Pokémon Go To Jail

, , , | Legal | November 9, 2018

(My husband plays Pokémon Go. One evening, at ten pm, I am taking a shower and he spots a rare Pokémon “on the radar.” He decides to head out; he’ll be gone for only ten minutes so he doesn’t tell me he’s leaving. He grabs his black hoodie and rushes out of the door. While he is running down the street, he notices a car pulling up next to him, matching his speed. Since he’s heading towards a corner, he slows down, so the car can take the corner without waiting. However, the car slows down, as well. My husband stops. The car stops and the lights fade. Only then my husband notices the orange and blue stripes: a Dutch police car. The cop rolls down a window and calls out a name, which isn’t my husband’s name. The cop leaves the car.)

Cop: “Sir, what are you doing here?”

Husband: “I was on my way to catch a Pokémon.”

(He shows his phone that has the app running. He then notices the cop did not come alone; there is a second car, a van, with more cops inside.)

Cop: “I see. We are looking for [Suspect], and you fit the description perfectly.”

(My husband now gets nervous. It’s clearly a case of mistaken identity, but even he admits he looks suspicious; he’s running out in the dark, at ten pm, in a black hoodie.)

Cop: “Can you show us your ID?”

Husband: “Um… No. I only ran out to get a Pokémon.”

Cop: “Do you have anything on you that can confirm your identity?”

Husband: “No… But I know my social security number; does that help?”

Cop: “You know your SSN?! That’s a first…”

(In the Netherlands, rarely anyone knows their SSN by heart. My husband does, because he’s a sucker for numbers. The cop ran the SSN through the system and confirmed my husband’s identity. Since they were clearly in a hurry, the cop wished my husband a good run. He did a good run, indeed… straight home!)

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Fraudster, Call Thyself

, , , , , | Legal | November 8, 2018

(I work in a bank and am on the phone with a customer.)

Customer: “Here’s the phone number to the guy who wrote those four checks to me. Call him and he’ll verify he wrote them.” *gives number*

Me: “So, this number is to the person who wrote these checks to you, right?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “Sir, this is your phone number.”

Customer: “No, it isn’t. Call it; you’ll see!”

Me: “Sir, I have a system that allows me to verify phone records. This is yours.”

(Line disconnected.)

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Karma By The Truckload

, , , , , , | Legal | November 7, 2018

I work at a restaurant on a major thoroughfare. To get to work, I have to go through a six-lane intersection.

I’m sitting at the light, waiting for it to turn green. About two cars ahead and one row over is very large, jacked-up truck with every loud and obnoxious bell and whistle you could think of.

The millisecond that the light turns green, the truck lays on his horn. When the cars in front of him start moving, he revs his engine and releases a large cloud of dark exhaust before he guns it. The four or so cars around me, myself included, are encased in the cloud, and can’t see anything, causing us to have to sit for a moment until the cloud dissipates.

Then, the cop car behind me puts on his lights and siren, and chases the truck down.

And that, children, is called instant karma.

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The Police Force Versus My Mom

, , , , , , | Legal Related | November 6, 2018

I’m 17 years old, at my first job, working the closing shift on my own for the first time. The store closes at 9:00. At 8:50, two cop cars pull up outside and four officers come in, order sandwiches, and sit down to eat. My manager has previously said we’re not allowed to tell people to leave at closing because it’s bad customer service, and just to let them finish, so I just go about my closing tasks while they eat and chat. I can’t mop the lobby or lock the door while there are customers still in the store, but I finish up all the tasks I can — putting away food, nightly inventory, cleaning the bathrooms, etc. — being not at all quiet or subtle about what I’m doing, even down to turning off the lights behind the counter. Still the officers are deep in conversation and don’t seem to notice.

By 9:30, I’m well out of tasks to do, and they’re still chatting over half-eaten sandwiches. I try to call my manager, but she doesn’t pick up. At 9:50, another car pulls up outside, and then my mother bursts in the door. She runs up to me at the counter practically yelling, “Oh, my God! What happened? Are you okay?”

I quickly explain what’s going on, and she immediately turns on the officers, who are all staring at this point, and goes off. “Do you know what time it is? My daughter has school in the morning; she was supposed to be home half an hour ago! And then I come up here thinking something horrible must have happened and see nothing but cop cars in front of the building. I almost had a heart attack! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

She goes on like this for several minutes while the cops sit there looking mortified. When they can finally get a word in edgewise, they have the decency to apologize, and one of them mentions he thought we were open until ten.

