My family is on a long car ride when my husband’s phone rings and he answers it. After a few minutes of conversation, he tells the man to hold on, places the phone face down on his seat, and returns to his earlier conversation from before the call. Everyone in the family knows by now that this means he believes the person on the phone is a scammer, and he plans to intentionally waste their time, so we don’t think anything about it.

A little while later…

Husband: “Wait, do you hear that?”

Me: “It’s the person on the phone.”

Husband: “He hasn’t hung up yet?! Man, if I wasn’t driving, I’d start messing with anyone that persistent.”

Me: “Allow me.”

He hands me the phone. I listen in for a while until the man sounds like he is about ready to hang up before I speak up.

Me: “Hello! Anyone there?”

Scammer: “Umm, yes, hello. Is this [Husband]?”

Me: “That’s my husband.”

Scammer: “Oh, well, I was calling from the IRS about some back taxes he owes. He was going to go get his Social Security number for me. I don’t suppose you know it?”

Me: “Oh, did my husband leave you waiting all this time?”

Scammer: “Yes, it was a bit of a wait. We’re very busy this time of the year, so I’d like to verify that information so I can help sort this out quickly before it’s too late.”

Me: “I’m sorry about my husband. You see, English isn’t his first language, and he sometimes has trouble understanding people on the phone.”

Scammer: “Oh, that’s fine. I understand. I just needed to get—”

Me: “Yeah, honestly, my husband, he… Well, he’s not that bright. He always tends to forget what he is doing and zone out, staring at nothing. He’s a bit special, really. Not sure why I married the oaf.”

My husband has ADD, so he actually does have a slight tendency to forget what he is doing and stare off in the distance when hyperfocused. It’s not a big problem, but the family isn’t above some good-natured jokes at his expense for this. My kids are snickering at the description of their father, and my husband is just grinning.

Scammer: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But I was trying to get his Social Security number so I could help sort out these back taxes. Would you happen to know it?”

Me: “Oh, you want his number?”

Scammer: “Yes please.”

Me: “It’s [phone number he just called].”

Scammer: “That sounds like a phone number. I was actually looking for his Social Security number. It’s a nine-digit number, maybe broken up into three smaller numbers split by dashes.”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not good with numbers. Give me a second here.”

I take a second to think up a proper bogus number — and just to stall the guy a bit more. I make sure to sound very confused but sincere when I go back to the phone.

Me: “Umm, I don’t know, but is it 666-42-1337?

I figure he will pick up on at least one of those numbers being clearly bogus, but the man seems to be satisfied with it at first. I assume he runs it through something that spits back that it is invalid because, eventually, he comes back.

Scammer: “I don’t think that is right, ma’am. Could you double-check that number, please?”

Me: “Oh, these numbers are too confusing. Let me get someone who can help me.”

I mute him.

Me: “How often do you think we could pass him back and forth between the two of us before he realizes he’s not making any progress?

Son: “Oh, no, wait! I want to try! Can I talk to him next?”

Me: “Sure, why not? But I’d make him wait a bit longer before picking up. The more of his time we waste, the less time he can dedicate to scamming decent folks.”

I pass the phone back to my son, who unmutes it after waiting a minute or two. There is some dead time after he says each line where the scammer is presumably responding.

I should mention that my son is in middle school and has had two years of Spanish class, which is a far cry from being an expert in Spanish.

Son: “Hola. Mi nombre es Pedro. ¿Cómo estás? ¿hHablas español?” (Hello. My name is Pedro. How are you? Do you speak Spanish?)

Son: “¿Mi madre dice tu necesito un número?” (My mom says you need a number.)

Son: “No sé.” (I don’t know.)

Son: “Me duele mi cabeza. ¿Dónde está el baño? Tengo un gato en mi sombrero.” (My head hurts. Where is the bathroom? I have a cat in my hat.)

Apparently, my son is at the limit of his ability to say things that sound vaguely Spanish.

Son: “Si. Un momento.”

He mutes the phone.

Son: “Yeah, that’s all the Spanish I know. Mom, do you want him back?”

I take the phone back.

Me: “Great! Did you get everything you needed, then?”

Scammer: “I’m sorry, but whoever I was speaking to only knew Spanish.”

Me: “Oh, you can’t speak Spanish? You should have told me.”

Scammer: “Look, ma’am, all I need is your husband’s Social Security number, or yours if you don’t know his.”

Me: “Oh, no, I don’t have a Social.”

Scammer: “Every US citizen should have one.”

Me: “Well, yes, but you see, about that… It’s just that, umm… Wait. You don’t work for the FBI, do you?”

Scammer: “Ma’am, if you are not taking this seriously, I’ll hang up and let you deal with thousands of dollars in back taxes you owe on your own. Now, for the last time, all I need is a Social Security number for one of the residents in your household.”

Me: “Oh, no, no! Please don’t do that! I’m sorry. Look, I’ll go get it right now. Just one second, please!”

I mute him again.

Me: “I think he is finally on to us. Don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

Daughter: “No, wait! I haven’t gotten my turn with him yet! Here, let me have some fun before he goes!”

I hand the phone back to my daughter. She has always been told she sounds young for her age. She plays this aspect up to the point that she sounds like a little kid.

Daughter: “Hello, how are you?”

Daughter: “I found the phone. Want to talk about My Little Pony?!”

Daughter: “Oh, no, my father’s not here. He got put in jail for bad driving and punching the police. Mama says it’s because he’s always thirsty, but I don’t know why that would make him want to punch someone.” 

Daughter: “No, they took me away from my mama because she kept bringing men that paid to be her boyfriends back to our house and making so much noise with them that I couldn’t sleep. Now I have to stay with some people until my mama learns to love me right.”

Daughter: “Oh, sure, I can get him!”

