I don’t know whether I need to re-evaluate my trust in people or keep a more careful eye on “Em.”
Things disappeared in my apartment. Stupid things.
Like a DVD from Netflix. Unwatched, thus unopened. Which means you couldn’t tell what movie was inside. Except I knew, cuz I’d ordered it. Ready?
Yeah, that Flashdance.
And there was the pillowcase. Just one. One black pillowcase.
And a pair of pants. Nice black slacks I’d worn to work all of one time before they disappeared. Nice black slacks that finally fit me after I lost about 5 pounds.
Gone. All of these items gone. From my apartment. And not just from my apartment, from my bedroom.
I questioned Em and she was clueless. Which meant it was someone else. Someone who had access to my apartment. Unless my mom became a klepto after I moved out, the only other person with a key was the apartment manager. The manager who lived next door to me. The manager who assured me no one ever went in my apartment without my permission and who said no one else had reported things missing. So I had the window locks upgraded and nothing else disappeared. I thought maybe I’d just misplaced them and I’d eventually find them.
And then I moved. Which meant packing up everything in my apartment.
Guess what I never found?
So, the upside? I’m not so disorganized that I lose random things.
The downside? Someone took my things. And unless stuff starts disappearing again, I’ll never know if it was Em throwing away things because she was mad at me or if it was the apartment manager.