My roommate Jesse, who hadn't really been planning ahead, came home on Friday with a problem. He hadn't prepared a Halloween costume for this weekend. So he looked in his closet and underneath his bed for some kind of basis around which he could form his tossed-off costume. He rushed to some strange barbershop/costume shop hybrid and was apparently pressured into buying a hat/sunglasses combo ($10) and a fake moustache. He put these on along with his suit and he was finished. I asked him what he was meant to be. "I don't know," he said. "An asshole. I'm an asshole."
I could see he was distressed. After all, he had every reason to be upset. His costume was a disaster and an embarrassment. Being the class act I am, I decided to spring into action to save his Halloween.
Though I haven't dressed up since twelfth grade, I'm kind of a Halloween savant. I've decided that this is the greatest photograph ever taken. And of course, there was the baseball, constructed out of hula hoops with a sheet draped over it, that allowed me to roll around the hallways of my high school. Pretty much the greatest thing the world has ever seen, not to be immodest or anything.
This, however, was an unprecedented situation. I had only a precious few minutes to save my friend from the humiliation and scorn of his peers. I spied the fake moustache's packaging and saw a face to which the object had been fastened. I got my winter hat out of the closet and suddenly, I had a great costume.
"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Jesse asked.
"I'm a person," I said.
I'll be the first to admit that my costume wasn't perfect. For one thing, there were no eyeholes, so the only way you could see was through the bottom or around the sides of the cardboard. Also, because it was directly in front of my face, I think I was cross-eyed the entire time I had it on and it kind of hurt my eyes. If I had weeks to prepare, I'm sure I would have come up with something better, but this was the best we had on hand at the time and, all things considered, I thought it was pretty great.
However, Jesse was unconvinced. I, frankly, couldn't believe it. I was especially upset because I had given him gold last year as well--a $1 fire hat that read "fire chief," to be worn with normal clothes, the idea being that when someone would ask what he was supposed to be, he would say nothing and point to the hat--and he had chickened out at the last moment, going as a dirtbag. This had disappointed me not just because he had disregarded my great idea, but also because dirtbag wasn't much of a stretch.
Jesse's problem, of course, is that he completely misses the point of dressing up for Halloween. Who becomes the life of the Halloween party? The guy in a suit and fake moustache? One of the thirteen Borats walking around? Of course not. It's the person who does something unique, like the baseball or the person or the foam nerd (Charles wisely followed my advice to pin large blocks of foam to his otherwise unremarkable nerd costume and became an instant hit). The photo above is the two of us demonstrating our respective costumes. With no plans of my own, I was willing to give him my Person, but he turned me down.
Even though he did not take my idea, I did succeed in breaking his spirits and he took off the costume and stayed in for a couple hours until he went to his girlfriend's house in street clothes. The next night, however, he put on his old Asshole costume and went out for a night on the town.
He came back this morning and I asked him how it had went.
"It sucked," he said.
"Everyone hate your costume?"
"There were three guys at the party I was at who were wearing the same thing."
I laughed. I didn't ask, but I assume no one there was dressed as a Person. "Did you ask them what they were supposed to be?"
"Yeah. They didn't know either."
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