Campus Security Joyride

In which Our Protagonist hijacks an official Campus Security vehicle

May, 2004. Senior year of college.

Campus Security (or Camp Sac, as they are known across the 5Cs) was breaking up my party, as was their wont. The drunken throng clustered in my living room fell silent for a brief moment as the lights were thrown on, effectively disrupting the revelry.

"Who's suite is this?" the officers were asking.

The room was packed full of people, open containers in hand, milling around blankly, unsure as to whether they should stay and party or flee the scene of the crime. I drunkenly pushed through the crowd towards the door to my living room.

"It's my suite," I said.

"We're here because we got a noise complaint," one of the officers was saying.

I wondered who would have the audacity to complain about a party on a Saturday night. Maybe no one did, and they just used that as an excuse to bust up parties.

"Sorry about the noise. It's just that a lot of us will be graduating soon and we wanted to party with our friends one last time," I told him.

"Well, that's understandable, but there are other students here who don't appreciate the loud noise."

"I completely understand. I'll do my best to keep it down from now on." This was a conversation I had with Camp Sac on an almost weekly basis.

My inebriated negotiations seemed to be going well, until Will and Sam came over and started arguing with the Camp Sac guys. They were acting like tough guys and mouthing off, trying to act hard in order to seem cool in front of the people at the party. The Camp Sac guys began to do the same, and soon I found myself as the mediator of a testosterone contest.

By this point in the school year I was pretty fed up with my parties being busted. Will and Sam's drunken hostility was a strategic dead end, and my efforts at diplomacy seemed to be an exercise in futility. I withdrew from the doorway and returned to the suite, leaving the meatheads to argue in my wake.

"Hey man, I'm about to go to Del Taco, wanna come?" Crazy Dave asked me out of the blue.

"Sure, man. I'm tired of babysitting these parties every weekend."

Ashley decided to come with us. We slipped past Will, Sam, and Camp Sac, who were still talking shit to each other, and trudged down the stairs of the W tower.

As we walked along the Pitzer Service road, we saw a huge throng gathered outside the Z tower. It seemed that their party had been busted up too, and the partygoers were now congregating outside the tower like displaced refugees.

I looked up the service road towards the grove house. Glistening like a beacon of light in the night was a black and white Campus Security golf cart, parked alongside Mead Hall.

One time in the past, I had managed to start one of those carts with the key to my bike lock. I had driven it a few yards and left it alone, but I had always wanted to take one of the carts on a real joyride. With the Camp Sac officers otherwise engaged in my suite, now would be the perfect time to hijack one of their vehicles.

"Hold on a second," I told Ashley and Crazy Dave. "I'm gonna hotwire the Camp Sac golf cart."

Ashley looked on skeptically as I ran up the road and jumped into the golf cart. I slid my bike lock key into the ignition.

Turn. Turn. No luck.

I tried another small key that I have on my keychain. I don't remember where I got it.

Turn. Turn. No luck.

By now a handful of people were watching my attempts to start the cart.

Turn. Turn. Turn. I was about to give up and go to Del Taco. Ashley and Dave were waiting.

"Hey, why don't you try this key?" someone said, handing me a small key.

"Thanks, man." I tried the mysterious key.

Turn. Turn. Once again, the engine wouldn't start.

"Ah well man, looks like it's a bust. Thanks for your help," I said.

Before I slid out of the cart, I tried to turn the key one last time. The engine remained silent...

I looked up, and found that I was rolling up the Pitzer Service Road. The key had worked!

"WHOOHOO!" I yelled, as I squealed around the cul-de-sac in front of the Grove House. I whipped back on down the road and pulled up alongside Ashley and Dave.

"Hop on! We're going on a joyride!" I exclaimed.

"Are you crazy?" said Ashley. "You're gonna get in big trouble stealing one of those!"

"Dave?" I asked.

"Uh, no thanks man. I'm just gonna go to Del Taco."

Their loss. I drove a little bit further down to the crowd of Z Tower denizens gathered along the service road. Among them was KC, my friend from computer music class at Pomona, who had produced what was going to become track 10 on my forthcoming album. Jack, Alison, Vicki, Caitlin, and some other cool heads were also among the group.

