I’ve had some great Halloween costumes over the years. Until now, the most memorable was in 2001, when I dressed in full chain mail and took top prize in four costume contests. Now, I think I’ve outdone that as Buckethead.
This was a cheap costume to put together. I dropped $1.97 on the mask at Wal-Mart, which I had initially thought would be the hardest piece to get. The guitar, a B.C. Rich Warlock, I already had, and though I bought a Marshall MS-2 mini amp to stick to my belt, I don’t consider it solely for the costume. The hardest thing was getting the KFC bucket.
From the beginning, I knew I wanted a clean, unused bucket. Seven KFC trips later, I was prepared to use a dirty one. Try as I might, I couldn’t fine anyone willing to lay one on me. Several times, I offered to buy a 20-piece as long as they just wouldn’t put the chicken in there. People got weird. They’d never give me a solid reason, just saying that they couldn’t fork over half a cardboard tube.
On Monday night, I hit my eighth KFC. A sixteen year-old kid was behind the counter. I said, “Man, I hope you can help me. I need a clean, empty, large KFC bucket.”
“Here you go,” he said.
I thought that being Buckethead for Halloween would be great for two reasons. First, I’d get to carry a guitar around at work all day. Second, nobody would get it. I was half right.
The first thing I heard when I stepped out of the car was some guy shouting, “Buckethead.” That would be the pattern for the day. Half of the people I ran into would ask, “What the hell are you supposed to be?” The other half would answer so that I didn’t have to.
Have I ever mentioned that I work in a large corporation? The most surprising Buckethead fan turned out to be one of our Vice Presidents. She’s cool.
After work, I took a long walk down the street for some Starbucks. The walk usually takes me twenty minutes. Today, it took an hour and a half. Everywhere, people were stopping me, praising my costume, asking me to play them a few riffs.
I didn’t stick around for any of the costume contests. I just didn’t have the energy. Instead, I left downtown around dusk, stopped at Wendy’s for some fries and a Frosty, then came home and collapsed on the couch. I’m exhausted. Either I’m not as young as I used to be, or it’s easier to walk around in 150 lbs. of armor than it is to carry a guitar and a chicken bucket.