I had been living in Rainier Valley for a little over a year. I had heard stories about several of my friends' cars being stolen...but it had never happened to me. I had this arrogant mentality, thinking that I was the exception to the rule, so I never locked my truck doors. Besides, who would want to take a 40 year-old truck? Especially one that is bright blue and can't go over 70 mph? 

It was in the middle of the week, and as I walked out to the driveway to leave for work in the morning, I stopped as I didn't see my truck. "Did I park it in the back last night?" I jogged to the back of my house, peeking around the corner of my fence looking for a hint of blue. Nope. Nothing. "What in the world? What did I do last night?" I definitely did nothing. I know I parked it in the driveway, which could only mean one thing...somebody took my ol' Datsun. A small feeling of panic rose in my throat as my heart beat faster. I called my boss first; I told him my truck was stolen, I don't think it could've gone far, and I would keep him updated as soon as it's found, but I probably would miss work that day. I called the police next, told them my truck was stolen and gave them all my details. I ran inside because I knew my roommate Kyle was still home, and I could probably borrow his car to drive around and look for it. No one knows that truck like I do. No one can drive it (well, if at all) except for me.