After all of the bars in Champaign closed, Cindi and her roommate stripped and made a mad dash for their apartment building. [Whose idea was this? How often did they do it? Would they streak home in the dead of winter, or only on warm, summer nights? Oh, and, just how far was their building from the nightlife? Alas, if I asked these questions, I’ve long since forgotten the answers.]
Then, during a party in their apartment, somebody came up with the wacky idea of group streaking. All twenty revelers shed their clothes and stampeded out to a nearby park. There, they frolicked. Many wound up muddy.
Upon their return, they discovered that no one had the means with which to enter the apartment building. So here we had twenty naked twenty-somethings standing outside of a building in the dead of night, buzzing buzzers with the collective hope of being let in.
What would you do if some stranger buzzed your door in the middle of the night, begging to be let in? And what if you then looked out one of your windows to see a throng of muddy nudists? You might dig it. Or, you might dial 9-1-1. Indeed, Cindi and her naked playmates soon heard sirens. Without a minute (nor anything else) to spare, somebody finally answered their pleas and buzzed them in. They scampered up the stairs to safety. Or, I dunno, perhaps a bunch of them crammed into the elevator.
Moral: If you must leave home unattired, don’t forget to stick a key betwixt your butt cheeks.
17 March 2000