I know there are stereotypes. Legends. There’s hearsay.
About how when you live in a dorm building, people steal your stuff.
But I thought this was different. This place, full of such nice people. Kind, caring, respectful of property.
ALAS AND ALACK, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I WAS INCORRECT.
It all began with the terrible Ice Cream Incident of 2019.
Let me set the scene: Saturday morning, September 14th. (Yes, we’re going back that far. This is an involved tale). I’m on a grocery shopping run. I needed protein sources. I see a box of ice cream bars. I say to myself, “I am a little melancholy. I am going to purchase this box of five (5) ice cream bars and mete them out with I need them the very most.”
So that is what I did. I’m an emotional eater, okay, I won’t apologize for who I am.
Now, I was methodical. I did not purchase these ice cream bars until I had scoped out the kitchen situation. There were many other treats – in both ice cream bar and non-ice cream bar forms – in the kitchen, all untouched by thieves. I thought this was a safe place.
Well. Saturday night, I clearly labeled the box, put it in the lower-traffic fridge, and ate one ice cream bar. 5 – 1 = 4.
Sunday night, do you suppose there were four ice cream bars remaining? NAY. A MERE THREE.
I had a minor aneurysm and ate another ice cream bar. 3 – 1 = 2.
And when I WENT BACK TWO DAYS LATER, do you suppose there were two ice cream bars remaining? NAY. A MERE ONE.
Count with me, friends. That is two of my five ice cream bars – purchased with my own money, for my own confectionary and emotional needs – stolen from the lower-traffic freezer from a clearly labeled box.
But oh. The offenses do not end here, friends. They certainly do not.
A week and a half later, the RA from the dorm adjoined to mine – a very kind and soft-spoken person – informs me some of her treats have been going missing. I sympathized and asked her if she thought murder was a good penalty. (She did not).
Several days later, as part of a series of Dorm vs. Dorm challenges (long story), I jumped into the pond. My clothes got icky. So I rinsed them and hung them to dry in the laundry room, because I wasn’t going to start a load of laundry that I had to pay for just to wash one outfit. The next day, my black leggings were missing – but a girl texted the group chat to let everyone know she had taken a pair of black leggings by mistake, so I rejoiced that I hadn’t been the victim of thievery once more.
Then, last Saturday – the 28th of September – I was doing my laundry. Like one does at the end of a week. I took my collapseable laundry basket down to the laundry room, loaded the washer, collapsed it, and leaned it against the wall. I rotated my laundry half an hour later. Went to lunch.
And when I returned – brace yourselves, my friends, it’s horrifying – my laundry basket was taken.
My collapseable, useful, hardy, trustworthy, gray-handled laundry basket! Stolen! From tens of laundry baskets in the room! From an out-of-the-way spot! Wrongfully claimed by someone who could never love it as I do!
I have been in mourning since I discovered it missing. I just want my laundry basket, man.
After hanging some pleading “missing” posters for my laundry basket in the hopes that, perhaps, it was just a mistake, I met up with the girl from days before to get my leggings back.
The leggings she had taken were not mine! My leggings are missing, too!
What I victim of barbarous behavior am I!
And today – this very morning – 2 redbulls of the girl several doors down were stolen out of the fridge, mere hours after she put them there. Labeled, mind you!
We live in a house of lies.
That is all.
(And I really want my laundry basket back).