Few people were sympathetic when Lou Krupp explained how he destroyed his car. Some may have nodded politely, so as not to hurt his feelings, but this was just the latest in a long series of blunders that had earned Lou Krupp the nickname, "Screw Up." "Screw Up" made for a nice sing-song kind of rhyme with Lou's name, but it was also a title he had earned legitimately and repeatedly.

Lou was the guy with the tie in paper shredder, glass-breaking ass on the photocopier, ginger chicken soup spilled on his keyboard. In the early days of the Internet, he had gotten confused between the two meanings of "forward" and sent the URL for the Anna Kornikova Fantasy Match to his company's main listserv. Lou Krupp, Screw Up.

But according to Lou, none of these things had been his fault. From his perspective, he was the victim of an uncaring God, a corrupt bureaucracy, or at least bad product design.

"So, you can buy different size shoes, but they all come with the same size shoelaces. It's true. There's one size shoelace for all men's shoes between sizes 9 and 13. So if you have a size 9 shoe like me you're going to spend your whole life tripping over shoelaces. And don't tell me to just cut off the ends, because then you lose the little plastic things and the lace gets frayed and you have to put the shoelace in your mouth when you want to thread it. So, I'm sorry I tripped and dropped your birthday cake, but don't blame me, blame the shoe industry."

One day, Lou decided he needed to make a fresh start. He had tired of being the butt of jokes. Other people had nicknames like Butch or Speedy or Madman. He wanted to be one of those guys. So he put in for a transfer and moved to Oregon, a state where he knew no one and no one knew him. And, most importantly, he started going by his middle name, Sutter. It had been his mother's maiden name. She had given it up when she entered into the unknown of marriage; now he was taking it as he entered the unknown of Oregon. Lou felt this was a good omen. He had never liked the name Sutter, but he was convinced that with the name Lou Krupp it was just a matter of time before he'd be "Screw Up" again.

His job in Oregon was much like his previous one. Only now, when he made a mistake, it was just a mistake. When he sent a package intended for Cuba, Indiana to Havana, Cuba, no one said "screw up" or shook their heads as if they expected this of him. When he requisitioned 10,000 poster tubes instead of the 1000 he was supposed to have ordered, sure, people laughed. But when they nicknamed the storage room the "Honeycomb Hideout," it was all in good fun. They didn't laugh at "Lou," instead they laughed with "Sutter." He was really beginning to like it here.

When Valentine's Day came around, Sutter decided that he needed to do something special. The night before, he came back to the office after it had closed, bringing a couple dozen long stemmed roses with him. He had one for each woman he worked with in his office along with cards that he planned to tie along the stems with ribbon.

But the whole project took longer than he had expected. He had trouble tying the knots and kept pricking his fingers on the thorns. Then, as it started to get late, he began to question his plan. What about the women he didn't give roses to? Would they feel snubbed? It would be better not to take the chance. He ran out and got more roses, note cards, and ribbon. Then he took out the office directory and began addressing notes.

But was it right for him to give roses just to the women? He had heard Paul, a co-worker who was openly gay, complain about the heterosexism of Valentine's Day. Maybe he should send Paul a rose, too. But if he sent Paul a rose, Paul might think Sutter was hitting on him. Sutter realized that the only way to avoid offending anyone was to send roses to everyone. He ran out again and came back with more supplies. He addressed another score of note cards. By the time he finished writing, tying, and delivering, it was 4:30 a.m. Sutter raced home hoping he'd beat his alarm clock.

Sutter made it home, but he fell asleep on the couch and never heard his alarm clock, so he was an hour late for work the next day. When he walked into the office, he got looks ranging from the thankful to the quizzical. Sutter suppressed a smile and went right to his desk. But before he could even boot up his computer, a crowd of people had formed around him. At the front of the crowd were Gary, Steve, and Emilio, the three most macho guys in the office-former football players who canoed on weekends and bragged about their reconstructive knee surgeries. They were each holding a rose. The middle guy, Steve, had his between his teeth.

"Well, isn't this sweet," said Gary.

"I'm hoping he might ask me to the prom this year," Emilio stage whispered.

Sutter looked up and smiled weakly. All of a sudden, he realized what a bad idea the roses were. He could feel sweat begin to trickle down his armpits. Steve took the rose out of his mouth and put it in Sutter's hair.

"Sutter Krupp," Steve said slowly, "Sutter Krupp—what a buttercup."

The room exploded in laughter. Sutter tried to join in, but he knew he couldn't laugh this one off. He'd seen his future. From here on in, it would be Sutter Krupp, Buttercup.