I've told this story several times in the last few hours: to my friends; my coworkers; apartment manager; and police. It is such a strange tale that I've prefaced it everytime with, I know this sounds weird, but... INo matter how unusual it sounds, it is one hundred percent true.

As I turned the deadbolt and entered the door of my apartment last night, after my regular Monday-through-Friday eight-hour slaving for the man,

As the door swung open and I removed my shoes, nothing seemed amiss. The lights were off and the air conditioner humming. All seemed normal. But then an unusual feeling passed over me, and I felt that something wasn't right. The energy of the room seemed... off. (Ok, I don't believe in energy, but i'm enhancing the drama of the story. Just come along with me.)

Usually, I carry my backpack to my room and set it down beside my desk. Everything in my house has its spot. The shoes in the closet line the wall in a specific order, the left ones with their toes facing the wall, the right with their heels facing in. The books on my shelf are organized by catagory, and then by author: their spines line up evenly with the edge of the shelf. The tumblers in the cupboards stand upside down in neat rows; the mugs all with their handles facing backwards toward the center of the two rows; the socks in my drawer are organized by color, and the underwear by style. The bed is always made, and the seven pilows always placed the say way with the open ends of the pillow cases tucked neatly behind out of sight. Everything has its place.

I turned the corner and stepped into my small kitchen. My attention was immediately frawn to a pot lid on the stove. It was unwashed. I had not used a pot, nor a lid, for cooking breakfast. The lid still had cool moisture on its underside, and dried rice gunk on its edge. Somebody had been in my house and cooked rice. the story of Goldilocks emmediately popped into my mind-- which led me to think that the trespasser may still be hidden somewhere in the apartment. I walked through the rooms, looking under the bed, in the closets, in the shower, but nobody was there.

As I passed through the bedroom, I noticed the orange glow of the power button on my computer. Someone had turned it on. The monitor was not on, probably because they didn't know how to operate the tricky touch panel. When I turned it on, it was at the Windows login password screen. They'd have gotten stuck there anyhow. I was a bit disappointed, actually. It would have been nice to see check the browsing history to see what they'd been up to.

Back in the kitchen, I check out the pantry. All of the rice was gone, and dried up rice grains were littered about the sink. The back burner of the stove had evidence that the pot had boiled over while cooking. The intruder apparently was browsing the apartment's contents while their dinner cooked. In the pantry, I found that all of my rice was missing. The bag I keep it in was full of air. I always press the air out before I seal it up. Finally, I noticed a granola bar-- my last one-- was missing.

I didn't feel violated so much as curious. Nothing, save the granola bar, the rice and the pot in which they cooked it, was missing. How'd they get in? Why did they steal nothing of value? Why did they not notice the already-cooked rice I had in the refrigerator from the night before?

It was all very surreal.

The maintenance people are changing my locks on Saturday and I'm going to start using the alarm system. So, if you're reading this, Mister or Miss Rice Eater, don't come back. Just knock and ask for rice. It's cheap. I'll share.