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Gutmann, Furda, and the Philadelphia Brotherhood of Thieves, Part 1: The Encounter

Please welcome UTB's newest feature! Each week we'll be bringing you a new chapter in this exciting tale of friendship, pirates, scholasticism, woe, breakfast sandwiches, and romance. (Think Charles Dickens and serialization, etc. etc., but Penn themed, and not based upon the experiences of 19th century British orphans.)

10:17 a.m., September 29th, 2015.

Shit. I thought as I opened my eyes and looked at my phone. I was going to be late for writing seminar again. Wow my head hurts. I winced. Why is Upper Quad ten miles from DRL

Immediately upon exiting my bed, I stepped directly in the pile of hair and dust that I'd been avoiding picking up from the floor all week. Sweet. Great day already, I thought to myself. 

Little did I know that my encounter with that horrible ball of filth was just the beginning.

As I was quickly hurling clothes onto my body, I noticed that my roommate Liz wasn't home. Oh weird, thought I. Maybe she's with a guy? 

As I half-heartedly brushed my teeth, I dismissed this thought. Nah, she's lame. If I don't have a dude there's no way she does. 

I looked at my watch – 10:23. Nothing like arriving to class late, hungover, and drenched in sweat. I didn't even have time for a stop at Lyn's. 

The rest of Butcher seemed quiet as I hustled down the stairs, and I didn't see anyone in the Quad as I made my way towards Upper Quad Gate. I kind of wished there was like a tumbleweed or something making it's way across the grass to make the total emptiness a little bit funnier, but no such luck. 

Something is wrong. I thought, upon realizing that not even Joe, my favorite Quad security guy, was at his post. The swoosh of the Upper Quad Gates seemed to echo in the silence around me and I felt a shiver down my spine.

There has to be some sort of explanation. . . But nothing made sense. Why would Spruce Street be deserted on a Tuesday morning?

The devoted student that I was, however, tried to push my growing anxieties down as I made my way East with headphones on. I just assumed that I'd have to eventually run into somebody. Maybe the Pope is here today and I mixed up the days? That has to be it.

The gravity of my totally abandoned campus only really hit when I saw Lyn's food truck. No line. What the. . . 

Excited by the prospect of my totally bonus bacon egg and cheese before a horrendous class, I broke into a light jog that would be totally negated by the delicious variety of saturated fats I was about to eat. Yes yes yes yes so excited sandwich time, sandwich time.

But not even Mrs. Lyn was there. My jaw dropped.


I froze.

"Don't turn around," someone growled in my ear. There was a person was standing directly behind me. My assailant smelled like what Christmas trees smell like, but worse. 

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" I heard someone cry. I know that voice . . . 

Suddenly, I felt the figure behind me vanish and I whipped around to greet my savior.

"Wait, Dean Furda?" 

He looked a little disappointed at my surprise, but quickly perked up. As usual, his adorable dimples were shining like the sun.

"Thank goodness we got here just in time! The Bamboozler was about to grab you. Come with me."

The Funkiest of Furdas was standing in front of a silver Maserati with tinted windows, idling by the curb in front of Lyn's. 

"No. I have class. Who else is in the car?"

Suddenly, the window rolled down. I heard the icy, yet powerful, voice of our blondest ever president from behind a pair of chic sunglasses.

"Get in."