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Thursday was an odd day. I came home expecting to help my condomates break down the old composter at the request of our neighbour (on whose property it was technically located) and ended up finding out I'd been burgled.
I went straight to the bedroom to change into work clothes and got my first inkling something was amiss when the light didn't go on. I only knew something was really wrong, however, when I looked at my bed and saw objects on it which I knew I hadn't put there. The drawer to the endtable was lying on the floor and about half its contents had been carefully removed and laid out.
I started running through the house to take inventory. I missed the absence of the laptop until the second pass. I was more worried about my passport, since I have an upcoming trip, and my shiny new leather jacket. The more I checked, the more random the assortment of loot seemed: my cellphone charger was gone, but right next to where it had been lay the $250 Bose headphones that constituted my last birthday gift to Monshu. It took me almost a minute to figure out what was missing from the mantlepiece, because who would take an electronic picture frame?
It wasn't until the next day, chatting with a lawyer friend, that the pieces came together. The target was almost certainly identity theft. I'd already been worried about that, so I took Friday off to change passwords and the like. (I'd continued Monshu's practice of keeping them in a locked Excel spreadsheet on the laptop, which probably only kept them safe from the most casual of all criminals.)
As I expected, Chicago's Finest were no help whatsoever. (As my lawyer friend said, "You call for the crime statistics.") Still, since I live only two blocks from the station, I thought there was a chance they'd dispatch someone to take the report in person, but no, it was all over the phone. It took one of my condomates to figure out the method of entry (kitchen window) and suggest helping me change the locks (since we couldn't be sure they hadn't made off with keys).
Everyone talks about the sense of violation you feel when you're robbed, but I didn't get much of that. They'd been so methodical in their plundering that nothing had been damaged. They even went so far as to put back the objects on the windowsill they'd used to gain entry, which is why at first I'd thought they must have picked a lock. I was a little creeped out by the idea that they could return, but locking the window and changing the locks took care of that.
A lot of people are suggesting I get the security system on the house hooked up again, but I don't see the need. Seems to me it would be nothing more than a source of false alarms. I could put bars across the window, but I hesitate too because it's probably the best way for me to get back in if ever I lock myself out. One high school acquaintance (and Trumpian wingnut) predictably urged me to flee Chicago. But I'll have lived here thirty years this fall and it's only the second property crime I've had to deal with. I kinda like those odds.
I went straight to the bedroom to change into work clothes and got my first inkling something was amiss when the light didn't go on. I only knew something was really wrong, however, when I looked at my bed and saw objects on it which I knew I hadn't put there. The drawer to the endtable was lying on the floor and about half its contents had been carefully removed and laid out.
I started running through the house to take inventory. I missed the absence of the laptop until the second pass. I was more worried about my passport, since I have an upcoming trip, and my shiny new leather jacket. The more I checked, the more random the assortment of loot seemed: my cellphone charger was gone, but right next to where it had been lay the $250 Bose headphones that constituted my last birthday gift to Monshu. It took me almost a minute to figure out what was missing from the mantlepiece, because who would take an electronic picture frame?
It wasn't until the next day, chatting with a lawyer friend, that the pieces came together. The target was almost certainly identity theft. I'd already been worried about that, so I took Friday off to change passwords and the like. (I'd continued Monshu's practice of keeping them in a locked Excel spreadsheet on the laptop, which probably only kept them safe from the most casual of all criminals.)
As I expected, Chicago's Finest were no help whatsoever. (As my lawyer friend said, "You call for the crime statistics.") Still, since I live only two blocks from the station, I thought there was a chance they'd dispatch someone to take the report in person, but no, it was all over the phone. It took one of my condomates to figure out the method of entry (kitchen window) and suggest helping me change the locks (since we couldn't be sure they hadn't made off with keys).
Everyone talks about the sense of violation you feel when you're robbed, but I didn't get much of that. They'd been so methodical in their plundering that nothing had been damaged. They even went so far as to put back the objects on the windowsill they'd used to gain entry, which is why at first I'd thought they must have picked a lock. I was a little creeped out by the idea that they could return, but locking the window and changing the locks took care of that.
A lot of people are suggesting I get the security system on the house hooked up again, but I don't see the need. Seems to me it would be nothing more than a source of false alarms. I could put bars across the window, but I hesitate too because it's probably the best way for me to get back in if ever I lock myself out. One high school acquaintance (and Trumpian wingnut) predictably urged me to flee Chicago. But I'll have lived here thirty years this fall and it's only the second property crime I've had to deal with. I kinda like those odds.
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