Roommate Horror Stories: What I Did To My Roommate Who Was Stealing My Shower Products

My first apartment in Austin was a victory, cheap rent and a short walk to my barista job at a quirky café. But soon, my shampoo started vanishing at an alarming rate. I thought I was heavy-handed, but then my conditioner, body wash, and even my pricey leave-in cream dwindled faster than my tips. One morning, my bathroom caddy looked tampered with, lids loose, bottles shifted, as if someone had rummaged through my supplies. Suspicion gnawed at me, the scent of my eucalyptus body wash lingering in the air like a clue.

Kyle, my roommate, was a broke student I’d found through a Craigslist ad, always sketching comics in his room, his pencils scattered across the table. To test my theory, I marked my shampoo bottle with a Sharpie, snapping a photo of the level. The next day, the mark had shifted, the level noticeably lower. I set a trap, waking at 5:30 a.m. and waiting quietly in the hallway, my coffee cooling in my hand. Sure enough, Kyle emerged from the bathroom, reeking of my eucalyptus wash, his hands empty, his hair suspiciously glossy. I stepped forward, arms crossed. “Kyle, are you using my stuff?” I asked, my voice sharp. He froze, then stammered, “Oh, I thought it was, like, communal?” I blinked, incredulous. “Communal? Do you see a CVS sign on that shelf?”

He shrugged, mumbling about tight cash, but I wasn’t buying it. “Get your own stuff,” I said, my patience thin. He nodded, but the next week, my conditioner dipped again, the bottle’s lid askew. Fed up, I started locking my toiletries in a box under my bed, hauling it to the bathroom each morning like a paranoid vault keeper. The hassle was worth it; Kyle finally bought his own cheap shampoo, its synthetic scent a far cry from my eucalyptus. I kept my guard up, checking levels obsessively, but he’d read the memo, his sketches no longer an excuse for theft.

My apartment stayed mine, the bathroom free of his sneaky hands. I learned to protect my belongings, my Sharpie-marked bottles a testament to my vigilance against a toiletry-stealing roommate. Kyle’s comics might’ve been creative, but his “communal” excuse was a weak plot twist I wouldn’t fall for again. My new routine, though tedious, ensured my products lasted, and I showered in peace, the eucalyptus scent all mine.