Ripped Off!

Crime happens even in the nicest places, and even where you feel the safest: at home. Don't let me frighten you -- I am okay. I am peeved, but I am okay. Here's what happened.

On Monday night, I left my truck on my driveway in front of my house instead of inside the garage. The garage door makes a heck of a lot of noise when it opens. My partner had the day off on Tuesday, so I thought I would be a good schnook and park my truck on the driveway so I could avoid opening the garage door in the morning when I left for work so my partner could sleep later.

When I went out to my truck at 5:30, I clicked the remote to unlock it. I opened the back liftgate, where I had remembered that I left my backpack. It wasn't there. I thought that was odd, but perhaps it was in the back seat. I went to the passenger side and opened the back door, and saw a slew of paper all over the seats and floor. I then opened the front passenger door and saw more papers thrown all over, and the storage areas open.

Then it finally dawned on me: DAMN! I'VE BEEN RIPPED OFF BY A THIEF!

What was strange, though, was that the thief actually dumped my backpack into my truck -- thus why the papers were all strewn about. He/sh/it left a portable flash drive and even my umbrella which was in the pack. But the pack was gone. It was inexpensive, but was a gift from my partner to me because he knew that as I was first returning to work, I couldn't carry a briefcase.

As I looked around, I noticed that my console storage area was open and empty. I don't keep much in there but a tire pressure checker and a couple of CDs. The thief left the CDs. I guess he/sh/it doesn't like Linda Ronstadt or the Doobie Brothers. No accounting for taste in thieves.

Upon further inspection, my glove compartment was open, but everything was still intact, including and expensive pair of sunglasses that belong to my partner.

I grumbled, woke my partner and vented, then realized that there wasn't anything that could be done about it, so I just went ahead and drove to the Metro.

It was there that I noticed that my cane was stolen. Who would take a cane? F*$&! I just walked slowly and carefully to the Metro and then to my office from my destination station. It really wasn't a problem, but I am still very puzzled about what the hell would a thief want with a cane? Perhaps he/sh/it has a need greater than my own?

My partner was peeved that the cane was stolen, as he searched hard to find just the right one for me, and bought it as a gift to aid in my recovery. Now both of his "recovery gifts" -- the backpack and the cane -- are gone.

It's my fault for leaving those things in the truck. But at least I didn't leave anything else of greater value to be ripped off.

I hope the thief rots in hell. Meanwhile, I'll just park in the garage, leave more lights on, and pray for he/sh/it's soul.

Update: the thief must have developed a guilty conscious because when I arrived home yesterday afternoon, I found the cane propped up against my garage door. No one saw a thing. Weird....

Life is short: sometimes, it's not fun, either.