The luck of St. Patrick never visited my house on Thursday. Instead, the devil and all his friends arrived with guns.
At about 9:15 p.m. Thursday, my roommate, David, and I were sitting on our living room couch, multitasking between NCAA tournament basketball games and YouTube videos. I showed Dave a YouTube clip of Jimmy Fallon and Bruce Springsteen performing Willow Smith's "Whip My Hair." It was the last honest laugh we had all night.
Our door was unlocked, one of our window blinds was half-way up and one of our friends had just left—a perfect storm for a crime.
Right after the YouTube clip ended, three armed robbers burst into my living room yelling at Dave and me to get everything out of our pockets. With pistols pointed next to our faces, we gave the assailants our phones, wallets and keys as fast as possible. My heart all but jumped out of my chest.
One of the robbers hit Dave over the head with his gun, and demanded to know if anyone else was in our house. Two of the robbers went upstairs to get my roommate Andy, who was upstairs in his room studying. The other stayed with Dave and me, telling us, "If anyone asks, y'all didn't see nuthin. Aight?" We reluctantly agreed. Fear dictated our words.
The robbers brought Andy downstairs into the living room, along with many of our valuable belongings.
As they prepared for a speedy getaway, the robbers pointed their guns at us one more time and instructed us to go upstairs. We did so quickly, and heard our front door slam shortly after.
In about five minutes the robbers stole phones, computers, liquor bottles, wallets, a backpack and my peace of mind.
We contacted the police immediately with our neighbors' phones, and the Newark police arrived within a minute or two. The two officers who first reported to the scene offered a much-needed sense of safety. Although I had a shaky opinion of the local authorities prior to Thursday night, I can assure any students that the police, both Newark and university, are exceptional. No suspects have been found yet, but the police department's efforts should not be overlooked.
Once the Newark police detective left our house in the early hours of Friday morning, all I could do was reflect.
Why us?
Terrorism always sounded about as foreign to me as its subjects on the nightly news. But terror was in my living room Thursday, looking me in the face.
My roommates and I have conjured up almost every possible "what if" scenario that may have changed our fate. As the days and hours pass though, one scenario dominates the others in my mind: what if I were dead?
The painful memory of Thursday provides me with a new scope of my life. I have a second chance, and it will not go to waste. On Saturday, my dad and I picked up the pieces—cancelled cards, ordered new ones, got another phone and computer and achieved some progress towards normalcy. I partied over the weekend, went to my favorite BBQ spot, Durham's, and felt the late-afternoon sun Saturday outside my neighbors' house while we ate cake.
I was conflicted to write about this, but I chose to for a few reasons. Talking, and writing, about traumatic events is healthy, in my opinion. I am not going to keep this bottled up. I hope people who have dealt with similar circumstances are now not afraid to talk about it, either with a friend, family or counselor. For all students: lock your doors, even if you are inside.
To the robbers, who now have my computer, which is locked, my cancelled debit cards (I only had $38 in my accounts), my keys, which won't work anymore, and my old, squeaky cell phone, I will be taking midterms this week, having a job interview today, watching March Madness and moving on with my life.
P.S. On a lighter, brighter note to the robbers: The Grey Goose bottle you stole that was standing in front of our blacklight did not contain high-end vodka. It instead contained highlighter fluid—or basically, poison. Cheers!
Pat Gillespie is the Features Editor for The Review. His viewpoints do not necessarily represent those of the Review staff. Please send comments to phg@udel.edu
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