This story involves my husband’s uncle and great-uncle; I’ll call them George and Fred.

George and Fred lived around the corner from each other but in a rural area where “around the corner” means a mile or two away. On this fine day, they were talking to each other on the phone. It should be noted that this was well before the days of phone GPS.

George: “Hang on, Fred. There’s someone at the door.”

He went to answer the door and came back a few minutes later.

George: “Just some people asking for directions to [Nearest City, about thirty minutes away].”

They continued their conversation. About ten minutes later:

Fred: “Hang on. There’s someone at the door.”

He came back a few minutes later.

Fred: “So, that was also someone asking for directions to [City].”

They compared notes and found that it was the same car and couple, at which point, they called the police.

The police found them a few houses down, removing things from someone’s house. They had been going along knocking to see if people were home. If someone answered the door, they’d ask for directions, but if no one was home, they’d break in. And they’d probably have gotten away with it if George and Fred hadn’t thought it was suspicious that two cars would both need directions to [City] in the space of ten minutes.

This was around five years ago, during my first tenure with a national shopping chain. I tended to work in the toy department at this chain. Over the span of a few weeks one summer, I’d be stocking the shelves or tidying up my area, and I noticed that some of the Lego sets had been opened, or that the counts were off. It wasn’t just the ten-dollar sets; often times it would be the big sets for $100 or over.

What’s especially interesting is that Lego packages their products so that there isn’t just one side of tape you have to cut through or fold open. You quite literally have to tear open the side of the box with some perforated areas.

It got noticeable to the point where I knew it was a serial offender, not just a random passerby who wanted to yoink a few random mini-figures out of a set. Our security team was notified and they started to keep a more careful watch.

A bit of time passed, and finally, one of the workers in electronics asked me if I had heard about the Lego thief. I hadn’t seen anything go missing for over a week, and I asked if he knew anything new.

It turns out that the security team caught the perpetrator one afternoon trying to take a few sets into the restroom area. It was a minor who was trying to stuff the sets (sans boxes) into his backpack. Apparently, the day he was caught, he was trying to lift two sets worth approximately $250.

What’s even nuttier is how this kid went about his business. See, the kid was supposed to be at a swim class up the road a mile and a half away. He would show up for his lesson with his parents, presumably, and then dip out immediately with his backpack, walk for nearly half an hour one way to our store, slip Lego into his pack, and then walk back in time to meet his parents at the end of his scheduled lesson.

I’d estimate that this kid got to near-felony levels of shoplifting. But incredibly, I suspect his parents didn’t even know he had this treasure trove of Lego in his room after every lesson. They didn’t hear the plastic jingling, or heck, even know that his swim trunks and towel were probably dry after every lesson.

By far, this was one of the most meticulous thieves I’ve ever seen working in retail for nearly a decade.

I work at the front desk at a hotel. Some guys came down to the desk just as I was closing up one night, blitzed out of their minds.

Guy: “Hey, we just got invited to room [number], and they had a ton of drugs and they shared with us, but they also had a lot of guns. Just thought you should know!”

And they walked out. Absolutely no further information to be had.

Welp. It was late, and I was not about to Rambo myself into a room unarmed with an unknown number of armed people. So, I was left with the conundrum, “Do I do something about this or go home and hope they don’t do anything else and leave?”

But since someone took the time to tell me, I figured it might be serious. I grabbed the night security guy and we called the cops. They had like six cops over to us really quickly, and we all went up.

They knocked. Some guy who legitimately couldn’t function answered the door. He didn’t even understand what the cops are saying, but he managed to nod his head yes when the cops asked if they could come in. That was all they needed.

They popped in, and this group of people had at least seven or eight guns laying around and — I’m not kidding — a Rubbermaid tote FULL of pills of some sort. I don’t remember how many gallons, but it was one of those big ones that everybody has in their attic with clothes they’re never going to wear again.

It actually made the news as one of the largest drug busts the county has ever had. Tons of cash. You name it. There were so many laws being broken I don’t even know all that they got charged with.

I said to myself, “Well, f***. All I wanted to do was go home, but now I’m stuck here with the cops and multiple arrests and writing reports.” I finally got to go home at around 2:00 am.

I never got any information on the guys that reported it, but I didn’t care, and the cops didn’t care; they got the score of a lifetime.

The day after a heavy wind storm at our house, a small pine tree in the front yard has come down and is leaning against the house. Since I have to work, my adult son thinks he will help and cut up and remove the tree for us.

He is up on the roof with my Sawzall and a bright orange extension cord. Partway into the project, the local SWAT team arrives.

SWAT Officer: “Lay down the weapon and put up your hands!”

He was being held at gunpoint by several officers in full riot gear. He gently put down the saw and, as they instructed, carefully climbed down the ladder.

After he explained to the officer in charge that it was a saw, not a rifle, the guns were finally lowered, although one rookie kept his hand on his sidearm until told by the lead officer to go back to the van and wait there.

It seems a neighbor had seen him up on the roof with something in his hand and called 911. We laugh about it now, but at the time, staring down the barrels of several anxious police officers’ guns, my son almost had to change his shorts.

Several years ago, my wife, county clerk at the time, was traveling back to her office on the interstate when she came upon a string of cars in the right lane doing a good fifteen miles per hour lower than the posted speed limit. There was a highway patrolman in the left lane, leading the pack.

My wife passed the string of cars without exceeding the speed limit, and then she signaled to return to the right lane and resume legal speed to pass the trooper.

The trooper addressed her over his car’s PA.

Trooper: “You pass me on the right and I will ticket you.”

My wife slowed and stayed behind him in the left lane. When he hit the county line, the trooper turned around through the median and headed in the opposite direction.

When my wife returned to her office, she immediately went to the sheriff about the incident. The sheriff, along with the county attorney, told her it was not illegal to pass on the right on the interstate.

Sheriff: “Did you get his patrol car number?”

Wife: “Yes. I did.”

The sheriff gave her a number to call at the state highway patrol office in our capital city and the name of the person to report the incident to.

A few weeks later, the sheriff told my wife that there were too many complaints about that trooper pulling that power play, and he had been transferred to a western county as a punishment.

That made my wife’s day for sure.