It's a Mystery...

A little slice of urban life:

This morning when we went to the car to begin our Saturday errands, we found a set of keys on the front seat. Now, the car was locked (as it had been when we walked away from where we parked it last night), all the windows were intact, nothing seemed amiss... but here were these keys, devoid of any identification. Hmmm. They were not Jeff's. They certainly weren't mine...

A search of all theft-worthy stuff in the car ensued: the CD folder still had its full complement of discs. The CD player was still in the dash, and the faceplate of it was still in its hidey-hole. (Lest the owner of the wayward keys should read this, I will not divulge location of said hidey-hole.) Jeff's cap was still on the back ledge. The Rand McNally Atlas was on the back seat. All our crap was still crammed in the glove box. My broken and well-worn Buttercup keychain bauble was still ensconced in one of the cupholders... And the car didn't smell of weed or pee or anything.

We tossed the keys into the already stuffed to bursting glove box, shrugged, and headed north to Evanston to tackle our to-do list.

Then we pulled up at the meter on Davis Street and realized... all the spare change that we keep in the driver's side cupholder (you know, for feeding meters, paying tolls, etc.) was gone, save three lonely dimes.

I'd say key-boy (or girl...) got away with maybe two bucks--and was most likely locked out of house and home for his or her trouble.

Ah well. Karma's a bitch.

At least whoever it was didn't trash the car. For that, I hope he/she has a roommate who opened the door, and that the worst that happened was that he/she had to spend the couple of bucks on a set of new keys.