My friend is a police officer. He and his partner are driving behind a car that isn’t doing much to attract their attention, but their onboard computer tells them that the owner’s driving licence has been suspended for multiple DUI offences.

They pull the car over for a licence check, and the young man driving explains that it is his mother’s car and she allows him to use it. That’s no problem, but just to make sure, they ask for his licence as identification.

The Provisional Licence — one step up from a Learner’s Permit — he only had for three months has been cancelled for many unpaid speeding fines.

Police Officer: “Since you are driving without a valid licence, we are impounding the vehicle.”

Young Man: “Do you have to? I need to take the car home so that my mother will have it to go to work tomorrow.”

Police Officer: *Stunned* “You want me to let you drive home tonight, without a licence, so that your mother can drive to work tomorrow, also without a licence?”

The young man apparently doesn’t see any problem with this.

Young Man: “Yes, that would be very good of you. It would save me getting told off by my mom and she wouldn’t stop me borrowing the car.”

The officer turns to his partner, who is trying to stifle a laugh.

Police Officer: “It’s not funny!”

Trying not to laugh himself, he shakes his head and turns to the young man.

Police Officer: “I think we had better take you into the station and have a long talk with you and your mother when she comes to get you.”

A customer has thrown a fit at the manager over us not having carts, even though we do. The poor manager then has the JOY of “humiliating her” and “making her look stupid” by pointing them out three steps BEHIND HER.

She then argues, at a volume that would impress a boot camp instructor, with a coworker that the sale on cardigans should apply to sweaters because they are “the same thing”.

Soon, the woman approaches my register and I just know this interaction will be a downhill run.

She strides directly past the line, approaching from the wrong end of the register. I’m sure you can imagine how outraged she is that she can’t just cut in front of the other people in line. She wastes five minutes arguing with me that since she’s “already there,” she “doesn’t want to have to pick up her items and go to the back of the line.”

The manager has to intervene and tell her to get to the end of the line or to get out without her purchases. Ranting about how the rules of lines aren’t laws, how she knows her rights, and how employees are NOT allowed to refuse service to anyone, ever, forever, throughout the universe, she storms to the end. She knows her rights! She knows the laws! Blah, blah, blah.

She gripes so constantly that I do my best to ring the other guests up quickly so they don’t have to listen to her constant moaning for longer than they have to.

Eventually, she gets up to me and I scan her few items. No big deal. Then, she shoves her credit card at me. I follow policy.

Me: “May I see your ID?”

She rolls her eyes and says, in the most inconvenienced way:

Customer: “Well, it’s my son’s card.”

The credit card and ID are nowhere close to matching.

Me: “I can’t use a card that doesn’t have your name on it.”

Customer: “I use his card all the time! SINCE WHEN CAN YOU NOT USE SOMEONE ELSE’S CARD?! THIS IS F****** RIDICULOUS! YOU’RE A F****** A**HOLE! YOU’RE MAKING THAT UP!”

Me: “I can’t run it. You have to pay a different way.”

She throws some cash onto the counter and is quiet while I finish the transaction.

Customer: “Where’s my coupon?!”

Me: “We handed them out last week. We don’t have any more. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Customer: “I want to speak to the manager!”

AGAIN? That poor man! The manager arrives, and I can see the light die in his eyes as he sees who he has to talk to.

Manager: “Yes, ma’am?”

Customer: “Your employee refused to give me a coupon! She just played stupid and tried to tell me that you didn’t have anymore!”

Manager: “Ma’am, they were all handed out last week. My employee wasn’t playing games; we really don’t have any more to hand out right now.”

Customer: “That’s bulls***, but fine, play your petty little games. I’ll just add that to my call to corporate. Now, another thing; why won’t you people let me use my son’s credit card?! Since when is that a rule?! What the f*** are you people trying to pull?”

The manager just stares at her for a minute.

Manager: “That has always been a rule, ma’am, as that’s unlawful.”

Customer: “Oh, reeeeeeaaaallly?! Fine, then. Tell me what kind of crime it is!”

Manager: “Felony Card Fraud.”

Customer: “You’re a f****** liar.”

Manager: *Sweetly* “Would you like me to call the police and have them explain it to you?”

Customer: “You know what? Yes! Then, I can explain to them why they’re wrong because it’s never been a problem until now!”

I was amazed when she DID tell the cops that they were lying about the law being the law. She waived her right to be silent. She also made it very loudly clear that she would be suing the cops for wrongful prosecution as they cuffed her because Felony Card Fraud wasn’t a thing. And it was her son’s card, so she was within her rights to use it as his mother because it was a mother’s prerogative. And their names were different because her son legally changed his last name, as if cutting her and her husband out of his life somehow severed her right as his biological mother to take out a card in his name. They were connected by blood, and no law could override that!

The cops repeatedly reminded her that she had the right to remain silent and she repeatedly ignored them. She had no subtlety, saw nothing wrong with it, and just kept admitting her crimes at full volume. Because they weren’t crimes. Because she knew the law and knew her rights better than the cops themselves did. And she would personally tell the judge what the REAL laws were.

