Hello again, my friends. Glad to have you with me on this Wednesday. Seriously, I don't make that shit up. When I left you mid-story yesterday, a campus police officer had just noticed the stolen signs around my room. Remember that? Wasn't that fun? Without further ado, here is the conclusion to that story. There will be no further commercial interruptions.
The officer continued questioning the young lady, who had started to come down from her massive amounts of hallucinogens. She didn't ask her any of the questions that television officers would've asked, but rather seemed to chat to determine if there was any medical danger of any sort. Upon concluding, the officer turned back to me. "Normally I'd be filing a 'Stolen Items' report instead of an 'Items Found' one," she said. "I'll talk to your Residence Director about this and let him decide how you should be punished. This was a unique situation since you were actually helping someone, so I won't get us further involved in this matter." She took all of the laminated signs with her and left. I thanked her profusely for her leniency, especially since I knew the RD well and couldn't see him throwing the book at us.
The next day, Rockabye and I went to the RD's office. His name was also Peter, but since he was about 6'5, everyone called him "Big Pete." He was a great guy, and I really should look him him up. (Oops, that was almost a commercial interruption. Sorry about that.) He couldn't help but smile a little as he told us, "Come on, you guys know better than that." He asked if the officer took everything or if we still had some property in our room that belonged to the University. "Well, she didn't take the Institute for Crustal Studies sign," I said, hoping that he'd say there was no harm in keeping it. I was wrong, though. We apologized again, and he let us off very easy. He told us to write a letter apologizing to that office and turn it in with the sign. That we could do, we said. As we were walking out, I turned back and asked, "Um, do we have to sign our real names?" He thought for a second, and then with an all-too-knowing smile, shook his head no. "Just apologize and turn it in."
For many folks, they would scribble "Sorry" on a sheet of paper and call it a day. My friends and I are not like many folks though, and we were looking forward to the task. So that night, we typed up a couple of paragraphs. I'm paraphrasing here, but it went a little something like this:
The next day, Rockabye and I went to the RD's office. His name was also Peter, but since he was about 6'5, everyone called him "Big Pete." He was a great guy, and I really should look him him up. (Oops, that was almost a commercial interruption. Sorry about that.) He couldn't help but smile a little as he told us, "Come on, you guys know better than that." He asked if the officer took everything or if we still had some property in our room that belonged to the University. "Well, she didn't take the Institute for Crustal Studies sign," I said, hoping that he'd say there was no harm in keeping it. I was wrong, though. We apologized again, and he let us off very easy. He told us to write a letter apologizing to that office and turn it in with the sign. That we could do, we said. As we were walking out, I turned back and asked, "Um, do we have to sign our real names?" He thought for a second, and then with an all-too-knowing smile, shook his head no. "Just apologize and turn it in."
For many folks, they would scribble "Sorry" on a sheet of paper and call it a day. My friends and I are not like many folks though, and we were looking forward to the task. So that night, we typed up a couple of paragraphs. I'm paraphrasing here, but it went a little something like this:
To Whom it May Concern:
There comes a time in which every man must face his own demons. For us, the demons took the form of the attached property that we are now returning to you. For weeks, we walked by this building and marveled at the sign that told of Crustal Studies - Crustal Studies, for Pete's sake!
Then the whispers started. We knew they were likely coming from the devil on our shoulder and not his angelic counterpart, but we could not ignore them. The whispers got louder and louder. "Take it," they said, "Take it. It should be yours." When our resistance wore down and we succumbed to the pressure, we freed the sign from its brick and mortar prison, and we started a new life with it in our home. But love and freedom were not enough for the sign, and so it must make its way back to you.
We apologize for taking what was never ours in the first place (despite the obvious connection) and for any inconvenience as people wandered aimlessly around campus in search of a place to study crust. It is with a heavy heart that we return this sign to you. We can only ask for your forgiveness and a promise that you will treat the sign well.
Apologetically,
The Crustal Bandits
For artistic reasons and a proper sense of closure, we slid the letter and sign under the door to the office at midnight. A week later, it was up again in the same place. This time though, it was joined by four screws to make a second heist more improbable. We could've done it, of course, had we not been reformed. Over the next five years, I smiled every time I saw the sign, and I couldn't help imagining the person's face who received our letter. He probably looked around briefly for any sign of someone near, then read the letter, shook his head, and said, "Fucking weirdos." Man I wish I could've been there.
There comes a time in which every man must face his own demons. For us, the demons took the form of the attached property that we are now returning to you. For weeks, we walked by this building and marveled at the sign that told of Crustal Studies - Crustal Studies, for Pete's sake!
Then the whispers started. We knew they were likely coming from the devil on our shoulder and not his angelic counterpart, but we could not ignore them. The whispers got louder and louder. "Take it," they said, "Take it. It should be yours." When our resistance wore down and we succumbed to the pressure, we freed the sign from its brick and mortar prison, and we started a new life with it in our home. But love and freedom were not enough for the sign, and so it must make its way back to you.
We apologize for taking what was never ours in the first place (despite the obvious connection) and for any inconvenience as people wandered aimlessly around campus in search of a place to study crust. It is with a heavy heart that we return this sign to you. We can only ask for your forgiveness and a promise that you will treat the sign well.
Apologetically,
The Crustal Bandits
For artistic reasons and a proper sense of closure, we slid the letter and sign under the door to the office at midnight. A week later, it was up again in the same place. This time though, it was joined by four screws to make a second heist more improbable. We could've done it, of course, had we not been reformed. Over the next five years, I smiled every time I saw the sign, and I couldn't help imagining the person's face who received our letter. He probably looked around briefly for any sign of someone near, then read the letter, shook his head, and said, "Fucking weirdos." Man I wish I could've been there.
So there you have it, gentle readers. My friends and I had a nice, peaceful relationship with the sign until drugs got in the way and screwed everything up. It's the standard American tragedy. See you tomorrow.
2 comments:
It was undoubtably a wise decision not to sign your real name on the apology letter. I'm pretty sure you would have been on some list that would have impeded your future employment with the university. I hope you are completely reformed now. I'd hate to have to visit you under a "Penal Deterntion Center" sign.
Hey, you can't spell "Penal Detention Center" without Peter.
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