My Nerve Was Shattered

Once upon a time, I lived in London and was a professional balloon animal maker. It's pretty glamorous. Mostly I worked in Harrods, which is the world's most interesting department store. You could walk in with nothing in the world but a sack full of cash, and walk out with pretty much anything in the world. Seriously. High fashion, groceries, cars, exotic pets, houses, electronics, fine art, sporting goods, whatever. It's a six story tall city block. If you've got the money, they've got something for you.

While there I made balloon animals for the rich and famous. And stepped on Dustin Hoffman. But that's another story. Suffice to say he's shorter than he looks.

But people often ask me, "Lance! Why did you give up professional balloon animal making for the vastly more lucrative field of technical writing?"

And the answer is, I had to. My nerve was shot. I'd lost the edge. Like the professional skier who wipes out and breaks half a dozen bones, I'd gone too far, and paid the price.

The day started typically enough. I woke up in my digusting flat in Golders Green. I took the tube into Knightsbridge, and signed in at Harrods. All morning long, I made balloon animals. Poodles, cats, bunnies, parrots in swings, turtles, frogs, I was good. And I knew it.

A group of Danish schoolchildren approached and began clamoring for animals. I started blowing up a balloon. Modelling balloons, fully inflated, are about a yard long. But you should never inflate the whole balloon. Some uninflated slack is necessary as you squeeze and twist the bubbles that make up the animal. Every animal is different. Bunny needs almost no slack. Teddy bear needs a ton. So you watch the balloon carefully as you inflate.

I was going to make the Danish schoolchildren a poodle. It's the easiest of the balloons - a good choice for when you're making a dozen very quickly. I started blowing up the balloon. When it got to about two and a half feet long, it popped. Now, professional balloon animal makers are used to popping balloons. But unlike most balloons, this one snapped right back into my left eye. Now I don't know if you've even been hit in the eye with a two and a half foot rubber band, but it hurts like hell.

I didn't want to alarm the schoolchildren, so I quickly blew up another balloon, threw some random twists in it, and shoved it at one of the children. Meanwhile, I was blinded with tears and pain, and my eye was swelling out of my head. I could barely see. I staggered into a supply closet and tried to ride it out.

After about half an hour, I could see again. But I was never the same. I couldn't watch the balloons. My eyes were screwed shut. And my art suffered. My turtles had tumors. My elephants looked like mosquitos. My bumblebees looked like... well, suffice to say they didn't belong in the toy department, that's for sure.

I was forced to retire.

Some days I look at kids making balloon animals out on the streets. The twist the balloons with enthusiasm and grace. Maybe another man could have faced his fear and recovered. But I'm not that man. So I now I just watch others, and wait gleefully for their balloons to snap. So I can gloat. Because I'm vindictive that way.

LM