The Law of the Street

by Kaya

Street performers make me uncomfortable. The guilt is simply overpowering. If I take any pleasure in their performance, or so much as look curiously in their direction (possibly due to loud music, bursts of fire or twirling chainsaws), do I owe them money? Have I “stolen” from them by being entertained in some fashion and yet not paying to walk by their “show?”

It’s not like I’ve snuck into a circus without buying a ticket, I’m simply trying to get from point A to point B and you’ve decided to dance/do magic/juggle/play guitar with your feet/perform bike tricks/read minds along this path. It’s a geographic issue really – my intention is not to sneak a free peek at the latest in the local mime scene, but you’ve chosen to mime in my way. Don’t give me that white painted-face sad puppy dog look, I’m just trying to find the Chipwich cart and you’re apparently stuck in an invisible box right in front of me. How did you even get stuck in that box? If anything, and I think I speak for everyone but 4 year-olds and people wearing Cirque de Soleil t-shirts, your miming is really more of a nuisance than a treat. And frankly, something I shouldn’t have to pay to walk by.

Of course this is the heart of the income of street performers, I suppose. Guilt. When they look you in the eyes, locking onto you like Maverick and Goose in a dog fight pushing their upside down hat in your direction it’s all over. It’s tough to avoid the hypnotic jiggling of small denomination dollar bills and random change. This solicitation is not coupled with a vibe that says, “Hello there neighbor, would you like to contribute to the juggling arts?”, but rather a, “Look jackass, I saw you look at me when I took a bite of the apple while juggling the two other balls. You owe me for that. Apples don’t juggle themselves, numbnuts.”

Look, don’t blame me because you have a bad venue...and wipe those apple bits from your chin. I don’t stand between you and your destination or make-believe, invisible box as the case may be, type out a brief, whiney, semi-humorous, autobiographical essay and nudge you to pay me for my effort. You don’t see strippers flashing passing cars then chase them down expecting money for the glance at their tanned flesh...although I imagine that would work just fine. Regardless, if you choose to share your art on the street, you have to expect that some folks won’t pay you. It’s just the law of the street.

Perhaps I could return the artistic gift with a performance of my own? “Mr. Street Performer (possibly not his real name), thank you for separating those intertwined metal rings! I don’t know what I would have done had they remained locked together. Won’t you allow me to re-pay you with an interpretive dance? This one I’ve titled “Blood on Autumn’s Doorstep.” Get comfortable, it’s the first part in a series. The ‘Doorstep’ series.”

A performance for performance barter system would definitely make the park a more interesting place.

I realize the guilt I feel from street performers is my own issue. Many people love street performers and I’m generally glad these creative entertainers have an opportunity to share with the public. That being said, I still don’t get the folks that paint themselves all one color (generally silver, gold or white) and stand still, like a statue. To me, you look like a person in a line that’s not moving. It’s not really a skill – well, I guess it’s a skill, but isn’t it really a skill of doing nothing? You see that other guy? He riding a unicycle while singing the score to Gilbert & Sullivan’s ‘The Pirates of Penzance’ and juggling Rottweiler puppies. Kinda makes your standing still seem pretty unimpressive.

The important lesson here is that not all stories have to have a good ending. Some endings involve the writer staring blankly at the screen for what seems like days. This is fine. When this happens, it’s okay to simply stop writing/reading. The fact that there are no more words is enough to signal to the reader that the story has ended.

See?