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I'm not up to date on my statute-of-limitations knowledge, so I'm going to preface this by saying that once upon a time, the following fictional story took place:
So back in my Sophomore year, I was working in the theatre department's scene shop building sets for money (BEST work/study job EVER, by the way). Anyway, since it was my second year with them, I had built up enough trust for them to send me to collect props from the Underground by myself.
Now, the Underground is this surprisingly massive underground storage facility located beneath East and West Fairchild on south campus. If you ever see a weird, sloping ramp near the Fisk building, by the back side of Crowe, then yeah, that's it. The Underground extends for like, several acres.... Listen, there are entire cities underneath Northwestern and I'm not even joking. Try Googling "Northwestern underground tunnels" sometime. There are maps. But I digress.
So here I am carting this 200 pound wagon halfway across south campus with a list that looks something like:
- lamp
- bedpost (just one)
- 1960s oven (NOT 1950s)
- another lamp
- 2 4'x8' platforms
- two lampshades (in case the lamps lack shades)
I unlock this veritable chamber of secrets and descend into the bowels of the Underground. To give you some perspective, there are security/faculty GOLF CARTS down there.
A few minutes later I'm in the theatre storage area and I'm trying to determine if the avocado-green oven I'm looking at is 1950s or 1960s style (I was wrong on both counts, it was 1970s, fuck everything).
That was when I saw it.
Now you have to understand, my friend Aaron and I were always talking about stealing shit from the Underground, so it was definitely already on my mind while I was looking around the place. There were a few of those colorful iMacs from the late 90s, a handful of computer monitors, you know, some fairly high end thieving options. But then: a pirate wheel, in all of its piratical glory. As soon as I saw it, the wind gently blew the salty smell of ocean air across my face. Shut up, I KNOW it was underground, but that's not the point. There was WIND, damnit.
I glanced around to make sure there was no one watching. With all the subtlety of Indiana Jones (and none of the there-was-no-way-in-hell-that-was-working-you'd-better-run-here-comes-certain-death-in-the-form-of-a-giant-boulder) I snatched up the Wheel and placed in on the prop cart. I checked my list. I still needed that fucking oven. Without the slightest thought to period or place, I grabbed the avocado oven and heaved it atop the Wheel. Surely this would suffice in hiding it from prying eyes.
On the way back from the Underground, I started to feel overcome with a sense of dread. Perhaps this was a result of the Curse of the Wheel, perhaps it was because I was Guilty of Stealing. Anyway, I stopped by the bushes that obscure a bike rack between McCormick and Fisk and shoved the Wheel deep within its leafy shelter. No one could know what I had done.
No one.
Two minutes later I happily told Aaron how I had stolen the Wheel from the Underground. He looked at me with an expression of amazement mingled with a tinge of jealousy. It was he, afterall, that was the theatre major. Surely he deserved the Wheel. He wanted to know where I hid it so he could, you know, just look at it on his way home. I hastily told him the location of a DIFFERENT set of bushes and sent him on his way.
On my way home from work, I grabbed the Wheel and balanced it against the handlebars of my bike. I didn’t care how ridiculous I must have looked, steering my mountain bike with a FUCKING PIRATE WHEEL. It was mine and that was all that mattered.
The next day, Aaron questioned me again about the Wheel, and I told him how disappointed I was that it wasn’t there when I returned after work. For good measure I implied that he, Aaron, might have stolen it from me, to which he awkwardly denied. Surely, he had planned on stealing it for himself, which is why I gave him the wrong directions in the first place.
Needless to say, the Pirate Wheel instills a sense of entitlement and greed in all who gaze upon its wondrous piraticality. Guard it well, dear friend, and pass it on when it is time for you to graduate. But be wise, and ensure a sum of money in return. For the Wheel inspires greed, and for it to switch hands without the exchange of money can only lead to direst of circumstances, like having all those you know and love perish instantly. Seriously. It’s fuckin powerful, it can STEER PIRATE SHIPS.
But again, I digress. In three years, you will know what to do.
Be wary of bandits and raiders, and be sure to get someone high so you can hand them the Wheel to try and steer the ship. It's a terribly satisfying experience.
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