decorating customers
Everyone goes on about these rogue traders and how workmen rip people off - most of the time its the fucking customers!!

I did a job for these people - away for two weeks on their honeymoon - did hundreds of pounds of work for them and they come back and refuse to pay me, citing one reason, then changing their minds to another. I have been conned out of nearly a grand and need to work extra time to make some before Christmas.

Clike I LIKE THIS if this has ever happened to you and you wish you could slap the shitty little cunts into next year. Thanks. Not bitter or anything.
(badfox1 wonders who he's played by this episode on, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 22:32, 4 replies)

back in the day
after drinking as much cheap beer as our 16 year old bodies could manage one of my mates would usually encourage one of us to get takeaway with him

what the unsuspecting pizza delivery guy didnt know was that my mate always turned off the security light outside the house so he could count out a handful of change loudly and just dump it in his hand before going back inside

usually saved us about £2.50 a time (he always met the guy with the correct amount just in case but never got rumbled)
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 22:31, 2 replies)

Conned in India
A repost from the Ripped Off qotw (if you can recycle the questions I can recycle the answers)

Some years back I spent some time in India and while there I went to the beautiful city of Jaipur which is renowned for its jewel trade.

I was there with a couple of friends – all girls and we were having a great time visiting the Pink City.


One day myself and Wendy (for that is….blah, blah) decided to do a bit of extra shopping.

We hop onto a pedalled rickshaw and off we go into town.
En route a couple of young local guys on motorbikes draw level with our taxi and start to chat to us – the usual stuff, Do you like India, Are you from England, etc. etc.
Then they ask us if we want to go get a cup of tea with them…..Oh…go on then, we say (well, actually it was me that said it, my friend wasn’t too sure….).


So soon we are drinking the best British Rail tea you can get - foul stuff; they seem to boil up the water with the tea, milk and sugar all in it.
We chat about our studies – they wanted to improve their English….They asked us about where was good to visit in the UK, what sort of things should they buy as gifts for their parents, where to eat, everything necessary for a visit….even asking for our details back home as immigration references (oh God, yes, I feel ashamed of how naively stupid I was giving that one out - the things I’ll do for a fit looking man….)


After all of this chat they invite us back to their home to meet the family…..Come on, they say, You can ride on the back of our bikes…..


At last my common sense started to kick in….”I want to walk thanks”…you see, I’d worked out that it might be safer if I walk there – then I won’t die horribly in a motorbike accident…
My sensible friend Wendy whispers to me, “Aren’t you worried about where they might take us?” Oh, I think, that’s a thought….


Anyway, we walk through Jaipur, through the tourist areas where all the jewellery shops are, past carpet sellers, deeper and deeper we go into the Muslim part of town.
It was full of women wearing the full burka – pretty much the first time I’d seen it, (this was some years ago now) and it was a little scary, if exotic and thrilling, not being able to see faces….
But we still had the two local guys with us and they kept chatting about how nice it would be for us to meet their family, so on we go.


When we had reached the point at which I no longer knew where we were I started to feel scared…the roads and narrow lanes we had taken all looked the same and I wanted to get back to the safety of our hotel…
But just then the guys said their home was around the next corner and also there was a policeman directing the traffic on the very same corner.
We’re safe, I thought, if we scream now the policeman will hear us.

Yeah, right, above the cacophony of noise that was downtown Jaipur.


Around the corner the narrow street was lined with small shops and even smaller doorways. They led us through one tiny door, into a courtyard and then through a smaller door with led up a narrow staircase.
Even now I still remember vividly the white adobe stairs and walls and thinking to myself that we’d passed the point of no return…we were going to be sold into White Slavery, we'd never see our families again, never see dear old Blighty (I think I really did use that phrase in my head - probably the only time in my life that I've felt like an extra from a 1940s film noir).

We were led into a simple room where the women of the family were eating, as soon as they saw us, strangers, they left the room and shortly the men joined us instead.
Only the two guys that had brought us there spoke English, so conversation was a little stilted – in fact I can’t even remember what we spoke about.
They offered us fruit to eat – which, to my shame I refused because I thought they were going to drug us and take us off to live in UAE as sex slaves….ahem….


They did however invite us to join them for supper…..and I agreed – all the while Wendy was going paler and paler, and bearing in mind I’d refused the fruit on the grounds of being possibly drugged…I can only presume that my young self believed that cooked food would be safe….