"I hijacked this Camp Sac vehicle and I'm gonna drive it all the way to Pomona!" I bellowed with drunken abandon. "Who's coming with me?"

KC, Jack, Alison, Vicki, and a group of others promptly hopped on the cart, until it was overflowing with people perched on every available square inch of the vehicle. Cheers rose from the assembled witnesses as we zoomed off towards Ninth Street.

We hit a speed bump and Vicki fell off the back of the cart and onto the road. I didn't notice at first until someone brought it to my attention. I stopped the cart and looked back, but it was hard to see beyond all the people clambering for a position on the cart.

"Is she ok?" I asked.

"Yeah, she's ok," someone told me.

"Then there's no time to lose!" I hit the gas and we continued on our adventure, leaving Vicki behind in the middle of the road.

In retrospect, this was ungentlemanly of me. I should've turned around and picked her up, or at least checked to see if she was ok. However, I wanted to flee the scene of the crime as soon as possible, before Camp Sac returned and saw me driving off on their cart.

We wheeled onto Ninth Street like a bat out of hell, people dangling from the cart like so many writhing tentacles. However, the group got more serious as we continued. We were no longer on the Pitzer Service Road. We were on a real street now, venturing into uncharted territory on a cart that wasn't ours. We cruised on, hushed and quiet, wondering if we would actually get away with this.

I pulled up to the stop sign on Mills Avenue in an alcoholic haze. I looked to the left. CMC seemed to be having a few parties going on; there were people on the balcony corridors and music was blaring from the dorms. That was where we needed to go.

I looked to the right. There, staring right at me from the Sanborn parking lot, were five Camp Sac officers, coffee in hand, loitering around three golf carts.

We froze. The cart was at a complete stop. They froze, speechless at the sight of a handful of intoxicated undergrads inexplicably cruising around in one of their vehicles.

"Hey!" one of them yelled, gesturing with his cup of coffee.

I stomped down hard on the gas pedal, and we zoomed across Mills and into the parking lot between CMC and the Keck Science Center. Behind me, the Camp Sac guys leapt into their vehicles and followed in hot pursuit.

I hit a deep dip in the road as I entered the parking lot, and the jostled cart stopped abruptly. I frantically turned the key in the ignition, but, try as I might, I couldn't get the cart to start again.

"Everyone run in different directions!" I yelled as I quickly pocketed the key. "They won't be able to catch us all!"

My cohorts didn't need to be told twice. We scattered like buckshot as the three other carts came bearing down on us. I opted to sprint southwest through CMC.

By now our antics had attracted considerable attention from the partiers at CMC. They cheered from the balconies as I sprinted past. I was running as fast as I could, faster than I had since my narrow escape from a mugging in London the year before.

"GO! GO! GO! GO!" they chanted in thunderous unison as I darted through the campus. I felt like an Olympian. I was going to run all the way to Pomona. They'd never catch me.

I cleared the dorms and headed down the hill to the soccer field. Peripherally, I felt the crowd move to the balconies on the other side of the dorms so they could watch my ongoing escape attempt. I was nearly halfway across the field when I finally decided to brave a look behind me and gage where my pursuers were.

I glanced over my shoulder. Two Camp Sac golf carts bounded down the hill, bearing down right on top of me. There was no escape. I threw my arms up in surrender as they peeled out a few feet away from me, boxing me in.

"Gentlemen," I smiled.

The officers stormed out of the vehicles and surrounded me.

"Man, that was quite a workout," I said. "I really need to run more often."

After it became clear that I had no intentions of fleeing again, they began to interrogate me.

"How did you start the vehicle!?" they asked me, incredulous.

"The key was left in the ignition," I lied.

"Why in God's name did you operate that vehicle? That cart is for Campus Security use only!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was using it, so I figured I'd borrow it to give my friends a lift down to Pomona. I was going to return it."

