It was July 3, and I just had left work. I went downtown to drop off something to a friend. The car was locked, as it always is whenever I go someplace, and I shoved my purse under the seat. So, when I came back out to my car five minutes later and saw the driver's side front and back doors unlocked, I knew something was wrong.

I reached my hand under the seat and felt nothing. I stuck my head under it, confirming my worst nightmare. Someone had broken into my car and stolen my purse in broad daylight in little ol' Port Clinton, Ohio. Someone was walking the streets with everything I owned, every piece of identity I had. And that was what bothered me - not the $24 in cash I had in my wallet, but that someone stole my identity.

I acted quickly. I ran inside the clothing store where my friend worked and called the police. It was a busy tourist weekend in town, so an officer arrived immediately to help me. I was not very nice to him. I panicked as I gave him inventory of everything inside my favorite black purse.

I slowly realized that, being a reporter, I carried everything important with me. Especially my small spiral bound reporter's notebook. In that, I had three days' worth of notes. That was more precious to me than the material things I lost. I would have to explain to my editor why I might not make deadline for my stories, and would have to call back all my sources.

Step two, after reporting the purse stolen, was to cancel my credit cards. I was on hold for 20 minutes with my Visa company. In that time, someone could have run to any store in town and racked up a bill. I was anything but polite to the phone operator.

Being a holiday weekend, I could not straighten things out at the bank until Tuesday. In my purse was an ATM card, checkbook and paycheck stubs from that day. Along with my driver's license, social security card and student identification card, it would have been easy for someone to use the checks.

My bank charged me $30 to put a stop payment on the checks in the purse. The woman I talked to told me I could not get new account numbers. I felt I was being punished for no reason.

After stopping at the bank, the next thing to do was get a driver's license. I needed an identity, and with my job, I needed it fast. But the license bureau would not give me a new driver's license without a social security card - something else that was in the purse. The nearest option was to drive an hour to Toledo, where they would give me a printout that said a new card was on its way.

When I arrived at the social security office, I took a number and waited in line with 20 other people. Eventually, I was called to the window. I had my birth certificate, my press pass and my mom ... the only sources of identification I had left. That was barely enough.

With more than a little hassle, I not only got a new driver's license, but one with a new number. By the end of the week, my life was almost pieced back together.

I'm not sure what the whole ordeal was supposed to teach me, but I know it made me realize how material my life can be. Three months ago, this was the worst thing I had experienced. It isn't the loss of cash or the Anne Klein watch inside the purse that bothers me now; it's the way I was violated.

The police officer told me the thief probably was uninterested in my address, bank information or paychecks. They were looking for quick cash, and found it. He told me it would probably turn up in a few days thrown in a dumpster.

About a month later, I got a phone call. Someone found my purse in a back alley. When I went to pick it up, it was wet and mildewed. Missing was the cash, watch, a bracelet, one credit card and my reporter's notebook. The thief even emptied the pennies out of my wallet. Hopefully, the small monetary value of the theft fed someone for a few weeks. But it hit this college student hard.

Gordon can be reached at kg388697 . She is the Assistant News Editor for The Post.