The Big Red Idiot

It can be kind of fun working in Park City sometimes. The drive really isn’t that bad—about twenty-five minutes from my home in Sugarhouse to my office at Kimball Junction—and since I ride in the company vanpool, I never actually have to do the driving. I pay thirty bucks a month and get chauffeured to and from work everyday, saving a ton of mon from not having to buy gas. Being in the mountains invigorates and relaxes, and escaping the overstuffed beehive of the city minimizes stress.

I work with some cool people up here, and we have a good time shootin’ the breeze together on the drive up and down, or when we go out to lunch. Now here’s the story you’ve probably come for:

Sometimes I wear all red. Shirt, pants, and shoes. It started a few years back in college, Halloween actually. When dress up time came, I was stumped for a costume so I just wore all red. When people asked what I was, I responded “Big Red Idiot—isn’t it obvious?” I really liked how it felt to wear all red. It’s fun. Not as fun as wearing all white, but fun nonetheless.

The other day some of us goats went into Park City for lunch—some sort of teriyaki place. The place was packed, with a line of people running from the register out the door and onto the sidewalk. You’d think they were handing out free iPod mini-Nanos pre-installed with each “book-on-tape” of the Twilight book series about Mormon vampires who don’t suck blood out of their victims because it’s against the vampire word of wisdom, so they just suck out the water.

I got to the front of the line, ordered my meat and noodles, then found a standing place in the crowded restaurant to wait until they called number 43, which matched the plastic plaque in my hand. After a moment I felt a whap on my butt and heard a child’s voice say something. I turned around, wearing all red, and saw a little kid looking up at me with a mad look on his face.

“Huh?” I responded, not understanding what he had said.

“MOVE!” he replied. And by the look on his face I could tell that he meant business.

I laughed and stepped away, not wanting to make a little kid cry. His dad gave him this look like What’s wrong with you?

The boy looked at his father and said, talking about me, “He might kill me.”

I almost swallowed the ice cube I was sucking on—it was that funny. I wondered if the kid had just seen the new Batman movie (which is totally freaking awesome times a billion) and thought that I was some sort of costumed bad guy. The Big Red Idiot doesn’t really sound like your normal bad guy name, but then again, I’m not your normal bad guy.