After harassing me for a bit, they took down my information and let me go. They made vague threats about calling the police department, but I talked them out of it. I was polite, respectful, and apologetic. Since most cops and security guards are used to dealing with assholes, being polite and respectful will oftentimes go a long way.

Also, I think that, deep down, the Camp Sac guys liked the chase. It broke the monotony of their jobs, and hell, it must've been almost as fun for them as it was for me.

I walked back to the CMC dorms as the officers tried to maneuver their carts back up the grassy hill. KC had been caught too, and was being questioned by a couple of Camp Sac guys as I approached the dorms.

"Where's the key?" they asked him.

"I don't fuckin' know, man," he bristled. Both KC and the Camp Sac guys seemed pretty fired up.

"I left the key in the ignition of the vehicle, gentlemen. Sorry for the inconvenience," I interjected, lying through my teeth. The key was in my pocket, and it hadn't been Camp Sac's to begin with, anyways.

"You were the one driving, eh?" The officer asking the questions was a tall, middle-aged black man. I think I had spoken with him before. He was cool.

"Guilty as charged," I admitted. "KC here didn't do anything. It was all my idea, and all my fault."

"What's your name?" he asked me.

"Seamus Ryan. I just spoke with your associates over there and gave them all of my contact information. They told me that they had decided not to press charges."

Eventually the Camp Sac guys cooled off, and they let KC go, though KC was still brooding.

"Relax, man!" I told him. "We got away with it!"

We ran into Elliot, a friend of mine who went to CMC. He was hanging out with his friend Brian, who he introduced to me.

"I saw that chase, man!" Elliot said. "That was fucking hilarious!"

"Yeah it was," I laughed.

"People were going nuts!"

"Man, when we saw Camp Sac barelling through I almost started running myself!" Brian said.

"Yeah, we were like 'let's get out of here, man! They're coming for us!" Elliot said.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"We're black, man," Elliot explained. "When we see the cops, or camp sac, or whoever charging in our direction, we think 'RUN!'"

We laughed about this and Elliot offered us a joint. The four of us smoked for a while, and KC and I related our stories of the chase to Brian and Elliot.

* * *

The next day I received a call from Chris Freeburg, the Dean of Students. He wanted to see me in his office as soon as possible. He has also written me an email:

From: Chris Freeburg
To: Seamus Ryan

Your name appears in last night's campus safety report in reference to taking a campus safety vehicle, and public intoxication. These are both violations of the student code of conduct. Please contact me at 18375, or respond to this email to schedule a meeting. Until we meet you are on conduct probation; any further incidents during your time at Pitzer will result in santions, which may include non participation in commencements and other options. You will also write a letter of apology to Campus Safety and deliver it to them by 5pm Monday, and provide a copy to me.

Seamus, your behavior demonstrates that our conversation about responsible leadership did not mean much to you; I was hoping for better.

Chris Freeburg
Associate Dean of Students

That Monday, I went to see Chris in his office.

"Seamus, come in," he greeted me. Freeburg and I knew each other fairly well, due to my years in Student Senate and my frequent event organizing, not to mention my occasional run-ins with campus security.

"Hi Chris, what's up?"

"I'm here to talk to you about a golf cart."

"Oh, yeah... ha ha..."

"So what exactly happened?"

"Well, you know, I saw a cart with the keys in it and I figured it would save my friends and I the long walk down to Pomona..."

"Seamus, you're a leader on campus. You've been involved in Student Senate, you run the Student Activities Committee with Abby. You're supposed to be setting a good example for the other students, not pulling stunts like this!"

"I know, sir. I should be setting a better example."

"Look, I know you're gonna graduate in a week, and I really don't want to do all the paperwork on this. That said, I could write you up and prevent you from walking."

I nodded solemnly.

"Do you have all the credits you need in order to graduate?"

"Yes. I have all the credits I need to graduate as a double major, plus a few credits left over."

"Good. In that case I'm just gonna let this go. Just don't do anything stupid in the next week, ok?"

I supposed that this would be a bad time to mention that I had smoked out with Cee-lo Green and his entourage in the ante-room of Freeburg's office the weekend before.

"No problem, Chris." I replied. "I'll be on my best behavior."