Maybe someone else there has a pair like yours and took them by mistake, and found their own when they got home or something? That’s just bizarre.
Perhaps from now on you should remove your shoes at the entrance and then carry them to your workspace?
I’ve never had shoes stolen, but a few months ago someone took the wrong jacket from the coat rack at our church. In the pocket was a fairly heavy keychain with all a friend’s keys on it. Despite pleas in the service the next few weeks, and notices in the church bulletin, it still took months before the elderly gentleman returned the jacket and the keys. He’d never noticed the keys in the pocket and hadn’t worn the jacket since, because the weather had turned colder and he switched to wearing a heavier coat.
I remember when my son was born, they took ink foot/toe prints as part of his birth record. Of course, you’d need something like a CSI lab to print the inside of your shoes & then mandate that the employees of your firm provide their birth foot/toe prints as proof of identification. You’d need the power, the gall, and the total disregard of the Constitution of a Dick Cheney or a Stalin to pull it off though.
But its fun to think of the faces all those poser TV CSI’s would make catching a whiff of some truly heinous perp toe-jam while being ordered to run toe-prints.
Sunglass-flip hell. Horatio’s Raybans just might shatter or melt. 
When I was 20 and a full-time student working hard to keep afloat in Montreal, I lived in an studio apartment in the McGill ghetto.
One day, I bought on sale the most beautiful, sexy, pearl-coloured, strappy, high-heeled shoes I had ever seen and never thought I would dare to wear. I did wear them, once, and then they disappeared from my apartment.
I looked for them everywhere, even in impossible places like the fridge, the oven, my locker in the basement…
About a week later I was walking down the street when I saw ahead of me MY SHOES! The janitor’s wife was wearing them, a short, ugly, unkempt 50-year-old woman, and teetering along the sidewalk perched on the absurdly high heels. I was angry, but I didn’t have the heart to confront her. Some part of me was sort of glad that she was enjoying them, another part of me wanted to kill her because I’d begun to think that I was suffering from very early senility.
We’re talking several decades later, and I still remember those shoes as if I’d worn them this morning.
What really bothered me was when someone stole my new bathing suit from a hook outside the shower at my local gym.
Heh. Here in lovely sunny ( 
) south london we have foxes that simply LOOOOOVE stealing people’s shoes and chewing them to bits. To the point that they’ll come inside people’s houses to satisfy their deviant footwear fetishes.
I mean, as if living in one of the worlds most expensive cities wasn’t bad enough, you have to allow for foxing in your footwear budget - WTF? That sort of expense is usually for books only.
I cried because someone stole my shoes, until I met a man who was found in a bathtub full of ice, and someone had stolen his feet.
When I was in college two centuries ago I, being the first college student to take up an affectation, started wearing unusual but stylish thrift shop neckties. One day, while in the shower and having left my dorm room unlocked (who wants to carry a key into the shower), most of them disappeared.
A few months later, I saw one of my college mates (not a dorm mate, but a frequent visitor to the my dorm) at a party. He was wearing one of the ties.
Why was the vice principal rooting around in the garbage?
He went looking for my winter boots as it was really cold, the snow was pretty deep, and I would’ve had to trudge home in my flimsy indoor shoes. We didn’t live far away from the school, so I walked. The boots would’ve been an unneeded expense at a time when we were really poor too.
He went around looking in the garbage bins, not sure why exactly, but mine were on the top near the foyer where my boots had been left. Mere steps from the door.
I remember being so frantic at the time. I don’t know if it was one of my tormentors, or just one of the older students doing things at random.
I used to have a recurring dream (nightmare?) that when I went to high school, everyone took off their shoes at the entrance. So there was this big pile of shoes at the front doors. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t find my shoes, I was going through piles of shoes and everyone else was gone.
They don’t pay vice-principals much. It’s mostly a prestige job.
I was furious because somebody stole my shoes. Then I met a man who stole my knees. So, I stole a shoe from a soldier’s horse, and the poor bloke lost the battle. Now, I have a horseshoe for good luck. 
3 out of 10.
Your story would have more weight if the there was actually a good reason to steal people’s feet for the black market.
“I cried because someone stole my shoes, until I met a man who was crippled after being caned across the soles of his feet for stealing.”
A little different twist on the stolen shoes story. Went to a Mervyn’s to buy some new shoes. Tried on a pair and liked them, instead of buying the pair I tried on, I grabbed a brand new box of the same size from the bottom of the shelf. The clerk opened the box to make sure the shoes were the same size and what did she find? Not a brand new pair of sneakers, but a worn out pair of brown shoes. Someone had likely walked out of the store in the new shoes leaving their old pair behind. I ended up with the pair I had tried on earlier.
Wait a second here. If this means what I think this means, you are saying that a Doper living in Bangkok knows who you are, stole your sandals and knew that they were your sandals and did it just for the ironic satisfaction of making you live your own sig line .
That’s… that’s incredible.
Now we all know where handy moved to.
There might be something to it, Cartooniverse
On today´s breaking news, someone took my shoes AGAIN!, to compound the infamy I was on my way out, leaving early for the first time in several days of over time work, working up to midnight…
Wait, the perp just came in… Grrrr! GRRRR!!! Dagger eyes, die, DIE!!!
I´m out of here, GF says she wants to play.
Gah!, eff the effing eff mother effing effer.
I was just leaving when the producer called me, they need to do some urgent work so I got drafted to make an animatic for next Wednesday for some bloody calcium enhanced milk… I hate doing commercials.
Now I really have to kill that guy…
I’ve been missing a nice dress shoe (that’s right, just one) for several months. It was under the futon in my room, I found it while cleaning last night! Go me!
How does a shoe get under a futon anyway? Did it crawl in there to die?