Last night I hit the sack fully expecting a good night's rest.  There was nothing to lead me to believe things would go otherwise, but it turns out I was mistaken.  Around 3:30 a.m., my phone rang.  I looked at it in a half-asleep dazed stupor and saw that it was my roommate.  I knew she'd gone out to the bar, but for some reason I figured it was a mis-dial or accident or something, so I let it go to voicemail.  A second later, I got a text message: "help."

That woke me up but fast, so I snatched up the phone to call her back.  Dozens of scenarios floated through my head - was she stranded at the bar, too drunk to drive home? Couldn't be, bars were closed for over an hour already. Was she stuck at some creepy guy's place, ready to grab the pepper spray?  Did her car break down in one of the really bad sections of Allentown?

No. She picked up, and I asked what was wrong. She left her keys in the apartment and needed to be let in.  Great.  I grumbled, quickly threw on clothes and unlocked the door. I also told her to mind her keys - two days ago I had to bring her spare car key to her at lunch because she locked the car and apartment keys inside.

Why can't I get phone calls at 3:30 a.m. from good looking damsels in real distress?  Just my luck that when I'm letting girls in late at night, they already live in the damn place.  I don't mean to wish bad things on anyone, but it would be pretty sweet to play the hero from time to time.  Oh well, I guess I just have to settle for small rescues of roommates and friends for now.

    -Tucker