Stealing is almost as addicting as eating Oreos but don’t do it

I love stealing. It’s probably my favorite thing, ever. Except for maybe caramel apples and rousing matches of Scrabble.

I’m here to make sure you don’t go down the same path of debauched thievery I did. When I stole my first banana from the Deece, I never expected it to turn into a full-scale campus dining crime ring. But that’s how it always is; it starts off small—taking an apple from the Deece here, stealing every toothbrush on campus there–y’know, little things.

Then suddenly I’m walking off with signed copies of Neil Gaiman’s most recent book from a small family-owned bookstore even though I was only in there because I thought it was Babycakes. I have woken up countless times covered in scarves that inexplicably all have the Vassar Crest and the initials “CH” on them. Sometimes I black out and find myself stuffing hot Retreat sandwiches into my pants. And I don’t even like hot sandwiches.

It’s as if I can’t stop.

For example, did I need that parakeet? No. Did I enjoy stealing it from its squawking brethren? Most definitely. Well, until it was flying around my room and I had to explain to my rabbit that I still loved her just as much as her new “sibling.” I missed like three classes while arranging it to get re-released into the wild. So, that SayAnything post about the parrot in the THs? Well, that wasn’t me, obviously, because mine was a parakeet. Or people are just really bad at identifying species of small parrots. Or it was a regular parrot. It honestly wasn’t all that clear.

Either way—don’t steal. It’s bad. Unless you run out of dining bucks because you inexplicably need seven Kiosk cappuccinos a day. Then you should maybe start stealing. Wait, no, it’s a slippery slope. That was my thesis.

So, how does one go about not stealing everything one sets one’s eyes on? My biggest suggestion is don’t start stealing dozens of eggs from the Deece to make meringue, or taking entire bushels of apples because you wanted to make a pie. Definitely don’t just take the entire pie, because you are too lazy to bake one yourself, mostly because Deece pies are GROSS. I know that Deece jokes are super bland and overdone… just like their pies.

Anyways, thievery is a slippery slope to something unfortunate. I’m not entirely sure what it is, since I don’t think I’ve gotten there.  I think it’s something along the lines of intravenous drugs and endless Teletubby marathons. Right now I’m just reaping the benefits of all my borderline-wait-no-not-borderline-just-actually criminal activities, but surely this behavior will turn on me at some point. But until then I’ll be rolling around in my piles of stolen apples and giving out advice on how to not turn into me, because no one wants that, least of all me. That would mean more competition for the choicest Deece fruit.

I feel differently about stealing from Vassar than I do from stealing in the real world, possibly because the results are so different. When I almost accidentally walked out of Adam’s with 15 wedges of brie and a small evergreen tree, I could have landed myself in the slammer. Thank goodness my kind friends reminded me that paying for things is something that mature adults do, and I valiantly proffered up monies for goods and services. In doing this, I both fulfilled “social norms” but also can now eat my exotic cheese openly without fear of a Vassar security guard tackling me down to the ground.

I do realize that getting caught by Security might be similar to getting caught by the police, but somehow I doubt that the average police officer would succumb to bribery of the “I’ll give you some of the baked goods I’ll be making with this bushel of stolen apples” sort.

I’ve been caught stealing food by security more times than I can count, and every time it’s happened I’ve managed to wriggle out of it with my keen wit and even keener baking ability. At this point, I think they are just impressed by how many apples I can use in a semester.

But after all of these unfortunate encounters, as well as the constant threat of a new thief moving onto my turf, I’ve made it my life’s goal to educate others on how to avoid the dangerous life of a thief. The best thing to do is to never start. Mostly to avoid competing with me, because my stealing game would trounce all y’all any day, and also because every episode of Arthur I ever watched told me that isn’t what good neighbors do. We are college students—hungry, sad, with dead eyes and permanent blisters from typing away at papers around 2:00 a.m.—the very least we can do is be nice to each other.

But seriously. If you try to compete with me, I will end you.

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