I have a backpack that I use when I commute by train. I keep various items in it. A SEPTA pass, my Kindle, notebooks, pens, my lunch, reading glasses, etc. The usual types of things you’d expect.
I don’t think that these things actually disappear, but they do transport around so that they’re never in the section or pocket I put them in. Sometimes I think they actively move around as I’m searching so that I have to make several thorough searches through the entire pack before whatever I’m searching for decides that it wants to be found.
Several times my wallet had me convinced that I’d dropped it somewhere.
I lived in a house that liked to make things disappear, only to have them reappear somewhere where I know I didn’t put it.
Like once I put a can of Pledge on the dining table and when I turned back to get it, it was gone.
I couldn’t find it anywhere, I even checked the fridge.
I found it months later in the closet of the spare bedroom, in the closet, behind a bunch of boxes that had not yet been unpacked.
I know damn well I did not carry the can upstairs, go into the unused bedroom, and hide it behind a bunch of boxes.
It happened all the time in that house. Obviously some kind of hidden central vacuum system that sucked things out of one area and deposited them into another.
The work bench in my shop is the perfect example of this phenomena.
I assemble a lot of automotive components, made up often of many smaller individual pieces. Although I try to be careful, sometimes a small part will roll off the edge of the bench to the floor, or my blunt stubby fingers will fumble something and over the edge it will go.
When I back up and look down at the floor to see where the part is, it is nowhere to be seen. I will move to the side and look all around, taking into consideration that the particular part may have rolled or bounced upon impact with the floor, but still I can’t find the part.
I will get down on my knees and look under the edge of the bench to see if the part rolled underneath. Nope.
I will take my flashlight and shine it at floor level to see if I can pick out the part by the shadow it makes. Nope.
Finally, it is just easier to get another spare part to replace the missing one and continue on with my work. Getting too old to want to crawl around on a concrete floor looking for a small part. The floor gets farther away every year and the gravity in my shop has at least doubled in the last decade.
But come the next morning, I enter my shop, turn on the lights, and make my way over to the work bench, and what do I see — there, in the middle of the floor, where I had been looking for the part, where I had been standing and walking all day, where I couldn’t possibly have done any work without stepping on it — is the missing part.
Out in the open, smug as it can be.
I have had this happen many, many times. Myself and a couple of other people who have worked with me have formulated a theory.
There is a tribe of “little guys” living under my workbench — quiet, invisible, and working on their own car projects. When something hits the floor, they grab it and run it as far under the bench as they can and hide, silently snickering and pointing at the poor old fool on his hands and knees, looking for the “it was just here” part.
At night, they compare the part to the others they have, and if it turns out to be something they already have, or theirs is in better shape, they set it out conspicuously in the floor in front of my bench, easy to see and impossible to miss.
This is our consensus, and we have rejected other wild-ass theories such as worm holes, transmutation and other pseudo-science black arts.
There are couple of cans of beans in my pantry who have managed not to get eaten for years. They disguise themselves as cans of tomato sauce when I need beans, then change back to beans when I need tomato sauce.
Weird… I saw Maastricht’s post earlier in the thread, then it disappeared as I scrolled down, then I got to the end of the thread - there it is again!
Didn’t you already post that a few posts ago?
Or was that here, then got lost, then came back? 
Socks. I bought a pair of bright (really bright) pink socks, because who doesn’t need bright pink socks? Wore them once to a protest, put them in the washing machine, and they both vanished. No human other than I entered the apartment, the dogs didn’t eat them (I was there the entire time the machine was running), and to this day I have no idea where they went. Really bright pink. And no, there weren’t any strange socks that might have been dyed with an ink that didn’t survive a wash.
I get back from a business trip in the 70s. The taxi drops me off at my house.
I can’t find my keys. It’s raining.
Standing under the porch awning, I go through my purse, my luggage, my raincoat pockets. Several times! I even hold things up to my ear to bounce them around so I can listen for a jingle inside.
My neighbor lets me use her phone to call the locksmith. A couple of hours later, the smith has shown up, unlocked my apartment.
I’m cold so I shove my hands into my coach pockets.
There are the keys.
Your sockes were probably deemed an acceptable sacrifice to the god of the washing machine. Usually only one sock is taken but two bright pink socks? The WMG was surely pleased with your offering. I’ll bet your luck has been exceptionally good lately, hasn’t it?
This is my favoritest thread EVER.
I think it’s that Stephen King “Dark Tower” phenomenon; Roland reaches through that funny doorway, cops your keys, keeps them in his dimension for a couple of his years–doing G-d knows what with them (but it probably has something to do with sex)–then returns them to our dimension, which runs on a different time-table.
Honey, what did you put in my ice-tea?
This happens to me with housekeys and prozac (the gremlins must be depressed). I have also noticed that electrical cords can breed. Put one in the closet, come back 6 weeks later, and a couple dozen fall out.
I had something like that happen a few years ago. After I found it in a place I had already looked, I heard my co-worker trying to keep from laughing. Turned out he knew where it was, and deliberately put it where I had just looked while I was looking on the other side of the room.
This can only happen when you don’t ‘pin’ the thing in place.
After decades of experience, I learned to put my cell phone only in my left pocket or in the zippered pocket of my purse and mentally ‘pin’ it there by looking at it when I put it in its special place. Keys and med go in a zippered pocket in my tote bag. And jackets with zippered pockets are a must.
Zippers are the anti- reality distortion field.
If I just shove stuff in my purse or my tote bag, they may be ‘there’ or ‘here’ when I need them.
That’s because there is good evidence from outside observers that it’s the senses that are to blame. If someone else had observed your incidence with the tape they could have told you that contrary to your firm conviction you checked the wrong edge of the table the second time, either because of a glitch in your thinking box (likely) or (less likely, but more likely than reality being in flux) because gnomes turned the table 90 degrees while you weren’t looking.
The table was next to the bed (the only thing that I could be seated on), so there was only one edge available. And the table was only about 2 feet long, making it very easy to move my finger from one edge to the other. Sorry, but Donavon was right. 
So then you fooled yourself some other way, there’s tons of evidence of people doing just that, and none for tape magically taking a break in a different dimension.
And if Donavon has communicated anything relevant, it would have been nice if you’d shared it.
Even more mysterious, when it came back a second time, the cans of tomatoes had disappeared and become cans of tomato sauce!
No. Both posts originally said tomato sauce but one of them changed since then. Weird.