Disclaimer: All views expressed within this op-ed are that of the author, and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
Written by: Jade Thompson
I’ve always wanted to be a detective. When my Mario Badescu cleanser was stolen, I was finally presented with the perfect opportunity.
All jokes aside, I come from a small town in the NY suburbs where people usually don’t get far. So I worked hard to get into Barnard. I work hard for everything I have. So when Public Safety and ResLife told me that all they could do is document the incident for their records, I had yet another “alright, I’ll do it myself” moment.
So at 2 p.m. that day, with three knocks and a smile at each door, I searched for my cleanser with a distinguishably broken cap. “Hi, sorry to bother you. My name is Jade, my cleanser was stolen from the 6th floor bathroom. I’m wondering if you have seen or heard anything about it. People have been allowing me to see their shower caddies, so I’m wondering if you are willing to do the same.” Most reactions were pleasant and welcoming. “Sure, come on in.” “Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that. No I haven’t seen anything.” “Yes! My roommate’s face wash went missing last year, too.” Everyone was at least cordial. My search was going fairly well until I got to one quad in Brooks.
The girl came out and I repeated my same pitch. “Sorry, my roommates are sleeping, but I can show you mine,” she said, gesturing backwards to the door behind her. “Yes thanks, if that’s okay.” After the exchange, I thanked her again and moved on to the next door. Never having lived in Brooks Hall, I didn’t realize the doors were connected to the same room. They soon came out to complain. I apologized and ceased my quest. One of the roommates messaged me online, so I apologized again. I never knew knocking on a door at 2 p.m. would be seen as such a crime. But it was. Many didn’t understand that my reaction was geared to the greater good of preventing future incidents. Unfortunately, saying that things didn’t go well would be an understatement.
“Hey, did you see they made a meme about you?” my friend inquired. Soon, there were four memes, a GoFundMe page, and an article—all of which amassed over a thousand cumulative likes and comments to make light of the situation. The harsh, mocking, and insensitive nature of the comments shocked me.
“The cleanser is just $17. She’s so poor. She could’ve just bought a new one.” I am not a rich person, but this also isn’t about the money. The cleanser was one product that actually worked to clear my skin, to help me feel beautiful and confident in a society that constantly tells me that I am not. It was also about my trust in the community being broken. My dorm is supposed to be a safe space for me like it is for the many other residents who leave their items in the cubbies. As I was rushing to class, I left my cleanser there for just a few hours. Wrongfully, I assumed people would grant me the same honesty and respect for property that I have showed them. I never would have imagined that the Barnard feminists who emphasize respect and stand against victim-blaming would make comparably insensitive remarks that if I didn’t want my stuff stolen, I shouldn’t have left it out. It felt like no one understood me.
And if that wasn’t enough, the girls vindictively reported me to ResLife, leading with a slew of exaggerations. “She banged on our doors repeatedly, she called us thieves, she forced me to stop walking in the hallway to show her my shower caddy, and she said she was going to fight us.” Worst of all, the report was being used to delegitimize my candidacy for RA. I couldn’t believe that one simple mistake was discrediting me so unfairly. The measures I took are not consistent with my character.
So to all of you who think I lost my mind, maybe, just maybe you are right. Perhaps, I went a little overboard with my detective search. But more importantly, by taking matter in my own hands, I forgot who my God is. He always has a way of providing. And thankfully, the situation turned around for the better. I gradually began to receive outpouring of kindness. Satirical publications about the debacle surfaced and I was able to laugh about it and appreciate the literary mastery of the authors. I began making new friends, my old ones reached out to check on me, residents of other floors sent me gifts and kind messages, many offered to buy me a new cleanser, and even Amazon offered me a refund and gift card.
I realized that God had converted a bad experience into a growing lesson and a testament of faith. I understand I was wrong for trying to force people to care about my problems. I took it too far. And I’m not afraid to admit when I have made a mistake out of anger, as we all do at some point. I truly am sorry to anyone I have hurt in my own hurt. I hope you all can find it in your hearts to forgive me and maybe see things from my perspective. And for anyone who is going through a difficult time, I encourage you to trust God. He has a much greater way of solving our problems than we could ever imagine. Sadness may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning!