We bought our house a few years back during a small housing crash. We bought it from a single guy in a similar age range as us. He’d just lost his well-paying job and needed to downsize his life to adjust to the lower income. Maybe we should have asked why he lost his job, but honestly, we were excited to finally move into a home from flats. We were a small family: me, my wife, our two children, and a cat.

Perhaps things would have been different if we had a dog.

At first, things seemed pretty normal. Oh, there were weird noises occasionally, and unexpected occurrences. The energy bills were strangely high, and the water usage was more than we expected, but we chalked it up to a new house and our general unfamiliarity. 

For a few years, that was our new normal. Then, one day we noticed the guy we bought the house from hanging around in the neighborhood. We had thought he’d left. We tried to strike up a conversation, but he fled.

Things started feeling weird again, and we started paying more attention to the strange noises and high water and energy usage. We asked the energy company to send out an inspector to find out where the power was going. He traced our wires and found a juncture leading off to who-knows-where.

We had a survey done on our property to find where the wire was going and found a hidden underground bunker. The guy we’d sold the house to was still living there, stealing our power and water, and he had camera feeds of most of the rooms in our house. According to him, it was so he could time his arrivals and departures so that we wouldn’t see him, but I’m pretty sure he was creeping on us, and the judge agreed with me.

He was arrested for this, but we also sold the house and moved out. We didn’t feel safe anymore. We were very careful to explain the bunker to the new owner, we explained how we changed the locks, and we also made sure he knew the day the old owner was expected to get out of prison. 

The newest owner thought the bunker was pretty cool and told us he was going to turn it into his gamer-bunker. We wish him luck on it. We were refusing to sell to families with children or single women for fear of what the old owner might do when he gets out of prison.

I was between jobs when I got an offer for an interview offering $25 an hour. Curious, but cautious, I went in. I learned that it was a group interview with several workers. But it was a catered interview, and I like a good tiny sandwich, so… whatever.

The first thing that our interviewer did was ask if any of us had researched his company on the Better Business Bureau. A few people raised their hands, and he went to talk to them in private. He came back. They didn’t.

Then, he launched into a very emotional story about how he had been in a hard place and this job had saved his life, and he didn’t understand why so many people thought it was a scam. He literally started sobbing gigantic crocodile tears and had to be ushered out of the room by his assistants.

The assistants then told their own stories. I ate some more sandwiches.

Finally, the guy said he’d interview us one on one. In the one-on-one, he said that I had “great potential”. To get the job, we needed to put down a deposit of $600, but we’d soon be making $100,000 a year.

I laughed in his face and told him he could take his obvious scam and shove it up his a**. As I walked out, I tried to grab another sandwich for the road, but his assistants physically interposed themselves between me and the snack table. So, I left.

Minnesota is offering a special payment based on your 2021 taxes of $260 per person. For some reason, the checks are being processed by a company in Montana and are being mailed out from Montana. It’s all over the news.

A client comes in with a check for $260 from Montana.

Client: “Why is Montana sending me a check and claiming it’s from Minnesota?”

I explain it to her.

Client: “I don’t believe you. This is some sort of scam, isn’t it?”

Me: “Well, I don’t see how.”

Client: “As soon as I cash the check, they’re going to empty my bank account, aren’t they?”

Me: “I’m not sure how that’s possible.”

Client: “There’s no way my check from that a**hole [Governor Of Minnesota] could come from Montana. This isn’t my [Governor] check.”

Me: “That is your [Governor] check. It looks just like all the other ones I’ve seen.”

Client: “You’re in on the scam. How much are they paying you?”

Me: “The only people paying me are [Tax Company], I promise.”

Client: “How much are they paying [Tax Company], then?”

Me: “Look… How about you take the check to your banker, and let them explain it to you, and if you still feel uncomfortable about it, you can just shred your check?”

Client: “But will I get my [Governor] check for $260?”

Me: “Not if you shred it.”

Client: “But I want my $260.”

