Doug Clark: Crime rate up sharply in my corner of Spokane

It was quite comforting to hear about crime being down in Spokane.

Although I’m not quite sure this good news has reached everyone, namely the rancid creep who got into my truck the other day and SWIPED A BUNCH OF MY STUFF!!!

That’s the thing about statistics. They’re not worth a bucket of warm whiz when you’re on the losing end of things.

Speaking of things, it appears I’m out my prescription sunglasses, a zipper box that contained a Leatherman multitool and a fancy flashlight that I paid way too much for.

Oh, yeah, and my checkbook.

That’s gone, too.

But the thing that gives me the creepiest feeling is the disappearance of my newspaper photo ID badge.

It’s insulting to think that my grinning countenance could be out there somewhere, maybe being fondled by perverted hands or perhaps used as the centerpiece in a voodoo shrine.

Plus the magnetic strip on the other side works as a key card that will let any punk off the street into The Spokesman-Review and …

Think again, loser.

On Friday I had my missing badge electronically neutered, which, come to think of it, would be a fitting punishment for all thieves.

A nice co-worker made me a new badge. Only cost me 10 bucks, which I’m chalking up to fool’s tax.

So now my old badge, wherever it might be, is valuable only for souvenir purposes.

Funny, though. I’ve entered this odd stage where I keep looking for my missing items, checking jacket pockets, looking into drawers, etc.

It’s like I can’t quite accept the fact that somebody took them.

My lovely wife, Sherry, tells me she went through the same thing last year after a parking lot prowler snatched her purse out of the back seat of her car during the 20 seconds it took to put her shopping cart away.

She didn’t even know the purse was gone until she was halfway home.

I think I left my truck doors unlocked while I made a stop Thursday afternoon on the South Hill. Or maybe I hit the wrong button on my key fob. That’s probably not what happened, but it makes me feel better, at least.

Wasn’t gone very long, though. Just long enough.

I didn’t notice anything was missing until hours later, when Sherry and I drove downtown for some great Thai food.

I decided to take a pre-dinner antacid from the bottle I keep in the junk box between the front seats. I reached my hand in and felt a strange emptiness.

I thought back a few hours.

Hmm. When I returned to the truck, a bag of toothpicks I normally keep in the junk box was laying out.

But I didn’t think anything of it. Just moved it aside and drove on home.

Now with Sherry, I started putting things together.

I checked the cubbyhole just ahead of the shifter. That’s where I keep my sunglasses.

Make that, kept my sunglasses.

The last time I saw my ID badge it was poking out from under the sunglasses. Not anymore.

As far as capers go this is a small bag of fries. My insurance deductible is higher than the items I’ve lost.

It’s a cheap lesson learned. From now on I’ll be locking my truck doors with the conviction of a Jesuit guarding a wine cellar.

I’m left, however, with the creepy sensation of having my space invaded.

There’s also aggravation.

Aggravation at having to get a new checking account. Aggravation at having to call businesses that had been set up for automatic payments.

This lower crime rate’s a pain in the butt.