I was a fifty-five-year-old lady delivery driver. I had been doing it for four years or so at the time. This happened over ten years ago, so some of the particulars are a bit fuzzy, but I clearly remember that it was a horrible night — probably the worst night I had ever had.

The teenagers making pizzas were messing up. We were shorthanded. Addresses and phone numbers were wrong. I had to do a couple of redeliveries due to the wrong pizza toppings. The phone kept ringing, and no one was answering, so I had to delay delivering to answer the phone. It was busy, and they had trouble keeping up. It was just a truly bad night.

It was getting close to closing, and I had one delivery left. I was so looking forward to going home and chilling, and I was ready to forget that night.

There were three or four pizzas on the order, and it was going to an address I had never been to before. I hate new customers; you never know how nice or s***ty they might be. I got to the house in less than four minutes; thankfully, it was close to the shop. There were a bunch of cars in the driveway and parked in front of the house. Cool, party!

I went into the open garage since that’s where the party was. I put on my customer service smile, and then I heard:

Voice: “HEY! [MY NAME]! How you doing?”

OMFG! I recognized Mr. Favorite Regular, and he was waving me over with a beer in his hand.

Mr. Favorite Regular: “Hey, everyone, this is [My Name], the best driver from [Pizza Place]! -Here, have a beer!”

Now, this was not the first beer I had been offered when delivering, but it was the first beer I ever accepted. I got to meet Mr. Favorite Regular’s brother and all their friends and family, and all of them welcomed me like my butt was made of gold. I guzzled that beer like a man lost in the desert for three days guzzles water. There was joking, hugging, and backslapping, another beer appeared in my hand, and there was lots and lots of laughter.

It was absolutely FUN-DERFUL, but alas, I had to get back to the shop, and I was worried I might get stopped by our local officers with beer on my breath, so I said my goodbyes, hugged Mr. Favorite Regular and some of my new friends, and headed back to my car.

I had parked on the side of the street in front of the driveway, but my car was GONE! Oh, s***! I had left the keys in the car, and some suckface had stolen it!

Then, I looked back toward the party, and they were all standing in front of the garage laughing their a**es off!

Why? Someone had snuck out of the party and moved my car a block down the road. These f***ers thought they were hilarious.

And they were right! I laughed my golden a** off all the way to my car as I gave them the double bird they so richly deserved.

Best. Night. Ever!

While driving home, I get stuck waiting at the railway crossing near the station of my little hometown. The station is to my left, the train has just stopped there. From my right, over a grassland, two preteen boys are biking toward the crossing. I mostly notice them because I am a bit worried about them knowing to look out for the train. They do; they lie down on the grass just under the bank, probably to watch the train from below. They’re nearer than I’m really comfortable with but safe enough.

Once the train is gone, one of them runs up the bank and puts something on a rail. Then, he looks around and adds two rather large stones — about the width of the rail itself, as far as I can see from where I am sitting in the third car from crossing. Then, he grabs his bike and goes to join his friend standing near the crossing; they obviously want to cross both the railway and street.

Seeing these actions, I roll down my right window. With half a dozen cars in each direction, they won’t be able to cross the street before my car reaches them, so I will be able to tell them off.

Only… the first car stops at the crossing. I don’t hear what is said, but one of the boys runs back to the rail and swipes the stones off. The cars in front of me drive away.

Wait, but he left the first thing. It’s not a stone but something colourful; maybe it’s soft, but still, I’m not going to take any chances.

I stop by the boys and shout for them to get the last item, as well, while the first car from the opposite direction has also stopped and is honking. The boys go and get the third item, as well, and we all drive on.

Somebody got a triple dose of being raised by the village today. And I got my belief that I am living among decent people confirmed.

My family is on a long car ride when my husband’s phone rings and he answers it. After a few minutes of conversation, he tells the man to hold on, places the phone face down on his seat, and returns to his earlier conversation from before the call. Everyone in the family knows by now that this means he believes the person on the phone is a scammer, and he plans to intentionally waste their time, so we don’t think anything about it.

A little while later…

Husband: “Wait, do you hear that?”

Me: “It’s the person on the phone.”

Husband: “He hasn’t hung up yet?! Man, if I wasn’t driving, I’d start messing with anyone that persistent.”

Me: “Allow me.”

He hands me the phone. I listen in for a while until the man sounds like he is about ready to hang up before I speak up.

Me: “Hello! Anyone there?”

Scammer: “Umm, yes, hello. Is this [Husband]?”

Me: “That’s my husband.”

Scammer: “Oh, well, I was calling from the IRS about some back taxes he owes. He was going to go get his Social Security number for me. I don’t suppose you know it?”

Me: “Oh, did my husband leave you waiting all this time?”

Scammer: “Yes, it was a bit of a wait. We’re very busy this time of the year, so I’d like to verify that information so I can help sort this out quickly before it’s too late.”

Me: “I’m sorry about my husband. You see, English isn’t his first language, and he sometimes has trouble understanding people on the phone.”

Scammer: “Oh, that’s fine. I understand. I just needed to get—”

Me: “Yeah, honestly, my husband, he… Well, he’s not that bright. He always tends to forget what he is doing and zone out, staring at nothing. He’s a bit special, really. Not sure why I married the oaf.”

My husband has ADD, so he actually does have a slight tendency to forget what he is doing and stare off in the distance when hyperfocused. It’s not a big problem, but the family isn’t above some good-natured jokes at his expense for this. My kids are snickering at the description of their father, and my husband is just grinning.