They quickly wrap up the rest of their sandwiches and shuffle out, looking thoroughly chastised, and the last one out gives me a $20 tip as he goes. To this day, we still laugh about the time my mom chewed out half of that small-town police department.

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Bumper-To-Bumper Madness

, , , , , | Legal | November 5, 2018

(I decide to go get fast food and bring my dog with me. The line is pretty long and I’m closer to the white SUV in front of me than I normally would be. Usually my dog sits very calmly in the back seat, but for whatever reason, she picks that afternoon to sneak up behind me and lick the back of my ear. This startles me into taking my foot off the brake, and given how little space there is between me and the SUV, I end up rolling into her bumper. Given how slowly I am moving, my car barely taps her vehicle. I immediately roll down my window and start apologizing, and figure she will pull out of line so we can exchange insurance. Instead, she turns off her car, blocking the entire line, and gets out of her car to start screaming at me.)

Woman: “What the f***?! You smashed into my car! What is f****** wrong with you?! I felt my entire body jerking; I think you injured my back! I’m calling the police!”

(The woman holds up the entire line while calling the police. Since both our windows are down, I get to hear her conversation with 911.)

Woman: “Hello, yes? I want to report a car accident. The car behind me rammed into my car and completely destroyed my bumper! My car is completely destroyed, and I think I am injured, as well! My whole body hurts; my back and neck are in agony!”

(She continues to rant at the emergency operator, and seems to reluctantly answer some questions. At some point the operator must advise her to move her vehicle if possible, because she ends the call by rolling her eyes and finally pulling into a parking spot. I pull into a spot nearby. Lo and behold, the only damage done to her car is a small dent that’s MAYBE an inch long. After shrieking at somebody on the phone for a while — her window is rolled up now and I can only judge from body language — she gets out of her car and taps on my window.)

Woman: “Give me your info!”

Me: *figuring her theatrics are because she intends to scam her way into a big insurance pay-out* “I think it would be better for both of us if we wait for the police.”

Woman: “FINE!”

(The woman then proceeds to make a big show of photographing the “damage” and glaring at me. After a few minutes, thanks to her exaggerations, two police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck all arrive on the scene, anticipating a totaled vehicle and injured passenger. Instead they find her very uninjured and moving energetically around her car taking pictures of a tiny dent from a thousand angles. One of the firemen actually looks around as if he’s worried they came to the wrong place. After a few seconds of confusion, however, I get to enjoy watching nine emergency workers go from baffled to PISSED. She must pick up on their mood, because she starts to defensively whine about “back and neck pain” and, in a laughable attempt to legitimize her “injuries,” asks the paramedic for “a heating pad.”)

Paramedic: *leveling her with the iciest glare I’ve seen in some time* “We don’t carry things like that, ma’am; we’re equipped to handle emergencies.”

(At that point, two police officers talk to us separately. After some questions to get all the facts, I get to give my side of things at last.)

Officer: “Were you at fault?”

Me: “Yes, but I was in the drive-thru. My foot wasn’t even on the accelerator. I was going maybe three miles per hour. I barely tapped her car; in fact, I’m pretty sure the only reason there is any damage at all is because my licence plate is bent, so the corner dented her bumper. There is absolutely no way I could have injured her, and frankly I’d like it on record that I think she is attempting to make a fraudulent insurance claim.”

(I’m pretty worked up at this attempt to scam me, and so I can’t blame the officer for chuckling at my “on the record” comment. She tells me to take a deep breath, and patiently explains that with so little damage this is a civil matter and I’m better off taking a lot of pictures and warning my insurance company. She does smile and promise to be “thorough” in her report, which I assume is cop speak for “call her a lunatic who wastes emergency resources.” I do what the officer advises and warn my insurance. A few weeks later, I see that they pay her out only $750 for repairs, which is absolutely fair; I did still damage her car, however slightly. I show the letter to my father later that week since he works in insurance and has been a huge help during the process.)

Dad: “You know, I bet if she’d been calm and just asked for you info like a normal person, she’d have gotten a couple thousand out of the deal, maybe even a free rental car for the day it was in the shop. But since she kicked up such a fuss, they must have had one of their people go out and actually appraise the damage. People like that are always their own worst enemy.”

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