In college, most of us experience shared living spaces — the cramped dorm rooms or the tiny apartments where every inch of space and every belonging matters. The environment is filled with shared meals, shared laughs, and, inevitably, shared annoyances.
This story takes me back to a time when my personal belongings became a target, specifically my expensive shampoo. But I didn’t just let it slide. Instead, I took matters into my own hands. I sabotaged my thieving roomie and got the last laugh—almost.
Let me set the stage: I was a broke college student, working a part-time job that paid just $4 an hour. Between classes, work, and trying to have a social life, budgeting was an art form. Every dollar I earned felt like it had to stretch a mile.
While most of my purchases were practical — textbooks, groceries, the occasional second hand clothing item — there was one area where I splurged: hair care.
As a mixed Black and white woman, my hair required a specific type of attention. It wasn’t just about looking good; it was about maintaining the health and integrity of my curls.
The drugstore shampoos simply didn’t cut it. They left my hair feeling brittle and dry. So, every few weeks, I saved up and bought a $20 bottle of moisturizing shampoo and an equally expensive conditioner.
As a young woman of mixed Black and white heritage, my hair was a point of pride, but it was also a challenge to maintain. I invested in quality products that kept my mane healthy and moisturized.
A single bottle of moisturizing shampoo cost me $20, and the conditioner was another $20. Now, you might wonder why I didn’t just buy the cheaper brands. Well, my hair didn’t respond well to drugstore hair products, so they simply didn’t cut it.
They left it dry, frizzy, and unmanageable. My hair was a delicate balance of moisture, protein, and hydration. So, I splurged on the good stuff because it was necessary for my hair’s health and confidence.
For a student like me, that was two full days of hard work poured into those bottles. It was an investment in myself, and frankly, it was one of the few luxuries I allowed.
The Mystery of the Disappearing Shampoo
I shared my tiny apartment with two roommates. One was a fellow student who, like me, respected the concept of personal space and property. The other one, an Asian guy who seemed like a nice enough person, had a curious habit of borrowing things without asking. For anonymity’s sake, let’s call him Ken. Ken had great hair himself — thick, black, and straight.
But over time, I noticed something strange. My expensive shampoo was running out faster than it should. At first, I thought maybe I was using more than I realized. But it didn’t take long for me to connect the dots.
It wasn’t a huge bottle, but I knew how much I used each time. And unless my hair had suddenly developed a habit of drinking shampoo, someone else was clearly using it. You see, this shampoo had a distinct reddish hue. It wasn’t like the typical clear or white products you find in stores.
One morning, after Ken had used the shower before me, I noticed a faint red tint in the leftover suds around the drain. Coincidence? I didn’t think so. I decided to keep a close eye on the situation.
Revenge, Served Strawberry
If you’ve ever been in a similar situation, you might understand the mix of emotions — annoyance, frustration, and a tiny bit of satisfaction at catching someone red-handed. But I wasn’t about to confront Ken outright — not yet.
Accusing a roommate of stealing might lead to unnecessary tension, and besides, I was curious about how far this would go. Instead, I hatched a plan that would let me confirm my suspicions while giving him a subtle (or not so subtle) lesson.
I took an empty shampoo bottle and filled it with a much cheaper product that I knew my hair wouldn’t like. But I didn’t stop there. I added a few drops of red hair dye to the mix. It wasn’t a lot — just enough to change the color slightly but not enough to make it immediately obvious.
The idea was that the dye would work slowly over time, turning his black hair into a strawberry hue. It was the perfect trap: innocuous enough to avoid immediate suspicion but noticeable enough after repeated use.
I shared my plan with my other roommate, who found the whole thing hilarious. She agreed not to touch the bottle, knowing that it was reserved for our sneaky little experiment.
The Color Change No One Saw Coming
For the next couple of weeks, I kept a close watch. Sure enough, the shampoo bottle kept emptying at a suspiciously quick rate. Every time Ken stepped out of the shower, I inspected his hair for any signs of change.
I waited with bated breath, expecting the moment he’d realize something was off. And then it happened. One morning, as we all gathered in the kitchen, I noticed it. Ken’s hair had a distinct reddish tint to it.
It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but in the sunlight streaming through the window, there was a definite strawberry sheen. He hadn’t noticed it yet — or at least, he hadn’t said anything.
I couldn’t contain my smirk. My other roommate caught my eye, and we both had to stifle our laughter. It was working! I expected Ken to be furious when he found out, to come storming into the living room demanding answers. But that’s not what happened.
Much to my dismay, Ken seemed to like it. He started styling his hair differently, clearly noticing the new color but thinking it was a natural change or perhaps a result of sun exposure. The strawberry tint actually suited him.
Instead of the humiliation I had envisioned, he ended up with a trendy new look. The irony wasn’t lost on me — I had sabotaged my own shampoo to teach a lesson, and he ended up liking the result!
The Unspoken Agreement
Looking back, it’s one of those stories that I can’t help but laugh at. Did I sabotage my own shampoo to teach a lesson? Absolutely. Did it backfire in the most unexpected way? Also, yes.
Instead of the classic sitcom scene where the culprit gets exposed in a moment of embarrassment, Ken ended up with a stylish new hair color that he probably wouldn’t have tried otherwise.
There are a few takeaways from this little saga. First, if you suspect someone of using your personal belongings, it might be better to address it directly instead of resorting to sabotage. The direct approach might be awkward, but it saves you the trouble of your plan backfiring spectacularly.
Second, it’s a reminder of how small, petty actions can spiral into unexpected results. I wanted to teach a lesson about respecting other people’s property, but in the end, I became the one learning a lesson about the unpredictability of life and the risks of playing tricks on others.
And lastly, it’s a nod to the quirks of shared living spaces. If you’ve ever had roommates, you probably have your own stories of minor annoyances and petty grievances.
Maybe you’ve hidden your favorite snacks or marked your name on everything in the fridge. It’s all part of the experience, and looking back, those moments are what make shared living both challenging and memorable.
The Sweet Irony
In the end, Ken and I never actually talked about the shampoo incident. He kept using it until the bottle ran out, and by then, his hair had fully adapted to the new color. He must have figured it out at some point, but he never mentioned it, and neither did I. It became one of those unspoken stories — a silent agreement between us.
Years later, I still think about it when I see a bottle of red-tinted shampoo on the store shelf. It’s a reminder of a time when I was young, a little reckless, and a lot more willing to sabotage a $10 bottle of shampoo just to make a point. And even though the point didn’t land the way I’d intended, I still count it as a win.
Sometimes, life gives you moments of poetic justice — just not always the kind you were expecting.
