I can’t say why this came to mind the other day. It could be that I’m moving up the ladder in the age department and I was dead set on reminiscing of younger days. Perhaps I’m starting to stockpile stories for my kids so I can “teach object lessons” and this was one I was tossing on the other pile of “Don’t ever do this! Survival is not likely!” Nevertheless, I thought of it and so here it is.
My Freshman year in college, my compadres and me were “encouraged” by a couple of wise old Sophomores to do something called a Public Safety Run. Of Course, we obliged.
At good ole Furman University, our Public Safety peace-keeping Campus Police were a crack team. They had the charge of keeping students safe….why else would their title have the word “Safety” in it? Mostly, the idea of keeping me “safe” was the issuance of approx. 128 parking tickets over my 4 (+) year college career. At 5 dollars a pop plus late fees, that kept my arteries safe from buying more bad food than I already did. Thanks Public Safety.
Now, as an adult, I understand they were just doing their job. I also understand now that the grass beside the student center is not a “parking spot.”
Public Safety Run Rules:
Attire: Dress Entirely in Black. You look a bit like a cat burglar….Or maybe Janet Jackson in the “Rhythm Nation” Video.
Concept: Your job is to coax the Officers on Campus to begin a manhunt for you and your cronies without actually doing anything wrong. How? You locate a “Safety” car (that sounds like it’s a car wrapped in bubble wrap) and stand beside it while he’s inside doing sweeps through the classroom buildings. You must do so at the opposite end of campus from the dorms where you live.
When the officer comes outside, one of you yells “OH #$%!!! It’s Public Safety!!” And you run in 8 different directions. Now, while the old codger presumably knows what you’re doing, he is obligated per his job to chase you and investigate further, even employing his fellow uniforms in his pursuit. From there, your job is to get back to your dorm and never be discovered.
Ultimate Champion:
You are the forever-king-godzilla Numero Uno, El Champion of this game if your pursuing officer un-holsters his pistol and fires a warning shot into the air. To my knowledge, this has yet to be achieved.
My Outcome:
After Lying facedown on the soccer field for 10 minutes while a spotlight swept for us, we made it back safely. No shots were fired and we all (eventually) got our degrees.
Thanks to my parents for funding this and other “memories” during my stellar college career. I’m sure, with six kids, God is already laughing at the retribution that’s headed my way.
Life Don’t Rhyme,
Greg “Manchild” Owens
