Hi, my name is Stacy Hendricks, I am an actress in New York City. I work at a small theater called "Comedy Palace". Every night I go into the spot light, on that grand old stage, in front of all those marvelous people and live my dream, performing the Chicken Dance. I know, I know, it's not much of a dream, but I've tried just about everything else and this is the only occupation that has worked for me, so far.
For my very first job I was a postwoman. It was a very descent job, but one day as I was driving along, I was imagining what my life as a postwoman on Jupiter, who appreciated alliteration, would be like. You know, alliteration, like Rachel the roach ran rapidly around the room. Anyway, I was so deep in thought I drove right into my boss's mailbox. He wasn't too happy, as you can imagine. I was fired on the scene.
When I told my friends how I lost my job, they said that I would make a great writer, because I have such an imaginative imagination. Then they began encouraging me to become a writer. So, I wrote a book and began traveling all across the states. One day, while in San Fransisco, Pier 39, I fell down a flight of stairs, knocking a lady over in the process. This woman sued me and got nearly everything I owned, including my book rights. Man, my publisher was furious.
After that "little" incident, I decided writing wasn't for me and became a secretary. I had to travel a lot as a secretary and was sent over seas, in a gigantic ship, to meet my boss's clients. On the ship I was privileged to meet the captain, who loved to tell jokes. I spent a whole afternoon with him, just listening to his hilariously evil jokes. The captain was so concentrated on telling me jokes that he never realized, until it was too late, that we had gotten off course and started heading straight back to the states. The boss found out and fired me on the spot.
Later that year, I met a woman who was so busy as a single mother, she had no time to clean house. So, I became her house cleaner. Things worked out great, until the woman became ill. All of a sudden my job became a lot harder, because I then had to tend to the children most of the day.
One day in particular, I went to pick the children up for school. I went inside to meet them, but as I walked down the hall they all ran towards me and pushed me into the nearest locker. Those children were devilish little things, who never listened to a word I said. So, no matter how loud I screamed or yelled, telling them to let me out, nothing worked. All I did for the rest of the night was eat the few pistachios that had taken up habitation in the bottom of my purse. I didn't get out of that locker until the kid who owned it opened the door, that next morning. I went home and listened to a hundred messages their mother had left on my machine. I was fired.
The last job I had, before I became and actor, was a mountain climbing specialist. It was an exciting, but dangerous occupation. On the last day of my mountain climbing career I slipped and broke two of my fingers. In pain, I sped to the hospital and after checking in, I took a seat in the waiting room.
For some stupid reason a clown was there, I guess to cheer up the sick kids. Anyway, this large red nosed clown came right up to me and must have seen the tears in my eyes because he started fake crying. He sat down next to me and imitated my every move. When I winced in pain, he winced and when I blew on my fingers, so did he.
I was getting mad, especially when I went to the other side of the waiting room and he followed. The kids were loving it up and laughing their heads off. That was a figure of speech, by the way. Though the kids were having a great time, I couldn't take it any longer. I turned and stared at him right in the eyes. Without even considering the consequences of my actions, I jammed my fist into the poor clowns nose. The kids' giddy laughter was turned into screams of complete horror, as they ran to their mothers' sides. Three more of my fingers were broken, I'm sure you can imagine what the impact did to the clowns face.
Word spread all over about the mountain climber attacking a poor defenseless clown. A picture that a mother took in the waiting room that day, of the clown and I, was put in the local paper. I was so humiliated and on account of my injuries I was no longer able to climb the mountains. The story did catch the attention of a director, from New York City though, he now owns the Comedy Palace here. This man had a great idea of putting me in one of his shows and now, six months later, I am still here. What a record!
This life of mine has been a strange and stupid journey, but I think it's all been worth it. Now, if you will excuse me, it's time for me to perform the Chicken Dance.
Really nicely paced, great style so yeah. Can't think of more to say, except that please do not under any circumstance take my subsequent pernickety-ness personally! I am a grammar and punctuation and general perfectionist and most of it isn't serious, just slips.