Me: “So cash the check.”

Client: “But it’s a fraudulent check.”

Me: *Pauses* “I think I just heard my next appointment come in. I’m afraid we’re out of time for today. Have a nice day.”

My next appointment had not come in, but I was done dealing with this person. She left, promising to talk to her banker.

I’m a retired investigator, and this happened over two decades ago.

I was called by dispatch to a bank robbery in which the subject threatened the teller with what he claimed was an explosive device and left a box at the teller’s window. Rather than wait for the automatic doors at the entrance to open, he smashed the glass and fled.

I arrived at about the same time that a couple of other detectives did, and the EOD [Explosive Ordnance Disposal] truck drove up a few minutes later. The patrol sergeant had set up two safe zones: one for the employees and customers and one for the investigative team. We went to one of the safe zones, which was right near the front entrance, far enough removed from the device with a wall between us. Some beat officers then replaced the crime scene tape over the door.

About ten minutes later, a dude came sauntering up to the entrance, wormed his way through the tape like Spider-Man, crunched over the shattered glass, and walked up to us. We just watched as it was so surreal that someone would do that. He appeared to be on a mind-altering substance, wobbly with red eyes. He handed us a check.

Dude: *In a sleepy voice* “Hey, dudes, I need you to cash my check.”

Now, mind you, we were wearing vests and had badge necklaces. Plus, the EOD guy was in his marshmallow suit nearby, prepping his gear.

One detective shook his head.

Detective: “Bro, did you not see the crime scene tape and the broken glass?”

Another detective pointed to our vests and badges. The man shook his head as if waking up.

Dude: “Ohhh. I didn’t know what that was.”

I just chuckled and escorted him back to the entrance.

Me: “It’s not safe for you in here, so why don’t you go home and sleep it off? Come back in a couple of hours. I’m sure the bank will be open again by then.”

A big grin lit up his face.

Dude: “Great idea, dude!”

With that, he got back in his car and left.

Nothing fancy. It was just amusing.

Aftermath: the device turned out to be a box of batteries stuffed with wires. We got fingerprints on the batteries, ID’d the mope, and put it out on the news. His mom dimed out his location and he surrendered peacefully. Also, the patrolman who was supposed to be watching the door got a talking-to.

My grandpa was a successful man, and in his mid-sixties, he decided he wanted to take a step back, so he started selling off his various businesses and spent the next few years traveling.

As he approached seventy, he got bored. He also had a few new grandchildren, so he needed a bigger house. He sold the old home that he had bought after he got back from Vietnam and bought this massive house on this large piece of land. This property also came with a massive steel barn.

I’m not sure if he had ever told anyone about his plans, but right after he got the property, he dumped a ton of money into tools and equipment and converted his barn into a mechanic’s dream. Some things I remember:

• He had a professional lift, capable of lifting full-size trucks.
• He had those professional oil catchers you see at quick lubes.
• He had a dedicated air compressor system that was designed to power all his power tools.
• He had a tire machine to mount new tires.
• He had so much equipment.
• His tool corner was a massive corner of this massive barn.

His plan? To fix cars, especially for people in need. He lived in a rural community; if you didn’t have a car that was a big problem. So, he let everyone at his local church know that he was willing to work on their cars if they provided the parts.

He only took a few jobs a week; he was doing this to enjoy himself and help those that needed it.  He changed oil, changed the transmission fluid, and did all kinds of various repairs. My grandpa was a talented mechanic. However, he kept the amount of work limited. He was also selective; if you were in need he’d want to fix your cars. If you had the means to pay, he’d decline and ask you to go elsewhere.

One day, the owner of the local car dealership came by and told my grandpa he needed to stop fixing other people’s cars because he wasn’t properly licensed, didn’t have the proper insurance, and was hurting his business. Grandpa explained that this was just his hobby; he only did a few cars a week. The owner told him he needed to cut it out, or he was going sue Grandpa out of business.