Shortly we were all sitting cross-legged on the floor and eating the hottest curry I have ever tasted in my entire life while all the men laughed at us….This didn't feel comfortable.


After we had finished the meal they tried to chat to us about our lives in England and then one of them asked us if we’d like to see something interesting…And if we could guess what it was we could have it…..


Out of a concealed cupboard they dragged a white pillowcase sized sack, it was filled to the brim (just like in a film) with what looked like green marble chips – like the ones that are put around graves sometimes.
That’s what I guessed they were, marble chips….No…not marble….so we didn’t get any….no, these were Uncut Emeralds…..


Then things moved on quickly, did we like jewellery?
Would we like to see their shop, their workshop?
If we went now we could meet their grandfather who was in the shop right now ready to take our order.
We could draw our own design for any piece of jewellery and they’d get it made up for us in a couple of days….


We went to the shop, grandfather was praying, so we didn’t have to go in…it was late by now and we managed to finally say goodbye – they would come to our hotel the following morning for our order…

How did we get away?

“Thank you for your kind offer, but you must understand that I need to speak to my father about this – my father would be very angry with me for going to a man’s house without his permission. He would also be angry if I spent his money on jewellery without asking first.”


They believed me….but still turned up the following morning waiting for our response….So I told them I’d spoken to my father and he was very angry with me and forbade me to talk to strange men again….


They left us with their apologies.

A taxi drew up, Wendy and I asked the driver to take us into town and could he recommend a good jewellers….
I bought a very nice half-carat emerald ring, still got it actually….

So after all that work they had put into persuading us to buy from them we were the ones who did the conning - we got a free meal and a small taste of life in Jaipur.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 22:19, 2 replies)

while working in a pub in sheffield
smelly scruffy looking guy walks in, hands me about 30p in coppers and asks for me to change it for him, i look over at the landlord and he nods as if to say "ok" i give him his money, he thanks me says something about being at work all day and leaves

so there you have it these people who ask for money in the street aren't homeless and down on their luck, they aren't even unemployed!!

after he left a couple of the regulars told me about a guy who got caught getting back into his BMW after a hard days begging according to them he was getting about £10,000 a year wandering around near castle market bothering people
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 22:04, 1 reply)

anytime...
...anyone says 'it's policy' ask to see a copy of the policy.

9 times out of 10, there isn't one.
(inflateable, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 21:36, 1 reply)

I'm being conned
I'm a doctor and get 9 pounds per hour. Thats before tax. And after 30,000 pounds of debt.
(sir swear a lot yes., Mon 22 Oct 2007, 20:56, 5 replies)

Young+horny+gullible = ££££££!
I'm sure I'm not the only one here to fall for this (at least, I hope I'm not).

Picture the scene, if you will. Four guys in their early twenties have just stumbled off the train at Euston. They're down in London from deepest, darkest Shropshire for a stag weekend.

Naturally, being young and stupid they head for Soho. And, naturally, being young, stupid and horny, they head for the nearest "gentlemen's club." But, also because they are young, stupid, horny and poor, they don't head for a reputable establishment such as the Raymond Revue, or the like. Oh no, they head for the seediest, most out-of-the-way, back street strip club they can find.

The girl at the door is extremely friendly. She tells them that it only costs a fiver to get in. A fiver? That's practically free! They all troop downstairs and duly hand over their 5 pounds.

They are seated in a waiting room, and more friendly girls come over and chat to them about where they're from and what they're doing in London. The lads chat away and, every so often, grin at each other - they've truly stumbled upon an onanistic pleasure palace here!

At this point a slightly older woman comes in. She wants to talk business. She points out to the lads that, just by entering the premises, they now owe £250. The lads are quite taken aback by this, and quite reasonably point out that this wasn't mentioned earlier. The woman, also quite reasonably points out that it written on the door, if they had only cared to look, and would they be paying the £250 now?

The young lads say no, really quite firmly. At which point the woman shouts "SECURITY!" and four beefy black guys appear from around the corner. The young lads change their tune and, after pleading poverty, manage to escape having handed over about £100.

They fall out of the door, gasping and spluttering at what's just happened. They look around with dead eyes. Never again will they see the world the same - never again will they be so naive.

