How I did not find love in the tunnel to hell

When I was a freshman, I was in love with a boy. And by that I mean, he was really hot, I knew nothing about him, and I would do anything to impress him.

One night I was on a walk with him and a group of friends down a local trail. It was a very romantic evening. Calm, with a soothing, warm breeze playing in the air... if only me and boy-I-was-in-love-with were alone. It was as I foolishly wished this that boy-I-was-in-love-with turned to me and said very seriously "I've always wanted to go in one of those". He was pointing at a storm drain that look something like this:

 

I knew then what I had to do. I put both hands on his shoulders, looked him squarely in the eye, and said "Let's do this" with a determination Indiana Jones would be impressed with. Boy-I-was-in-love-with was surprised. Looking back, I don't think he ever really wanted to crawl through a storm drain, but at the time, this seemed like a brilliant idea. My enthusiasm, the late hour, and the naiveity of our freshman souls made the rest of the group easy to convince. And so we donned gloves and other adventure gear to make the perilous trek through what may have been a tunnel to hell. 

There are many things I could say about the tunnel to hell. I could talk about it was really hard to breathe because it was filled with dirt that we kicked up while crawling. I could talk about how every sound we made was a million times amplified. I could talk about how there were a million things on the bottom of the tunnel that were poky and might have been human bones or tetanus-filled metal objects. I could talk about how I was shaking out of excitement because of my stupid spontaneity. I could talk about how multiple people in our group voiced concern but I told them to stop being pansies and grow a pair. But in reality, a large portion of my brain was devoted to figuring out the odds of water suddenly rushing down the tunnel, drowning us all and making it so no one would ever find us. While logic told me not to be stupid as this would probably not happen, fear told me logic had failed from the beginning because I was crawling through the tunnel to hell which was certainly not logical.

Over time, as the oxygen seemed to decrease and I started drooling from holding a flashlight in my mouth, I reached a point where my fear subsided and I was calm. If I died, it would be ok because I was being adventurous. I was facing fear and spitting in its face. I was on a quest for true love! And if I paid the ultimate price, then so be it!

It was as I reached this mindset that I heard a troubling noise: no noise. My group had evidently stopped and I had not. As quick as a sloth, I turned around and crawled desperately towards the entrance. I don't believe my knees have ever recovered from the ferocity of my crawling. Adventurer I may be, but there was no way I was going to crawl to hell by myself. 

I finally reached the beginning of the tunnel. Evidently a girl in our group had become too frightened and had to turn around... And to my dismay, it was boy-I-was-in-love-with who was comforting her. It was also boy-I-was-in-love-with who gave her a piggy-back ride home and it was also boy-I-was-in-love-with who took her on a date and now boy-I-was-in-love-with is going to marry this girl. 

Apparently, being spontaneous and courageous and adventurous and daring and stupid and trying to fulfill and life-long wish, is not the way to get a guy. Apparently, being afraid, is. Apparently, crawling down a tunnel that probably led to hell or at least to a sewer is not very romantic, but needing a piggy-back ride home is. Apparently, being me was not the right call. I should have been this other girl.  This is why the name of boy-I-was-in-love-with has a "was" in his name. 

I will probably never understand men.