Real Dorm Stories :

<<back

Theft and Dirty Dishes
(first semester, first year, Utica)

by Jess Hopsicker

Stop me if you’ve heard this one. My roommate stole my car. Actually, at first I let her borrow it. So she could do my homework. The first time was fine; the car even came back in one piece. I guessed she really had to run errands and I didn’t have to paint a "beauteous" plaid color gradient. The next few days were great. Once, when I walked into the room, I found she even cleaned my desk, even underneath. I was telling a friend this, a compare and contrast about the two crazy roommates. "You know what, I think I like this psycho… Hey, is that my car? No, mine’s more of maroon, and that one looks brown."
I went back to the room to find my keys gone. But there was a note on the counter, "went to Wal-Mart be back soon." Wal-Mart was no more than 10 minutes away. I didn’t see any reason to worry.
  Three hours later, there was no sign of my roommate. After five hours of anxious pacing, I bit the bullet, and called my parents and told them "I wasn’t coming home for dinner because my roommate stole my car." I called the board of student life and complained. I think she told me to wait and see if she comes back. I waited for a total of two more hours. By that time my roommate was officially gone for a grand total of seven. "Yeah, seven hours… at least she left a note." I half joked with the officers in the parking lot. It was the fifth time I described that piece of crap car, right down to the hail damage on the roof.  As if by fate, it pulled into the parking lot. "It looks like that, exactly like that." The flashing red lights bounced beauteously off the maroon paint job. The look on her face was priceless. I politely waved back, unable too hide a mirthful smile.
The story doesn’t end here, and to this day I don’t know why I dropped the charges. Perhaps it was because I was in fear for my life. No "group mediation" could quell her death threats. Eventually I accepted them as a fact of life, that and my other roommate’s suicide attempts. Then I get a phone call at six in the morning. It was my dad, telling me some farmer found my license plate in the middle of a cornfield some forty miles away from the school. I have to admit I should have noticed it was gone. At that point where it was found didn’t register much as a surprise. The farmer somehow got my home phone number and was threatening to call the police. Some kids were bombing around in a beat up Oldsmobile, destroying his corn. "Hey dad," It was the best I could muster at six in the morning. "Remember the time my roommate stole my car?" I told him I’d take care of it and went back to the board that morning. She told me to stick it out, the semester was almost over, then and only then she could move me out of there. Even after I nearly got her arrested, I caught my thief of a roommate taking the keys right out of my bag.
A week later, I reached the last straw when a sink's worth of dishes was callously thrown away. They were my dishes and I didn’t use a single one. Mostly because I didn’t eat, and when I did eat the dishes were already dirty. There had been a mug on one of their desks that was defiantly growing something. "Why did you do it?" I confronted her, fists clenched, finally about to snap, "You threw away my dishes. They were my families’ dishes too. My big mug- that looks like 3 mugs put together is GONE! Why!"
"They smelled," She said snottily, "but not as bad as you."
"You rob me of my dishes," I gritted my teeth. Normally when I get this pissed I can be quite pleasant, that afternoon I was not having it. "You throw out my mugs and bowls, plates and silverware… and then insult my hygiene! I shower every day! You’ll pay for this!" I screamed. Doors on the floor cracked open. She finally snapped I could almost hear them whispering among each other, wondering which one I was going to kill first.
"You’re a real bitch you know that." She retorted.
"Oh you’re so damn clever." I scanned the countertop for a weapon. A broken bottle? Acrylic paint? A Glue stick jammed in the eyeball. "They smell but not as bad as you" I mimicked, "Is that all you can come up with? I should have had you arrested when you stole my freakin car!" I screamed the last part right up in her face.
"But you didn’t." She waved her hand in front of her face, mocking my breath the way a 12-year-old would do.
I was in mid-strike when I stopped my attack, "good point." I smashed the open glue stick on the countertop and left slamming the door on my way out.
"She threw out my dishes! I miss my big mug." I went to my friends, my parents, and back to the board. Somehow this time I worked up a contract with Student Life, for reimbursement purposes. There even was an extra twenty added for emotional damages. I said she was going to pay.  It wasn’t much of a surprise that I didn’t see the cash until a week or two later. By that time she unofficially moved out of the room and down the hall. Student Life finally confronted her, because she went off on a janitor. Then my roommate went off on her. It only took a few minutes before they were face to face in a brutal shouting match. "And I want my money!" I interjected. They less than politely told me to leave. "Not until I get my money." When it was thrown at my head I took my leave and went to listen on the other side of the door. I heard she was given a two-week notice. There were two weeks left of the semester and she was getting expelled. She didn’t live with me anymore and I was $40 richer. I felt as if I won this battle.
  Not more than two days later I came back from class and a friend confronted me in the hallway. "You know the roommate that stole your car and threw away your dishes?"
"Uh huh" I said.
"She had some kind of breakdown earlier, had to be taken away strapped to a stretcher."
"Hmm. Interesting." I didn’t know what more to say.