I'm a firm believer that alcohol bestows superpowers on the average Joes of the collegiate world, creating multilingual geniuses and speed walking demons. Me, I become a wily food thief capable of cunning schemes.
But as they say, crime doesn't pay. This weekend I learned that the hard way.
Amidst a bustling house party, kegs flowing, my hungry eye spotted an enormous bag of Gardetto's peeking out of the pantry â_ a full three pounds of garlicky glory. This was no momentary munchie, having the potential for hours of snacking sustenance.
Shifting into pantry pirate mode, I devised an on-the-go plot. My eyes portrayed innocence as one hand slid into the pantry. With the loot secured behind my back, a quick handful of crunchy goodness confirmed the worth. Now the mission was to remove the bag from the premises.
Under the guise of a bathroom break, I stealthily slithered to the back porch and stashed my loot for later recovery. Unfortunately, my pirate skills failed me when I forgot to make a treasure map. A few more beverages and an ugly altercation (apparently she wasn't a Coastie?) caused me to forget all about my delicious plunder.
Reflecting on my actions, I'm a bit ashamed. Don't misinterpret thisâ_""I feel no guilt for my pantry pillaging. No, it's the thought of those delectable Gardetto's going to waste that keeps me up at night.
