There was some debat about that paint, the clothing, the entire ordeal but in the thick of it all he didn't exactly have the proper resources to make up anything more elaborate than your average 'help me'. With the obvious in lack of resources, knowledge, or willful allies at his disposal the Joker would just have to dispose of whoever was trying to bargain his help--bargain or not, he couldn't very well leave any suspicion of his presence or a danger to this society.
So he would bank on chance that he could, by extension, be entirely less creepy and convincing than this place. Spin a story, weave a tail, he would do what he could.
What the Joker did not expect was the slurred term for his name, undoubtedly he was a popular soul to Gotham and undoubtedly he couldn't be the only one. Only the bubbly little woman who appeared to see through his paper thin bait did not ring any bells. A gloved hand clenching at his side, Joker leered in confusion, head and jaw turning in obvious confusion, dark eyes narrowing behind the sweaty smear of paint that was vaguley wiping away.
"Have we...met?" His tongue ran over his teeth, under his lips, poking at the scars on the corner of his mouth as he tried to predict if this was potentially good or bad for him.