You may be thinking, “It’s only a week, they should all be leaving tomorrow!”

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account that this is France. The kids actually have a week and a half off. There are at least three more days of this madness. Throw Halloween and the accompanying sugar into the mix and suddenly my desire to break things goes into overdrive. At least I got to carve a pumpkin. Stabbing something repeatedly kind of made me feel better, if only for a little while.

Just give me some space. Give me some quiet. And while you’re at it, leave me some dinner…