Yes, ladies and gents, that is the story of how I and three others got done over in a soho clip joint. We imagined we were shrewd, men-about-town. In fact we might as well have had barley stalks sticking out of our mouths.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 20:13, 4 replies)

I've got the funniest story about this
unfortunatly it's at home and I don't have any money for the bus...
(Charlietron Still can't think of anything witty to put here, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 20:02, 1 reply)

stealing frankspencers theme
I've been left with 7 grand's worth of uni debts.

I was there for a fucking year and got jack shit out of it, I can't even say I have a degree.

if that's not a con then I don't know what is.
(lei, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 19:55, 4 replies)

Royal Skank of scotland
So i got a job working for direct line, and as they're owned by Royal Bank of scotland they REQUIRED I have an account with them for me to get paid.
So after a few months of not getting one, being paid late, having to call HR every month and get my team leader to 'request payment be paid to an unautherised bank' i decided to give in and get an account.

now there was 2 options; bog standard cash-card
or a royalties gold account, with numerous trimmings that only royalty would actually need. but it wasfree to employees, so i thought what the hell.
Cue a couple of months later when i get sacked (That's another QOTW, not my fault) not only did i have to make hundreds of calls, complaints, threats of Financial ombudsman etc i finally got my last paycheque. only for them to take half of it out of my account 30 seconds later (literally).
But it doesn't end there, I got even more money taken out of my account a couple of months later for my superdooper posh gold card. which they failed to mention to me i am now paying for seeing as i'm no longer employed by them.

so the final damage;
Sacked for things beyond my control, making it so no other employer wants to touch me with a barge pole.

taking random amounts of money out of an unemployed guys account on more than one occaision.



You guys think you're getting conned on the customer end of banks/insurers? try working for the cunts.
( Snorty McBumhole YouTube.com/MinistryOfGeeks, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 19:03, Reply)

Fair rides
Got conned the other night. Stuck my little boy on a train fair ride and paid £1.50 for him....and £1.50 in addtion to me accompanying the little fella.

That's why they all drive around in top of the range Land Rovers dragging their fair rides behind them.
(a5972s, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 18:13, Reply)

The weirdest one to happen to me
Long-ish, sorry...

Due to one thing and another, I had to leave my house at 4am one day (I was getting an early flight), so was wandering down my quiet suburban street with a large rucksack, blearily looking forward to getting on the National Express and sleeping all the way to Stanstead, which this woman approaches me, looking slightly worried.

Now, this was in Kennington, not known for being terribly safe, but there was no-one else around at all, and she looked harmless enough (middle-aged, jeans and a jumper, glasses, short hair: a bit like my mum), so I didn't immediately run away, but looked slightly receptive. Plus I was practically asleep on my feet, and didn't have the brain power to either walk away or even talk properly.

"I'mreallyterriblyutterlycompletelysoooosorrytoaskyouthis..." *said very quickly* "but do you have some money I could have?"
Me: "Ug?"
Her: "My electricity meter has run out of money"
Me: "Ug?"
Her: "And my disabled daughter is in the house..." *pauses, thinks of next tactic*..."on a ventilator"
Me: *sensing that this might not be the truth* "Ug."
Her: "So can you lend me some money? I've only got a card, and costcutter won't take it, they're cash only"
Me: *waking up* "u...no. Sorry."
Her: *senses more is needed* "And I need to call my husband as well, cos he's the only one that knows how to deal with...the...erm...electricity...yes, the electricity...thing...meter! So I need some money to call him"
Me: "At 4am?"
Her: "Yes! He works nights!"
Me: "No. Sorry. There's a costcutter down the Walworth road that does take cards though. I've used it before, many times. It's in that direction" *points in right direction*.
Her: "FUCK YOU YOU TIGHT BITCH". *Wanders off in opposite direction.*

I carried on to the bus station and fell asleep again. Telling my mum about it later that day, she said that the woman was probably a prostitute returning home from an *ahem* job, and trying to make an opportune bit of cash along the way.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:56, Reply)

the greatest con
I was promised fabulous earning power, enough beer to drown a battleship (or something), and all the sex I could handle.

What I actually got was four years of hard work, a debt that would shame a medium-sized african nation, and a wife, which, for those who are still single, is an object far more expensive than you can possibly imagine.

Click "I like this" if you think uni was a con.