Grandpa laughed over this. What business was this guy going to sue him out of? The owner walked out.

A little while later, my grandpa got served; he was being sued by the owner of the car dealership. Grandpa thought he’d take a trip down to the dealership to try and reason with the man, hoping they could come to an understanding.

Grandpa spoke to the owner and basically explained:

• He only worked on cars for people who were down on their luck. The fact was that the people whose cars he fixed probably couldn’t afford to pay a professional dealership to fix their vehicles.
• He only did a few cars a week.
• He was not all that interested in getting into a fight over his hobby, but he wasn’t going back down.

Well, they ended up in court. By this point, my grandpa had hired a lawyer, who was able to get the city to approve a commercial garage on his property. It helped that he lived on the outskirts of town and had six acres of property.

The court told my grandpa that his auto repair shop was operating illegally, and if he wanted to continue, he needed to get a business license and the proper insurance. If he did that, he would be good to go.

Now, what do you think a man who has nothing but time and money in this situation is going to do? He’s going to get his business license and insurance, of course. He did, and that surprised no one… but he went further.

• He got a dedicated phone line run into his shop.
• He hired a full-time mechanic.
• He put up a professional sign.
• He set up a little waiting area with a water cooler.

What shocked everyone even more?

• He ran a local TV ad saying he was a pay-what-you-can mechanic shop, reservations only.
• He put ads in the local paper saying the same thing.

Yes, folks, that’s right. My grandpa was now not only a licensed, legal auto repair business, but he had a certified mechanic on his payroll… and he was running ads. As for his prices? They were quite simple. You either:

• Brought the parts yourself and paid the mechanic whatever you wanted — the mechanic got a separate wage from Grandpa, so if you couldn’t pay anything, that was fine — or;
• Had Grandpa source the parts, he’d charge you the cost of the parts, and you’d pay the mechanic whatever you wanted.

Grandpa started taking jobs, and boy, did that shop get busy. It was impossible to beat Grandpa’s prices. Grandpa was essentially paying to fix your car for you. He would spend his days with the mechanic that he had hired working on cars. He loved it.

The owner of the local car dealership was furious, and he sued my grandpa again. They went to court, and the judge basically said that my grandpa owned a licensed, insured auto repair business, and what he charged his customers for his services was completely up to him — even if that meant doing the work for free.

About a year or so later, Grandpa got a call from a lawyer who said he was representing a potential buyer of the local car dealership; however, the buyer wanted to speak to Grandpa. My grandpa agreed, and he sat down with the new potential buyer who expressed his concerns about buying the dealership. Service is a major profit center for a dealership, and he was considering buying the local dealership. However, he didn’t want to buy the dealership if my grandpa was going to keep operating the way he did because a for-profit business couldn’t compete against someone selling their services for free.

Grandpa agreed that there was no way someone looking to make a profitable business could ever compete against him. So, they came to an agreement.

• The potential buyer would buy the dealership.
• Grandpa would only work on a few cars a week, maybe five or six.
• He would only work on cars for people who were down on their luck and probably too poor to be able to pay a professional dealership to fix their car.
• Any parts he needed, he would buy from the dealership.
• Any work he declined, he’d refer to the dealership.
• The buyer would let Grandpa be and stay out of his way.
• The buyer would hire Grandpa’s mechanic.

They shook hands, the local dealership was bought out, and for the next nine years, my grandpa continued to fix cars for people who were down on their luck, and if he had to buy parts, he’d buy from the dealership. As for the mechanic Grandpa had hired? He ended up becoming the service manager and did quite well for himself.

As for my grandpa, when he was eighty, he had a heart attack in his shop. Luckily, one of his grandkids was there, they got him to the hospital, and he made a full recovery. But the doctor told him his body couldn’t handle working in that garage anymore. He ended up shutting down after that.

For the next three years, he looked out his kitchen window at his shop and remembered all the fun he’d had in his garage. He passed away at eighty-three surrounded by friends and family.