Here is the sequel to the previous post at last.
My roommate's fiance took the loss of his clarinet amazingly well and went off to the Pep Band to yell instead of play the clarinet.
The rest of us felt terrible for him. It was, after all, a fifteen year old, plastic, school-issued clarinet which he had played for years. We all imagined he must have sentimental attachments to it.
We drove home. My two roommates suddenly remembered their grandmother, who lived nearby, had a jar opener with a long handle and a grasping claw at the end. They decided to ask her if they could borrow it. We took along two brooms, a mop, an odd bar, and a bent curtain rod to make sure we had enough length to reach the bottom of the storm drain. My roommates' friend brought along masking tape and two flashlights. And at the last minute, one of my roommates ran back into the house and came out with paper towels, hand sanitizer, and a plastic bag (in case we retrieved the clarinet piece). Then we climbed back into the mini van and went to grandma's for the jar opener.
After returning to the scene of disaster, I attached the curtain rod to one of the brooms and lowered it into the storm drain while my two roommates held flashlights and their friend took pictures (because of course we must have those). We poked around for a bit, but unfortunately, the clarinet did not float as we had hoped (seeing as how it was made of plastic). Two guys walked by and gave some suggestions which consisted mostly of calling the department of public works. We finally gave up trying to rescue the clarinet in this manner, and decided to call. No one answered, but we had expected as much. After all, it was a Friday night. Then we hunted around for the police department's phone number and found something we thought was it, but nobody answered that one either.
So we admitted defeat and returned home with all our equipment. Then we trudged up the hill to the hockey game. Fortunately, a friend was driving by and gave us a lift because we were all getting cold.
My roommates' parents were quite surprised at the lateness at which we arrived, but they were amused at our explanation.
And that ends the very strange story of that weekend, except that nearly all of the people we have told this too say we are crazy or nuts. It is most puzzling because I can't imagine what else they would have done in our place. We thought we did remarkably well with all our plans. At least, we felt the plans did credit to the engineering school we go to.