Actually, my wife is amazing, which means I get the sex. And I get to wear a wig to work, so it turned out ok I guess.
(Exiled Youth [witty comment], Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:45, 7 replies)

Accidentally ripped off Dualit.
I like my coffee, me.

Love it in fact, so decided to buy a nice shiny proper espresso machine.

Fired up ebay, and bought a second hand Dualit espresso machine, thinking 'hey, if they make good toasters, the coffee is bound to be good.'

Machine arrived, no problems and I fired it up.
It made shit coffee. No crema, not enough pressure, and no way of knowing if it was hot enough meaning you sometime got a cold espresso.

Thinking Dualit couldn't possibly make a product this shit, I rang them up and said I'd bought one of their machines and it seems to be a bit rubbish and I think it might be broken. I didn't mention it was second hand, but the nice lady on the other end said 'no problem, send it back and we'll fix it, no charge.'

Ace. So, I box it up and send it back. A week or so later I get a letter basically saying 'no, the machine is supposed to be that rubbish - you'll be getting your coffee machine back soon'.

So I wait, and it never turns up. Dualit's despatch dept must be just a huge pile of random boxes, as they'd no idea what had happened to it when I called, so they said 'ok, we messed up, we'll send you another new one.'

Result, so I get a brand new dualit espresso machine. Which is shit.
So that goes straight onto ebay as a brand new espresso machine and I get 50 or so more quids than I bought it for.

Then, a few days later, my dippy neighbour mentions she has a parcel for me that the postie dropped off about a month ago...

My original coffee machine! Yay, that goes on ebay and I'm well up.

So I buy a nice brand new awesome proper Italian Gaggia espresso machine that makes proper good coffee.

Felt a little bit guilty, but it was masked by the caffiene buzz.
(inflateable, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:43, 2 replies)

This guy has the worst luck!
Walking in to a restaurant one day, I was approached by a guy.

"Hey man. My car broke down and it was towed. They won't let me have it back until I pay for the tow, and I'm just a couple dollars short. Can you help me?"

I never give money. I'll put a few dollars in gas in someone's car, or take them inside to get them some food, but never cash.

"No. Sorry." I told him and went along my way.

A few weeks later, I was going in to the same restaurant, and the same guy came up to me.

"Hey man. My car broke down and got towed. I need just a couple bucks to get it back. Can you spare some?"

Wow! That poor guy! He either needs a new car or he's been waiting an awful long time to get his car back!
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:32, 1 reply)

There's a guy who hangs around Inverness Street/Arlington Road
who always tells the same story - he's got no money to put on his electricity key and he's left his five year-old daughter in the house alone while he tries to get some money together to put the lights on. The first time he tried it on, I fell for it and gave him a quid - these days a Madeleine McCann joke and short shrift are the most likely response.

There's another guy who hangs out in Brixton and claims he's just got out of prison for killing a nonce who touched up his daughter. He's just got out of prison for the past five years to my knowledge, which leads me to believe that his claims might not be 100% true.

Conversely, the old Irish fella in Camden who tells jokes for a pound is fantastic value - when I started complaining that we'd heard all his jokes before (and shouting out the punchlines before he'd even started) he came back with all new material. Some good ones too, well worth a pound.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:14, Reply)

Come to Comet!
"30 day full refund on any purchase still in the box. No questions asked" says the advertising blurb.

My bro bought a telly from the Colchester branch the other week, however upon bringing it home it didn't fit the space in the wall set aside for it.

"Ah, as the box is opened, you're only entitled to 90% of a refund." said the teenage salesperson.

"Says where?" asks bro

"On your receipt" replies the acne-riddled virgin.

"No it doesn't. It says 'full 30 day refund if returned in the box' here" says bro.

"The box has been opened, therefore it's company policy to refund 90%".

"Where is this advertised?" challenges bro

"Erm, dunno innit" replies the salesperson.

Be warned folks....
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:11, 4 replies)

Two suits, some soap, and a mate who looks a bit foreign
Bored one Thursday afternoon, we spruced up in suits and hopped on a bus to the Warsaw car dealerships. My mate Jacek introduces himself to the dealer as the personal assistant to a young English investor (me) who is looking for a sports coupe for the inevitable long-distance cruises between Poland and England. Of course, all the optional extras will be required and because of the distance it is expected that said businessman will need the full insurance packages, aftercare and services as well.