I was just amazed, listening to this woman dig herself a hole like a cartoon character going after gold.

The local cops wear cameras, so I didn’t need to be a witness, but I highly suspect that the book the judge threw at her had a LOT of pages in it.

Related:
A Broad View Of Fraud

I work tech support for a major ISP. A customer calls because her TV set-top box won’t start up; the message is “check cabling”. Throughout the process, I have to shout to get her attention because she is chatting with roommates. Apparently, they are med students.

Customer: “[Lots of medical information about a patient].”

Me: “Ma’am, what is the TV doing?”

Customer: “[Lots of medical information about a patient].”

Me: “Ma’am, what is the TV doing?”

Customer: *As if I’m being a nuisance* “Still starting.”

Customer: “[Lots of medical information about a patient].”

Me: “Ma’am, what is the TV doing?”

The customer continues violating every privacy law on the books and probably necessitating a few new ones.

Me: “Is the TV starting?”

Customer: *Suddenly very surprised* “It works! What was the problem?”

Me: “When it said, ‘check cabling’… the cable was loose. Have a nice day, ma’am.”

If I ever need a doctor in that city, I think I’ll just die.

I used to be a cashier at a warehouse store — one of those members-only places. We had this policy — which a lot of cashiers hated — stating that everything had to be transferred from one cart/flatbed to another when customers checked out. I didn’t mind as I was able to lift and move things with ease. A lot of the cashiers, including myself, didn’t fully understand the policy — that is, until this fateful day.

It was a day just like any other, filled with constant mundane, “Did you find everything okay?” and, “Thank you, have a nice day.” It was coming to the end of my shift and I’d had it with doing the correct thing.

A member — it was a sin to call them customers — came up with a flatbed. He had a few small items and one box of thirty-two-ounce Styrofoam cups. I saw this and thought, “If it were something heavier, I wouldn’t transfer it.” I put all of his little items on the belt and then got a flatbed, as we only kept an empty cart at our registers.

When I came back, I grabbed the box of cups, and as soon as I lifted it, the bottom fell out and two computers were left on the cart while I was holding this big empty box. I looked at the member, and I was about to say something along the lines of an apology and that someone else must have done this. (We were trained not to directly accuse members of such behavior). Before I could say a word, he was gone. He ran out the door and almost plowed over the older lady who checks receipts.

Here’s what makes this funny. All he had to do was play stupid and pay for the other things and he’d have been in the clear.

At the beginning of interactions, we take the members’ membership cards and hand them back with the receipt, so his membership card was sitting on my register. Since he scared the elderly employee and left the cups from the box all over the aisle, my manager decided to call the police. Now, I know this isn’t theft, but there is a crime in my state called “concealment of goods”. It’s basically a way to catch shoplifters before they legally shoplift. So, the police came and all the member’s info was in the system. I had to verify that the member did indeed match the picture. They looked at security cameras and the police left to get a warrant for his arrest.

This is only a misdemeanor, but still, all he had to do was stay put and nothing would have happened to him.

My uncle has a large plot of land that is mostly left wild because he struggles to keep it maintained. I go over a few times a year to help out.

Me: “That fence in the corner is broken again.”

Uncle: “Well, you did only bodge it back together.”

Me: “No, remember, I was going to do a temporary fix. But then I found some more wood so I did it properly.”

Uncle: “Weird. Could you fix it again and see if you can reinforce it somehow?”

Me: “I can have a look, but you should really consider planting those thorny plants I suggested.”

Uncle: “I doubt anyone is breaking it on purpose; there’s nothing there. It’s a dead end. Just some bad luck.”

Me: “Okay, but buy some plants anyway.”

I fix the fence and I do a good job of it. No way can anyone accidentally break it this time. My uncle buys the plants and, to be fair to him, he actually gets some large mature ones. 

I don’t plant them right near the fence, in case someone were to cut them back. Instead, I put them just out of sight. Even with gloves and a thick jacket, I’m covered in scratches.

It takes me all day, but I get it done. I finish the day by nailing a no entry/no public access sign to the fence and call it quits.

It’s a few months until I go back, and my uncle is standing there with a smile on his face.

Uncle: “You will never guess what happened.”

Me: “What?”

Uncle: “The fence is broken again; someone must have taken a sledgehammer to it.”

Me: “Why are you smiling, then?”

Uncle: “Because they are trying to sue me for it!”

Me: “That still doesn’t explain the smile.”

He hands me the letter. In it, they admit to damaging the fence all three times, and they make note of the sign and not asking for access. They incorrectly ramble on about public access. The wording is frantic and seems to frame the writer as some sort of hero of the people. It ends with a threat of legal action and the name of a solicitor.

Uncle: “[Solicitor] already called me, and I have another phone call this afternoon. I can’t wait to go over the details with him.”

The phone call went ahead. It didn’t take long for the solicitor to understand that their client had not only broken the law but had admitted it, too. Eventually — and after several legal threats — they had to pay for all the damages, my time, and the plants for the fence. We didn’t get any more break-ins after that.