My daughter now holds the phone up to my nephew, who we are currently babysitting. He is a year old.

Daughter: “Say hi, [Nephew]!”

Nephew: “Hi! Hi! [Excited babbling]!”

At some point, the scammer gave up on us before we got the phone back from my nephew.

Honestly, I’m surprised he lasted that long. It’s so nice to bond with your family over small things, like trolling scammers.

I started getting telemarketer calls for a few days. I blocked one number, and they called again under a different one. They had the same script every single time. Finally, I’d had enough.

My phone’s ringtone is a duck’s quack. The very next time they called, I started quacking like a duck, over and over again. Then, when a live person came on the line:

Me: “Welcome to the dog farm!”

We have five dogs, and I live on a hay farm.

So far, so good; they have not called back. Sometimes a little crazy can go a long way!

A man approaches me in the kitchenware department looking a little lost.

Customer: “I’m looking for a threek?”

Me: “Sorry, a what?” 

Customer: “A threek. My wife told me to look in the kitchen section.”

Me: “Can you describe it?”

Customer: “Like a fork, but with three prongs instead of four, so… a threek.” 

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I think your wife might be pranking you. We don’t sell three-pronged forks, and if we did, they’d still be called forks.”

Customer: “So, you don’t sell threeks?” 

Me: “I don’t think anyone does.”

Customer: “Typical. I won’t hear the end of this when I get home.”

At the time of this story, I was seventeen years old, serving military service in Austria. (You can choose between six months of military service or nine months of civil service. Since I was kind of a rebel in school, I wanted to do civil service, not having to be ordered around that much, but my army dad convinced me to do military service.) I ended up doing my military service in a big army hospital’s dental station doing X-rays and performing other jobs I wasn’t trained or qualified for.

So, there I was, stuck in this institution I hated, having to deal with people I disliked for six months. For the record, I don’t drink alcohol or smoke (which is legal by the age of sixteen in Austria, and quite a few start at age thirteen). Even though I was always trying to be as nice and polite as possible, that already made me one of the most unpopular figures around the site, which consists of 95% men. (I am also male.)

One day, everybody was ready to leave. We were in the changing rooms. If the sergeant was in a good mood, we didn’t have to muster and could just go home. This happened about twice a week, so it wasn’t something rare. 

Someone came into the room and shouted, “No mustering today!”, which was met with cheers from the other recruits. I got into my casual clothes and went to my car as fast as possible.

The next day, I was asked to the first sergeant’s office, and he was fuming. He started yelling at me.

First Sergeant: “WHAT ON EARTH MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD LEAVE WITHOUT MUSTERING YESTERDAY?!”

Me: “I… Well, somebody said there wasn’t going to be any…”

Note that I was generally socially nervous back then and not good with words.

First Sergeant: “YOU DON’T HAVE ANY RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY! I WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOU FACE CONSEQUENCES FOR THAT ACTION! NOW GET OUT OF MY FACE!”

I wandered out of the office, speechless, holding back tears. Apparently, my “colleagues” had played a prank on me. I was very close to just leaving, but that would have made military police go after me, so I had to stay. I excused myself from the dental station for a small breakdown and tried to get the day done without talking to anyone.

The next day, I was ordered into the first sergeant’s office again. He smirked at me with a big grin, pointing to a broom, cloth, and sponge lying in a corner.

First Sergeant: “I have found a great little activity for you to do. There’s a room that has been freshly painted by recruits. You’re going to clean up the mess they made. I want this room clean enough to the point of being able to eat off the floor. These are your cleaning utensils. Be done by the end of the week. You are excused from the dental station until then.”

I took the stuff and went upstairs. Little did he know, I actually enjoy cleaning stuff because it’s very peaceful, and I’m a person who uses those occasions to sort my mind out. The room was a total mess. It was probably last cleaned before my parents were even born. I took the sponge, got down on the floor, and started. I didn’t get anything besides the sponge, the broom, and the cloth. There was an old sink where the painting recruits had washed off all the brushes and utensils. Everything was covered in paint. 

Three days later, I was exhausted but happy with myself; the room looked like new. Everything was shiny, from the old radiator to the sink. I had come to a point where I scratched off the paint with my nails. I was bleeding and hurting, my nails felt like they were coming off, and the sponge had a big hole in the middle, but I was deeply satisfied.

The first sergeant came to inspect my work, and I could tell he hadn’t expected me to be this precise. 

First Sergeant: “Well, I must admit, you did an excellent job.”

Me: “Thanks! Got any other rooms to clean?”

First Sergeant: “No, you can go back to the dental station again.”

That was the biggest problem I had with him during my time there, and I had peace for a short while — before he started being condescending to me again, even though I did most jobs better than the others.

There were many different occasions that I could write about, and I’m pretty sure no other employer could pull through with things they used to do there. It was a frustrating time, and even though I had to do it by law, I still consider it my first “job”. At least it set the bar very low, so my future jobs didn’t disappoint me as much.

Customer: “Can I get the cheeseburger without the cheese?”

Me: “Seriously? Is this a prank?”

Customer: “What? No… Why would you ask that?”

Me: “Sir, asking for a cheeseburger without cheese is classic food service trolling. It’s like going to Subway and asking how long the footlong is.”

Customer: “But I just want the cheeseburger without the cheese. I don’t understand how…”

The customer trails off… the penny drops. 

Customer: “Onions! I want the cheeseburger without the onions.”

Me: “That makes more sense!”

Customer: “I love cheese! I think I just had cheese on my mind when I ordered it! Sorry about that!”

Me: *Laughing* “That’s totally fine, sir. So… a cheeseburger, no onions, right?” 

Customer: “Yes, please! Oh, and a Coke.”

Me: “Coke, no cheese, got it.”

He left happy!