Harder Getting Out Than Getting In (Adventures in Being Trapped)

First, I would just like to point out that nothing illegal happened.

Also, I know what it feels like to be one of America's Dumbest Criminals.

For the record, sometimes things happen that aren't planned out and there's nothing you can do but call for help.

The other day, my friend Ellie and I ventured out to our university's maintenance building. We were looking for some goods that were being thrown away after being replaced from the dorms and were hoping to hit some sort of second-hand jackpot. The physical plant compound consists of three old and abandoned warehouses surrounded completely by a six-foot tall fence with barbed wire gracing the top, daring any thieves to climb over. Since the gate was open, we simply drove in.

At the back of the compound is the greatest junkyard for decorating an empty house possible. Park benches were stacked against a wall, music stands with the school's name spray-painted lay piled in a bundle, a few chairs were strewn here and there and then, we saw the prize.

A personal hobby of mine is shopping cart wrangling. There's just something in grabbing a shopping cart that been left alone and taking it home with me to a better home that just brings satisfaction to life. Not stealing, my friends. Liberation. Giving the cart a better life. So when we saw the shopping carts sitting all alone, we knew we had to take them home and keep them safe. After all there are shopping cart kidnappers everywhere. Luckily, Ellie's SUV was big enough to hold an entire herd of carts, so we packed them and our other discoveries in and headed towards the exit.

Except that we could no longer leave. As we were debating on how to best fit everything into the car, the workers must not have realized that we were in the back of the compound and left for home. And locked the gate behind them.

Freedom can be so far away.

Claustrophobia began setting in a few seconds after the realization hit us. While I have always imagined cool places to be locked in for the night, i.e. libraries, museums, aquariums and zoos, junkyards have never been on my list. Too creepy.

We drive around looking for someone to be left working behind in the compound. Nothing. Search for another exit. Nothing. They should have called this place Alcatraz for it's unattaintable access to freedom. After talking about perhaps pulling a Fast and the Furious move and simply busting through the fence, we scratch that idea and call defeat.

We have to call Campus Safety.

Campus Safety. The security team at our university. The people who tend to destroy all fun activities at school with their appearance and who's parking tickets on my car are the bane of my existence. They are also one step below mall cops.

Calling Campus Safety is about as much torture as a person can receive. It's admitting that they have some importance in life and giving an ego-boost to their already gargantuan self-reputation.

Ellie starts the phone conversation like this: "I'll bet you've never heard this one before...". After her retelling of the details, the other line is dead silent. Finally, "Umm...wait...so you're telling us you're trying to break out...?"

Exactly.

So, after trying to figure out who possesses the keys for our prison, 45 minutes after our call for help, Campus Safety drives up and an "officer" walks up to the gate with a certain pompous swagger that all security guards have and grins at us.

"This is one for the books," he grins as he unlocks the gate and sends us into freedom.

At least they failed to notice our shopping cart herd coming out with us.