SSE's story about being the worst person on earth brought back a two somewhat painful childhood memories of a similar ilk.
The first happened during one of the blizzards of the early 90's. In my rural PA town, we had close to two feet of snow in a little over a day, and the drifts in places were well overhead. The road at the top of our hill sat between two ~four foot tall crests, so one night we thought it would be a great idea to fill in a portion of the road and dig tunnels through it. We being six boys in our early teens. It was a great idea. Until we saw car lights in the distance. There should have been nobody on the road that night. They weren't going to plow the roads until the following morning. Even with a four wheel drive pick-up, these country roads were damn near impassible. And we had made this one completely impassible. And this wasn't a four wheel drive pick-up. As it got closer and closer, we realized it was a cop car. And as it approached our awesome road tunnel, it turned on its lights. Now, we were all in our early teens, except for my sister, who is four years younger than me. Oh, did I mention my mom sent my younger sister to play with us? She did. And being boys in our early teens, we did what any boy in their early teens would do and fled into the darkness of the country night. And we would have gotten away with it too. Except my sister was too scared to run. I didn't even look to see if she was running. I left her there with the cops. And together they spent several minutes clearing a path together so that the cop could drive her to my friends house where we had met up. And we continued to hide while the cops left her with my friends parents. And I'm pretty sure she was crying a lot. I have never failed harder as a big brother. Except maybe that time I took her friend to a family wedding so that we could all hang out and immediately ditched her friend to hook up with a bridesmaid. Good times. But she hasn't murdered me yet, and so its probably okay that we laugh about it to this day. Well, us boys more than my sister, but still.
The second happened outside of Three Rivers stadium. My dad used to take a group of my friends to the Pirates game for my birthday every year. I went to many Bucco games growing up, because tickets were dirt cheap in the 80's, and as we walked the half mile or so from the cheap parking to the stadium, we always played kick the can. You know, like kicking a damn smashed up aluminum beer can or whatever. After the birthday game, we were all kicking the can, running like idiots through the parking lot, around the trestles of the over-passes. Well, my friend Tim (still friends to this day) isn't paying attention to his surroundings, and lines up a major boot, only to nail the change cup of a homeless guy sitting next to one of the trestles. The coins went everywhere. He was a step or two behind the rest of the group, and though we all saw it happen, we ALL kept walking, heads in hands, even my dad. Poor Tim spent what felt like an eternity collecting the coins and returning them to the homeless guy and none of us made a move to help. Tim caught up and laughed it off. He still hasn't murdered us, so it's probably okay that we still laugh about it to this day.