After getting to his parents' house at a little before 2 AM, we searched for any form of identification. Nothing. There was actually even a slot in a leather holder that specifically said "PHOTO ID", but of course it was empty. What the bag did contain was a digital camera, iPod, $25 PacSun giftcard, and eighty different kinds of make-up and mascara, along with a shitload of dirt inside. There was also a phone charger that perfectly fit my BlackBerry, and I just so happened to have forgetten my charger at a friend's house after Polian's Folly against the Jets earlier in the week.
Matt (terrified of his parents finding a woman's purse in his trash can and assuming he was a modern day Decatur Central Saucy Jack, which looking back I wish had happened) wrapped the purse in a bag and buried it at the bottom of the trash can in the garage. At this point we honestly felt like murderers. We were carefully planning and discussing how to get rid of a teenage girl's purse. God help us if his parents had woken up and discovered us pacing the room.
We ultimately decided to drive back to the creepy-as-shit house we dropped her off at to leave the purse (in the bag, with all of its belongings) on the front yard. Did we take nude photographs of each other on her camera, for her to confusingly discover the next morning? No. No we didn't.
Scenarios Going Through Our Heads Driving Back To The House
1. The girl would be crying on the front porch with two very big, aggressive men. Out of confusion, she would then say something like, "There they are! That's the guys who picked me up!" and our tires would be immediately slashed, as would our throats.
2. Those same aggressive men would say, "Man, sucks that we got every number on that license plate except the last one. Our extortion plan isn't gonna work if we don't have that number. Wait...is that...is that them again? Mother fuckers came back to check on her! It's...it's a 7! The plan is a go!"
Notice how none of them include something like, "Thanks guys for saving my daughter's life!" or "Wow, they don't make chivalrous gentlemen like you two anymore!" I think that says something about us. Needless to say, it was a weird night.
Since this happened, I've had people ask the same questions:
1. Why did you pick her up?
2. Did she reek of shit?
3. Why didn't you just call the police?
4. Why the hell did you pick her up?
5. If that were a man, would you have picked him up?
Answers:
1. It was a teenage girl in ten degree weather. We're both in our mid-to-late twenties. Didn't feel threatened whatsoever.
2. No, she did not reek of shit.
3. I have no good answer for this question, even still.
4. See number one.
5. No, probably not.
And there you have it. Did something terrible happen to that girl? Should we call the police and let them know what happened? Well, we would, but Matt has outstanding narcotics offenses, and I've dabbled in abductions, so that was off the table. (Kidding)
My guess is she was just really, really, really drunk. And hey, we're life savers! That's more than Bill Polian and Jim Caldwell can say, those playing-the-starters-in-the-snow-while-risking-injury-for-meaningless-season-statistics hypocrites.
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