I went through a brief stint of shoplifting in high school. We’ve all been there, right?
Well, I apparently was trying to decide which type of felon I would like to be. A thief was, thankfully, not in the cards.
I did steal two rings from one of those mall kiosks over the course of a month during my junior year in high school. My heart was pounding, I was sweating, adrenaline was pumping! I ended up losing both of these rings soon after I “borrowed” them. I felt a lot of guilt about my theft and figured it was God’s way of letting me know this behavior will not be tolerated.
Since that time, I have not been someone who steals things…
…for the most part.
Virginities and mustache wax at a random person’s party don’t count in my book.
Anyway, during my freshman year of college, the University of Illinois was lucky enough to schedule a very special visit by a very talented rapper. Any guesses? (He’s really white, white baby.)
My roommate and I bought our tickets at the local watering hole and made sure to prepare appropriately for the event by downing some beer bongs. By the time we arrived at the concert, I was slurring, cross-eyed and stumbling.
OK, I wasn’t that bad. But let’s just say I was so drunk that I thought Vanilla Ice was the black guy on stage. Um, his name is VANILLA Ice, not Chocolate Ice.
My friend found it rather humorous when I screamed to Chocolate Ice, “Yo Vanilla, kick it one time boyyyyyy.” “That’s not Vanilla Ice,” she laughed. My response? “It’s not?”
Hmm, what gave it away? The brown skin or the Soul Glo he was rocking in his Jheri curl?
At one point during the show, my friend and I went to the bathroom. I was wearing my jeans, tank and requisite black “going out” cardigan. I flung the cardigan over the top of the door so it wouldn’t drip in any of the sewage. I proceeded to, as dainty as a ballerina, hover over the toilet and drip dry. I think it was a requirement for all bars on campus to not actually bother purchasing toilet paper. Or soap to wash your hands. Or a toilet that works. When I was done air drying my lady bits, I went to exit the stall and immediately noticed my cardigan’s absence. Some chick stole my likely-to-be-discounted cheap sweater off the stall door? The nerve! And also, seriously? What was she thinking? Why bother stealing a pilled, hasn’t-been-washed-in-a-few months, ribbed, faded to gray sweater that smells of sweat, beer, smoke and shame?
I opened the door to see if anyone was holding my cardigan, but no one was. That was when I spotted a black cardigan slung over the top of another bathroom stall door. I grabbed it eagerly and figured tit for tat sucka!
I anxiously waited for my roommate near the bathroom door. I needed to make my escape with this stolen sweater! My friend exited the stall, quickly spotted me and then grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks for holding my sweater, Leigh!” she happily exclaimed as she grabbed it from my hands.
“This is yours?” I asked, hoping I had heard her wrong.
“Yeah, it’s mine. Whose did you think it was?” she asked.
I thought this was quite hilarious, that the sweater I had attempted to steal was in fact hers.
Moral of the Story:
The reason I thought of this story was that in October of last year I acquired not one, but two strange jackets after a late night out. I’m not quite sure how I came to own these jackets, but I did. One is a rather nice woman’s black suit jacket, which is a great addition to my work wardrobe. The other is a rather feminine XL Men’s jacket that I will likely give away to a local shelter one day.
Or use it to make an outfit for my cat.
I’m not sure if I stole these jackets or what. All I’m saying is that if china or a nice vase goes missing in your home after inviting me over for a BBQ…well, it wasn’t me!