(This story is courtesy of my father-in-law. He is a regular at a busy little pub in [Large City] with an interesting mix of clientele. This pub is located on the main road and shares a car park with a reasonably large police station. One night things get a bit rowdy and a large-scale fight breaks out. Windows are being smashed and people are staggering away bleeding. Naturally, the landlady calls the police.

Landlady: “This is the landlady of [Pub] on [Street]. We’ve got a massive brawl going on; could you please send some help?”

Dispatch: “No problem, but the nearest officers we have right now are 30 minutes away.”

Landlady: *glances down the street at the busy and active police station* “Isn’t there anyone who can get here faster?”

Dispatch: “Sorry, duck, there isn’t. Tell you what; do you think you can keep the fight going until we get there?”

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(I am sitting at a cafe with some friends when a guy we don’t know approaches us. He’s holding a box with a slot on it.)

Guy: “Hello. Excuse me for bothering you, but I’m raising a fund for two friends of mine. They had a motorcycle accident and both of them are near death. My other friends and I are trying to get enough money to pay for the surgery they need. Can you spare any?”

(We all smell a scam easily and say, “No, thank you.” After trying to change our minds for a couple of minutes, he moves on to other tables. Over the next several years, I occasionally still see him in cafes in different parts of the city, but he never speaks to me again until one day, four years after the first time, at a very different place.)

Guy: “Hello. Excuse me for bothering you, but my friends had a motorcycle accident and are fighting for their lives in the hospital. Can you spare us some money for the surgery they need?”

Me: “Wow! They’re still fighting for their lives, four years later?”

Guy: *suddenly looks lost for words, begins to stammer* “Uh, I mean, it was a really bad accident. The doctors have been trying hard to keep them alive.”

(He stared at us for a few seconds and we stared back, and then he left without saying anything more. I kept seeing him here and there for a while, but that was our last interaction. I was kind of impressed that he still tried to explain his story.)

(My wife is on the phone with her 65-year-old father. He’s normally very intelligent, and not losing his mental faculty at all, but he is notoriously gullible. He’s telling her about a call he had earlier that day with Tech Support. It’s clear to us immediately that he was scammed.)

Wife: *to her father* “But you barely use your computer. Why would it have a bunch of viruses?” *listens to him speak* “But your computer was working fine.” *listens to him speak* “[Software Company] called you?” *listens to him speak* “It was a fake website, Dad. It’s just made to trick people by showing error messages and warnings about viruses.” *listens to him speak* “Please tell me you didn’t give him your credit card number!”

Me: “Give me the phone; I’ll explain it to him.” *takes phone*

Father-In-Law: “It wasn’t a scam. He said they found viruses, but he fixed the computer. He was really nice; his name was Mike.”

(My father-in-law used to work as a car mechanic until his recent retirement.)

Me: “Let me ask you one thing. Did your boss ever send you out to check the tire pressure for your clients at their own homes?”

Father-In-Law: “No.”

Me: “Did you ever drive around to your clients to check their oil without even asking them?”

Father-In-Law: “No, that’s silly.”

Me: “Right. It’s their car. They’re responsible for it, not you. And your boss couldn’t afford to pay you to check on everyone else’s cars for free. Right?”

Father-In-Law: “Of course.”

Me: “So, why would [Software Company] pay someone to check your computer for viruses when you never even asked them to? How many people would they need to employ to check on everyone with a computer?”

Father-In-Law: *in total surprise* “I think I’ve been scammed.”

(He called his bank, and they had already taken $1200. I seriously hate scammers.)

There are two small prisons on the outskirts of our little town; one sits right beside the road, and the other you have to drive a half-mile down a dead-end road to get to in the dense woods. Despite this, people will “accidentally” stumble upon the second prison and “lose” their drugs, phones, etc.

But these two guys take the cake.

In the middle of broad daylight, these two guys decide to play football in the woods and then “accidentally” throw their ball over the fence. Once the ball flies over the barbed wire, they take off running back into the woods while the guards call deputies to the scene.

The ball is intercepted by the guards who realize the ball is actually being held together by duct tape. When they open it up, it’s full to the brim with drugs, pills, and cellphones.

The guys are arrested, and to this day have been the most creative in doing a drop-off.

(I work in a very rural county where there are only one high school and two stop lights, and the main highway that leads to a city across the Virginia state line runs through the middle of town and past the sheriff department. It’s one of those ‘everyone knows everyone’ kind of Southern towns. It is an early Sunday morning; a state trooper is finishing up a report at our desk from an earlier accident while I am processing a public intox just brought in by a deputy.)

Dispatch: “Communications to any unit in [Town]?”

Deputy: “Go ahead, Communications.”

Dispatch: “[Deputy], EMS [Truck #2] advises they are behind a wrong-way driver heading into town.”

(The driver is all over the roadway and has nearly run off the road multiple times. It’s a possible DWI. The deputy and trooper practically run towards the door. While our county may be rural, the highway is frequented by big rigs and the occasional wayward livestock this late at night.)

Deputy: “Communications, I’ll be in route with [Trooper].”

Dispatch: “10-4, EMS has lights and sirens on, but the driver is not slowing down.”

(The two run out the door just as my coworker comes into the office.)

Coworker: “Oh, boy, DWI?”

Me: “Yup, going the wrong way down the highway.”

(Not even a half-hour later the two return, along with the patrol sergeant, and in between them they are escorting an intoxicated woman.)

Woman: “I swear I’m not drunk!”

Patrol Sergeant: “Ma’am, you just drove nearly five miles the wrong way, flew through a red light, and almost ran over one of my deputies!”

Woman: “Oh, he’s okay. Besides, I only had one shot.”

Trooper: “Ma’am, you blew twice the legal limit.”

Woman: “Okay, so it was more than one shot of gin.”

Coworker: “Oooh, she’s in so much trouble!”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Coworker: “Her mama is a minister at the church down the street. She’s gonna get it.”