Scammer: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But I was trying to get his Social Security number so I could help sort out these back taxes. Would you happen to know it?”

Me: “Oh, you want his number?”

Scammer: “Yes please.”

Me: “It’s [phone number he just called].”

Scammer: “That sounds like a phone number. I was actually looking for his Social Security number. It’s a nine-digit number, maybe broken up into three smaller numbers split by dashes.”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not good with numbers. Give me a second here.”

I take a second to think up a proper bogus number — and just to stall the guy a bit more. I make sure to sound very confused but sincere when I go back to the phone.

Me: “Umm, I don’t know, but is it 666-42-1337?

I figure he will pick up on at least one of those numbers being clearly bogus, but the man seems to be satisfied with it at first. I assume he runs it through something that spits back that it is invalid because, eventually, he comes back.

Scammer: “I don’t think that is right, ma’am. Could you double-check that number, please?”

Me: “Oh, these numbers are too confusing. Let me get someone who can help me.”

I mute him.

Me: “How often do you think we could pass him back and forth between the two of us before he realizes he’s not making any progress?

Son: “Oh, no, wait! I want to try! Can I talk to him next?”

Me: “Sure, why not? But I’d make him wait a bit longer before picking up. The more of his time we waste, the less time he can dedicate to scamming decent folks.”

I pass the phone back to my son, who unmutes it after waiting a minute or two. There is some dead time after he says each line where the scammer is presumably responding.

I should mention that my son is in middle school and has had two years of Spanish class, which is a far cry from being an expert in Spanish.

Son: “Hola. Mi nombre es Pedro. ¿Cómo estás? ¿hHablas español?” (Hello. My name is Pedro. How are you? Do you speak Spanish?)

Son: “¿Mi madre dice tu necesito un número?” (My mom says you need a number.)

Son: “No sé.” (I don’t know.)

Son: “Me duele mi cabeza. ¿Dónde está el baño? Tengo un gato en mi sombrero.” (My head hurts. Where is the bathroom? I have a cat in my hat.)

Apparently, my son is at the limit of his ability to say things that sound vaguely Spanish.

Son: “Si. Un momento.”

He mutes the phone.

Son: “Yeah, that’s all the Spanish I know. Mom, do you want him back?”

I take the phone back.

Me: “Great! Did you get everything you needed, then?”

Scammer: “I’m sorry, but whoever I was speaking to only knew Spanish.”

Me: “Oh, you can’t speak Spanish? You should have told me.”

Scammer: “Look, ma’am, all I need is your husband’s Social Security number, or yours if you don’t know his.”

Me: “Oh, no, I don’t have a Social.”

Scammer: “Every US citizen should have one.”

Me: “Well, yes, but you see, about that… It’s just that, umm… Wait. You don’t work for the FBI, do you?”

Scammer: “Ma’am, if you are not taking this seriously, I’ll hang up and let you deal with thousands of dollars in back taxes you owe on your own. Now, for the last time, all I need is a Social Security number for one of the residents in your household.”

Me: “Oh, no, no! Please don’t do that! I’m sorry. Look, I’ll go get it right now. Just one second, please!”

I mute him again.

Me: “I think he is finally on to us. Don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

Daughter: “No, wait! I haven’t gotten my turn with him yet! Here, let me have some fun before he goes!”

I hand the phone back to my daughter. She has always been told she sounds young for her age. She plays this aspect up to the point that she sounds like a little kid.

Daughter: “Hello, how are you?”

Daughter: “I found the phone. Want to talk about My Little Pony?!”

Daughter: “Oh, no, my father’s not here. He got put in jail for bad driving and punching the police. Mama says it’s because he’s always thirsty, but I don’t know why that would make him want to punch someone.” 

Daughter: “No, they took me away from my mama because she kept bringing men that paid to be her boyfriends back to our house and making so much noise with them that I couldn’t sleep. Now I have to stay with some people until my mama learns to love me right.”

Daughter: “Oh, sure, I can get him!”

My daughter now holds the phone up to my nephew, who we are currently babysitting. He is a year old.

Daughter: “Say hi, [Nephew]!”

Nephew: “Hi! Hi! [Excited babbling]!”

At some point, the scammer gave up on us before we got the phone back from my nephew.

Honestly, I’m surprised he lasted that long. It’s so nice to bond with your family over small things, like trolling scammers.

I started getting telemarketer calls for a few days. I blocked one number, and they called again under a different one. They had the same script every single time. Finally, I’d had enough.

My phone’s ringtone is a duck’s quack. The very next time they called, I started quacking like a duck, over and over again. Then, when a live person came on the line:

Me: “Welcome to the dog farm!”

We have five dogs, and I live on a hay farm.

So far, so good; they have not called back. Sometimes a little crazy can go a long way!

A man approaches me in the kitchenware department looking a little lost.

Customer: “I’m looking for a threek?”

Me: “Sorry, a what?” 

Customer: “A threek. My wife told me to look in the kitchen section.”

Me: “Can you describe it?”

Customer: “Like a fork, but with three prongs instead of four, so… a threek.” 

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I think your wife might be pranking you. We don’t sell three-pronged forks, and if we did, they’d still be called forks.”

Customer: “So, you don’t sell threeks?” 

Me: “I don’t think anyone does.”

Customer: “Typical. I won’t hear the end of this when I get home.”