Hey Backpack Stealin' Dude, You're on Camera!

So my backpack was stolen from my car yesterday afternoon.

(Anyone out there who finds my press pass, feel free to drop it off here. Same for my type 1 diabetes equipment.)

To the dude who stole it:

Yes, the windows were open. Yes, it's a hella cute backpack.

Take my iPod Mini. Really. It's all yours; the hard drive is pretty close to dead.

And what the hell, take these things:

• The change purse and the, like, 4 dollar bills

• The credit cards (much good they'll do you now)

• The driver's license

• The YMCA card (I have another one, and you really don't look like me)

• The Freddie's card (we're not up to 100 points this month, but if you want to add some on, I'll gladly get the 10 cents off gas after you buy $30 more of groceries or whatever)

• The auto insurance card (they're sending a replacement)

• The glasses cleaning cloth

• The sheet of information about downloading the Labor Education and Research Center's immigration report (I found the link easily enough with my trusty Google toolbar)

• My hairbrush

• The Bijou tickets and

• The scrip for Evergreen.

But could I please have back these things:

• Sarah Hall's great book Daughters of the North, which I want my book group to read

• The book World War II and Mexican American Civil Rights, which I haven't had the chance to read yet

• My bottle of insulin and insulin pump set inserter and glucose testing meter (though I have backups and replacements for all of them, I'd really like to have that information back)

• And most importantly, my New Yorker. I mean, BASTARD! YOU TOOK MY NEW YORKER! AND I WASN'T FINISHED YET!

That said, perhaps, dude, you don't know this, but the store next door caught you on camera walking away from my car, rifling through my backpack.

So perhaps you should give it ALL back? Just a thought.

The DVD with a copy of your unlovely face is going to the po-lice (who perhaps should not know that I work for the EW). Also, when I get a copy, your pic is going up here, and my 12 trusty blog readers will track your ass down. Watch out; they're theater people, and they don't take guff.

But srsly. Return the insulin stuff, the books and the NYer, and we'll call it even. K?