The Florida Guy

A couple years back, my sister-in-law was living in a suburb of Chicago and invited our family to visit for Thanksgiving. We thought that in addition to showing our kids around Chicago, we should make an event of it and drive out to see a Notre Dame football game in Indiana too. We knew it might be cold, and quite a drive with a bunch of kids but everyone was up for the adventure.

It turned out to be unseasonably cold in Northern Indiana and then it began to snow during our drive. After we had taken our bench “seats” in the stadium, they announced that this was the first time it had snowed at a home game in 20 years. Additionally, it was 17 degrees with a wind chill of 9 degrees. Needless to say, I sprung into Dad mode making sure everyone had blankets and cocoa. After everyone had settled, I visited the men’s room. I had 8000 layers on, so I opted for the line to one of the stalls. The guy next to me waved me in front of him.

“You go ahead. This is going to take a while.”

He was clearly a little drunk and very talkative. He asked where I was from and sounded stunned that someone would fly out from California for a Notre Dame game. I asked if he flew here and he offered…

“Nope. My brother got tickets at the last minute, so I drove up in my Jeep yesterday. See I’m a Florida guy. Actually — It’s why I’m in this line. I don’t have any snow clothes, so I’m wearing a full wetsuit under my jacket and jeans.”

Just then the stall door opened, and I excused myself. As the latch shut, I heard him tell the next guy in line:

“Yep. I’m going to be a while. You see I’m a Florida guy…”