Send in the clowns

Some of the people in my department like to play good-natured pranks on others. One time while a guy was on vacation they wrapped Do-Not-Cross tape around his cubicle and filled it with items suggesting it was radioactive. Another vacationer's cubicle got every potted plant moved into it along with stuffed animals and a mini-waterfall to approximate a rain forest.

I'm a stick in the mud and don't participate, but that's neither here nor there.

Recently for the birthday of one of the supervisors they brought in a box of plastic clown masks for everyone to put on. They filled his office with balloons and a box that played circus music. The gag all revolved around the supervisor really not liking clowns, and after he opened the door to his office everyone was supposed to put on the masks so after seeing the balloons and coming out he'd see all these unintentionally-but-kind-of-still-creepy masks.

It didn't quite work out that way, but that's probably for the best. And the actual prank is not what I am here to discuss.

In addition to the masks, the guys behind the prank went around early (before I got in) and asked people to come up with their "clown name" which was printed out and taped over each person's name placard. There were obvious ones (like "Bozo" and "Homey") and some merely silly ones ("Lala", "Jimbo").

Standing by someone's desk who already had a name affixed, I asked if anyone had taken "Pagliacci" yet.

I was met with a blank stare clearly indicating the person had no idea what I was talking about.

What made me even think of Pagliacci was this: Each day the mastermind of the prank posted a quote of the day on the outside wall of his cubicle, and that day's quote was from the old SNL "Jack Handey Deep Thoughts": You know what would make a good story? Something about a clown who makes people happy, but inside he's real sad. Also, he has severe diarrhea.

(That's the story in Pagliacci, except for the diarrhea part.)

Over the course of the day I mentioned Pagliacci to several others in the department—college-educated, reasonably cultured individuals—and not one recognized the reference at all. Blank stares. Puzzled looks.

Here's the thing: It's not as though I'm familiar with the story of the sad clown from actually seeing the opera. Primarily I knew the name from the Smokey Robinson & the Miracles' song "Tears of a Clown"—which I know was known by at least some of the people in question. I'd quote the line "Just like Pagliacci did / I try to keep my sadness hid." And they'd sort of nod, but mostly in a placating manner than out of recognition.

I'd elaborate by alluding to the episode of The Simpsons (titled "The Italian Bob") where the family goes to Italy and Sideshow Bob is there and is performing in a production of the opera (wherein he and his Italian wife and son get with him to try to kill Bart and the other Simpsons). And the first guy I spoke with is a big fan of The Simpsons, so I know he had seen the episode in question. He'd just never realized that was what they were alluding to.

Worst of all: The mastermind who'd posted the Jack Handey quote which mined the Pagliacci story for its humor didn't even know it.

It wasn't that I was that cultured. A pop song and a cartoon are certainly culture in their own way, but nothing to impress the intelligentsia. Were I at a cocktail party and trying to discuss it with someone who knew the opera well, I could not have B.S.'ed for very long before being revealed. I was below even a dilettante in my concrete knowledge, and that still proved to be more than anyone else around had--and I work with a lot of otherwise smart people.

Although I smiled as I left these people after giving my pop culture explanation, inside I was sad. In part it was for their ignorance, but mostly I felt a bit like a freak for actually paying attention to the tiny bit I had.

In contemporary society, it does seem like having a bit of knowledge in a number of areas, perhaps gained through cultural osmosis, but lacking any approximation of expertise in any area is worse than knowing nothing at all. At least then one doesn't know what one doesn't know, and such ignorance is more blissful than knowing what one doesn't know.

And, alas, that is not a prank.