Living & Arts

McCabe after hours

In print | February 26, 2009

1:55 a.m.: All I can think is ‘We’re going to get cau-ght. The minute the lights go out…’

1:57 a.m.: What if there is an axe-murderer here with me? Sh**. We need better security at this school. I loved our security when we were planning this, but now … I’m freaking out.

1:58 a.m.: Lights out. And the laser beams have suddenly shot through every nook and cranny of this here basement. I look to my partner, we communicate in our secret code and agree: it is time for Plan B. Slowly connecting ourselves to the pulley system we constructed, my partner and I ease our way intricately above and through the laser beams, into the ceiling. A blaring alarm sounds, “Public safety’s got us!” Just as they charge down the basement stairs, we’ve safely hidden ourselves away in the ceiling boards and our traces have disappeared. We’re safe … for now. Inching our way through the ceiling of the McCabe basement, I can hear the shouts and alarms of the public safety guards; this is going to be an intense night.

I only wish that I could claim that much excitement. As you can tell, I may or may not have “accidentally” spent the night in McCabe. (I neither confirm nor deny it). After comparing bucket lists with a friend, we found that this was a shared goal. Our main mission: to succeed without being caught. In order to make it exciting, we chose the one spot closest to the hub of public safety and EVS life, and, yet, the most inconspicuous. That said, one peep from us, one loud creak or movement, and we were goners.

I have never sat in a chair for six hours and 30 minutes straight, without moving. Why didn’t we think to hide in a room with a comfy couch? Why didn’t we think about the possibility that the lights would be turned on and off ALL night, never knowing who was there or exactly where they were? At 2:23 a.m., the lights suddenly came back on. My partner and I looked at one another with only one thought: “We’ve been caught only 23 minutes in. How pathetic.” Lucky for us, the public safety patrol that came down seemed to have no idea of our presence. Our hearts were pounding, nonetheless.

Worse, I am convinced that the heat was turned off during the night (why did I not think of that ahead of time?). Sitting in my t-shirt and pajama pants, I had somehow managed to place my sweatshirt in a spot that would only yield NOISE upon retrieval. “Shoot. It’s 4 a.m., I’m freezing, the bright lights are on, and I am sitting in chair, unable to move my legs in any direction. What are we doing?” It was like McCabe, Big Brother style. Of course we would choose the most dangerous location possible. Luckily, my friend and I had established a way to communicate, drawing words out on one another’s hands, when needed. This definitely helped pass the time — as we sat through security checks and EVS clean-ups. And those last 30 minutes were perhaps the most grueling. Engulfed by our yearning for real sleep and extremely persistent bladders, we were ready to rush out of this joint.

The feeling as we walked out of the doors of McCabe that morning, realizing we had accomplished our goal, was pretty cool. No one noticed that we had never walked through the entrance doors that morning, no one thought it was strange that we looked so tired or that I was in my pajamas; the tired, just-rolled-out-of-bed look is nothing new at Swarthmore. As students scurried into McCabe around 8 to 8:30 a.m., there was only one thing on their minds: work. Stepping out into the sunny morning toward Sharples for a celebratory breakfast, my friend and I broke out into unabashed laughter. We did it. We did it in the most unconventional and strenuous way possible, like a rabbit waiting for the snake to make its move. Our laughter and high-fives carried us down the walk and into the dining room, our rebellious night forever embedded in our Swat memories. A little nutty in execution, but very much our style.

Would we do it again? Highly unlikely.

Kendal is a senior. You can reach her at krinko1@swarthmore.edu.