I am an accessory.
And I don’t mean that as a metaphor, like, “I am a silver necklace in a world of oversized t-shirts.”
I mean like the criminal kind.
In the past, I have been what laymen commonly refer to as a “Goody-Two Shoes.” Or, as my more technical-speaking sister called me, a “Goody-Goody.” (I never saw the insult in this statement, which is a defining characteristic of the Goody-Two Shoes species.)
But, as I’ve said before, college changes you.
It gives rise to crimes of desperation. Sheer desperation.
I mean, there’s no thrill or glamour in stealing toilet paper.
Sometimes, it’s just kind of necessary.
Coming out of class today, I saw my friend, Lydia. I ran up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hi,” she said, taking out her earphones. “I’m going to the PAC to steal some toilet paper.”
That’s the thing about Lydia. It doesn’t matter whether she is watching Netflix or planning murder. She will tell you exactly what she is doing in the same frank, outright manner.
“Oh.” I looked up at the building. “I’ll go with you.” We live in the same dorm building. I figured we could walk back together after stealing a roll or two.
But Lydia was a woman on a mission.
We went to. Every. Single. Bathroom. In. The. Building.
It isn’t actually that dramatic. There are only three bathrooms, all on the same floor.
And we walked away with only one roll.
My roommate did the same thing once, when we were out of toilet paper. And, to be completely honest, I have, too. (Fine. I’ve been an accessory twice and perpetrator once.)
Still, if the punishment fits the crime, I cannot imagine we would have a harsh sentence.
It reminds me of a case in New York where a man was found guilty of stealing a loaf of bread. The judge fined everyone in the courtroom for living in a city where a man had to steal a loaf of bread, then gave the collected money to the man.
Though, thankfully, we’re not starving. Thanks to mandatory, pre-paid meal plans, we feast like kings on greasy cafeteria food.
We just need something to clean up with.