My story dates back some 38 years (give or take a couple) and doesn’t involve theft of property, but it would be a mistake to say nothing was taken.
I was young and strong as a bull; working as a route salesman for the local distributor of Anheuser-Busch. Technically my job description was selling and delivering AB products into licensed retail establishments - essentially I got paid to lift weights all day long.
My route was the country route - consisting of a bunch of small rural towns in the outlying area. In the weeks prior to - and immediately after - the Sturgis motorcycle event, it was very common to see a large group of bikers gathered at the small little water holes that were my route. Mostly they presented no problems at all: in fact it was typically a lot of fun as they tended to drink Budweiser and considered me to be a savior of sorts (bringing them more beer).
As I pulled into the parking lot of one little hole-in-the-wall bar, I noticed that there was a single motorcycle in the lot. No other vehicles, except that of the bartender (who I knew well). This particular bar had an old cooler on the outside of the main building in which all of the packaged beer was stored. The front of that cooler attached to the back side of the wall (behind the bar top) so the bartender could easily grab carry out packages and/or restock the drop-in cooler that held the single containers for on-site consumption.
The bar also had a keg-orator (a cooler that holds kegs of beer) for their draught beer. Part of my job was restocking the keg-orator if needed (it always needed restocking). To accomplish this I had to bring the kegs through the front door, lift them up on top of the bar counter, then go through the narrow cut-out in the bar, and take the kegs off the counter so I could replace the empty kegs with full kegs of beer. I always stocked the keg-orator last; after I had given the bartender the bill.
State laws didn’t allow alcohol to be charged, so all invoices had to be paid at the time of purchase. A bounced check automatically resulted in the shut-off of all alcohol deliveries (until the check was made good) so most establishments chose to pay cash for their beer deliveries. As a result it was common for me to have $15,000 or more, in cash, at the end of each day.
When I brought the kegs through the front door I saw the lone customer - a surly looking biker who didn’t fit the meme of most of those who went to Sturgis (regular folks who liked bikes). This guy looked the part of the movie type of biker - unkempt, uncouth, and looking for trouble. The bartender paid me immediately, and as I took the cash from her and put in in my front shirt pocket (along with the other cash) he stood up and walked toward me, talking all the way. He was going to take the money, or so he claimed, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it from happening. He was a big guy - probably a bit bigger than I was, but it was close.
As he got within a few feet of me, I asked him to wait just a second and then lifted a full keg of beer over my head then set it on top of the bar counter. I then turned to him and asked him if he could do the same. He looked sheepish and stammered his reply - “no” he couldn’t do that. “Think about that” I said. He then turned and slowly walked back to his beer, without saying a single word.
That’s not the story itself, but I wanted to give the reader an idea of who I was in those days. I wasn’t the type of guy most people wanted to mess with; not that I looked for trouble, but I wasn’t inclined to shy away if someone presented themselves in a manner that irked me either.
About 2 - 3 months prior to that incident I was awakened by the most disturbing scream I’ve ever heard. It was about 2:00 in the morning and my girlfriend let out the most blood curdling scream; it was primal and snapped me awake instantly.
I asked her what was wrong.
She replied “there’s someone in here.”
Instantly I was filled with rage and stood up, naked as the day I was born, on the waterbed; trying to see who had invaded our bedroom. My eyes stung; I could barely manage to keep them open, but I was able to see a shadowy figure about three feet away from my girlfriend’s side of the bed. He was just standing there - never said a word.
I screamed “I’m going to kill you” and lept out of the bed after him. He turned and ran through the living room and out the door that he had left open. I chased him out of the apartment, down the steps through the main building door, and outside about 1 block from the building. I was still mostly blind, but could see just enough to know I was no more than a couple of steps behind him.
Had I been able to gain one step I would have grabbed him and he would've been a dead pervert. I had every intention to kill him and would have done so without giving it a second thought.
With my girlfriend screaming the entire time, and being unable to catch the perpetrator, I realized I was stark naked and went back to the apartment (throwing on shorts and a shirt) to call the police.
The guy had broken into our apartment, entered the bedroom, and knelt beside my girlfriend - rubbing her genitals: all while knowing I was sleeping right next to her.
The cops told us that there had been a couple other reports of the same circumstances. A friend, on the force, told me that they were desperately trying to catch him because they were sure the guy would escalate things.
The cops also told me that if the guy were to pay another visit, that I should drag the body back into the apartment prior to calling the police. They knew full and well that I would kill the guy if I had the opportunity.
Roughly six months later my cop friend told me they had caught the guy. He had broke into some girl’s apartment and raped her. She lived with her husband, who was out of town at the time.
Against the building owner’s wishes, I changed the locks to our apartment and installed security measures to the front door of the building. I put a deadlock on our apartment, and secured the sliding glass door to the balcony; none of which really eased my girlfriend’s anxiety. She seldom spoke about what happened, but she was never really the same afterwards.
In many ways I’m not the same either; the slightest noise wakes me up to this day. I have alarms, cameras, and motion security lights around our property. My wife doesn’t know what happened back then and I see no reason to worry her by telling her the story.
I’m not so young now, nor am I the physical threat that I once was. I’m much more into prevention and being prepared in the event that another pervert chooses our home. I’m also far more likely to shoot, since I can no longer run so well. I don’t sleep in the nude anymore either, and I always sleep on the side of the bed that is the closest to the door.
I don’t expect it to happen again, but then again I never believed it would happen at all.
Who else could it possibly be. 
We never got any of the stuff back and at that point didn't even care.
