College Stories I Remember Somehow: Underpants Gnome

Holy crap. It’s been more than a month since I posted anything. “College Stories I Remember Somehow” is a thing I plan on writing several pieces about. The stories may or may not be mine, but all are told in the first person and with a little embellishment in the details. However, the overall “plot” is 100% true. This story is one of my favorite to tell.

There are a few hole-in-the-wall type bars in the town I grew up in. Amazing stories happened all the time at these kind of places. This night was going to be one of them, though I didn’t know it at the time. I should preface this by saying that no one you know is (probably) in this story, as it involves a very different crowd than the one I associate with now. Still, it was definitely a night to remember.

We’re at one particular bar, enjoying ourselves, when I notice one attractive girl, a redhead I think, making the rounds and really impressing most of the guys there that night. She even spent some time hanging out with me. It was pretty awesome. However, as she left to go to the bathroom with her friend (they never travel there alone), one of my pals walked over to me and said that this girl was not one to be intimate with. Apparently, she was known around town as a girl who stole the underwear of guys she slept with. I was intrigued, but I took his advice.

Eventually, the bar was ready to close and I left with a group of people to head back to their house to party some more and crash. I am not quite sure what time I went to bed, but I woke up around 6 a.m. to the sound of creaking along the floor. I was on the couch, sat up and saw the girl I jokingly referred to as the Underpants Gnome closing the door of the bedroom she apparently slept in. At this point, she still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she saw me sit up.

Motionless, I just watched as she moved the hand holding a pair of silk boxers behind her back and raised the index finger of her other hand to her lips. The only sound she made was a “Shhhh.” She put on her shirt and left, boxers still in hand. I, confused, laid back down on the couch. Thirty minutes later, the occupant of the room she left LEAPED through the door and looked at me.

“WHERE DID SHE GO?” he screamed at me. I pointed at the front door.

I’m not exactly sure when I noticed he was naked as the day he was born, but he certainly was when he opened the front door, looked around outside and screamed obscenities at the chirping birds on the nearby power line. He slammed the door, picked his phone up from the counter and called someone (I guess it was the underpants gnome, given what he said).

“YOU BRING THEM BACK OR I WILL COME KICK YOUR DOOR IN!” he screamed into the phone. He must have really liked those boxers. They did look comfy. Seeing as it was now after 7 a.m. and I didn’t know what the hell else was about to happen, I left.

A couple days later, I asked my friend why the girl took boxers from her gentlemen of the evening. Apparently, it is because she has a sexually transmitted disease. I was disappointed, really just hoping that she had the oddest trophy case in town.


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