Pia K. Hansen: Burglary shows we’re not as safe as we might think

I am pissed off. Sorry if that made you spit out your coffee, but nicely upset just will not do. Grandma’s pearls, my stereo, a PlayStation and my son’s Iron Maiden lunchbox make up just a small sample of what went missing when my house was burglarized last week.

Some low-life creep had nothing better to do than to break a basement window, sneak into my house and steal electronics, jewelry and anything with alcohol in it.

Apparently the burglar didn’t like scotch, because it was left behind. Saturday morning a friend showed up and got me started on cleaning. The lonely scotch came in handy to spike my coffee as I washed, scrubbed, swept and vacuumed my maniac way through the mess that was left behind.

I wasn’t just cleaning up; I was trying to remove the “ick” – that dirty feeling a stranger leaves behind after dumping the contents of your dresser on the floor, pawing through all your clothes and dripping blood on your bedspread.

My story is like so many others: I came home late from work, the back door was open and I peeked inside. Furniture was moved, and stuff was all over the place.

Through a fog of disbelief, I got scared. I called 911, then left the house feeling terrified that someone was still inside.

The police got there within 20 minutes, and I was grateful to send an officer inside my house before I tenderly followed.

Evidence was collected, and pictures were taken.

A friend showed up, hugged me and put plywood over the broken window.

Hours later I was still trying to fall asleep, unsettled by every wind gust that came around the corner.

I left a note with my neighbors explaining what had happened. Someone did see my back door wide open in the afternoon.

I sure hope Spokane Police Chief Anne Kirkpatrick is successful in bringing Crime Check back, yet I have to admit I’m a little jaded about these crime prevention measures.

After a burglary, I expected frayed nerves, but I am surprised as to how low my expectations are for anything to be solved.

I assume my stuff is gone – I’ll never see it again no matter how many stolen property reports I fill out or how many times I go to the pawnshops around town.

I assume whoever broke in is never going to get caught or punished for this particular crime.

Agreed, my loss could have been a lot worse, and solving murders should have a higher priority than finding out who made off with my DVDs (all of them, except “Fargo.” What’s wrong with “Fargo”?)

I assume my insurance company is going to put up a big fight, questioning anything and everything I report as stolen.

I assume someone will try to steal my identity.

And I assume I’ll be a target again.

After all, it was when I moved into what people call a good neighborhood that my bike was stolen (within the first week) then my car broken into (within the first year), and now the house is burglarized just two years after I moved in.

So what’s a woman to do? I already lock my doors, and there’s not as much as a twig planted up against the house for burglars to hide behind. Someone suggested getting a baseball bat – but with my luck I’m sure the crook would get a hold of it and beat me senseless.

I have nothing against guns, but I don’t own one because I wouldn’t want to inadvertently arm an intruder. I could get a nice-size dog, like the German wirehaired pointer I used to have. Or an alarm system. Or I could try and have some faith.

In the meantime, watch your surroundings and get to know your neighbors.

And if your jewelry is still stashed in your dresser, find a new place for it.

It’s not safe in your bedroom anymore.