You can almost see the dollar signs (well, zlotys) rolling behind the dealer's eyes as he happily pulls out the shiniest car in the salon and holds the keys out for a test drive. And, of course, "because kilometres aren't a real measurement of speed anyway" you can go as fast as you like, dealer quivering in the back like a startled peasant.

I just can't believe BMW, Mercedes, Toyota, Lexus and Audi ALL give out free cars to 24-year olds without asking for ID...
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 17:06, 1 reply)

Distance Healing
Sadly I haven't acquired the skills to heal people from miles away (or even up close)
but this looks like a pretty good wheeze.

cgi.ebay.co.uk/REIKI-DISTANCE-HEALING-21-DAY-HEALING-ANGEL-AURA_W0QQitemZ280155089502QQihZ018QQcategoryZ102518QQrdZ1QQssPageNameZWD1VQQcmdZViewItem
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 16:59, 3 replies)

Door to door
A bloke called at my flat the other day - my flatmate got me to answer it since she didn't recognise him, and I tend to jump at the chance to wind up the Jehovah's witnesses and waste their time. Anyway, he had a clipboard and a bucket for change, and asked me if I'd like to give some money for a child with cancer. I said, no, I don't give money to people at the door, and I don't like children anyway, but it was his parting shot that really tickled me. As the door closed in his face he shouted "You're missing out on a wonderful opportunity!"

A wonderful opportunity to...give him some money? I'll pass on that one, thanks.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 16:57, Reply)

I suppose the only successful con...
...I ever managed occurred when I was around 5 years old in Flamingo Land of all places!!

Before my family dived off into the wild open wonder of… Malton (oh yes!!) I was given a piggy bank to keep my precious pennies in with the hope I could purchase some cheap zoo/theme park plastic crap from the gift shop! Oh how I treasured the whole £2.50 I had upon my person all day… I took my moneybox on everything… all the rides, on the cable cars of joy, to the dolphin show extravaganza, EVERYWHERE - I refused to be separated from my money!!

Well eventually the excitement of the day surpassed and as children do I got a little sleepy and a little cranky and decided to sit down on a bench and generally have a moan. While I was in full-blown moaning-mode my parents decided to disappear into a nearby restaurant or something leaving me alone for a few minutes - I took this opportunity to count my money again like a young Ebenezer Scrooge.

Whilst enthralled by my stash of cash I didn’t notice a woman wandering over to me, she didn’t ask any questions or anything of the sort, she just leaned down and deposited a £1 in my moneybox… Whhhhhhaaaattt!! That’s right… I got FREE money for no apparent reason!! Now when you’re a child that’s about the biggest news there is… that and possibly a new episode of Thundercats, or Bravestarr (oh childhood in the 80’s)… so I was excited… I danced around cheering and then another person came over and handed some money to me… it was my lucky day, well… until my mother came over realised that people were giving me free cash and dragged me away accusing me of being a little con artist… I personally couldn’t have cared less if I was considered a con artist… I was getting money for sitting around don’t nothing!!

Well as you can guess from my mother’s reaction I didn’t get any rubbish from the gift shop that day… balls! :(
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Mon 22 Oct 2007, 16:31, 1 reply)

I went to university
There, I learned a number of useful and transferable skills like essay writing, research, working in small groups, contributing in seminars and participating in a variety of extra-curricular activities. The careers people told me these would be essential when seeking a job.

However, when I went into a recruitment agency after graduation and reeled off my 'skills' I was met with a hurricane of derisive laughter. I did not have any skills. No - the troglodyte who had done a BTEC in Lawnmowing had skills; the blank-faced slapper with a Certificate in Intermediate Typing had skills. Indeed, the midget covered entirely in hair and with a hump had skills because he could lick his own arse and therefore find work in a circus.

I, however, had a university degree and debts which I still possess 12 years later. I rest my case.
(frankspencer, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 16:23, 12 replies)

stockport skanks
ok, that title doesn't narrow it down, but these two were particularly bad. when i was about 14 and still soft hearted and impressionable rather than the hardened cynic i am today, my friends and i went into stockport to go shopping. being allowed to do that was a big deal for wide eyed spoilt little girls from the footballers wives belt of cheshire.

outside marks and spencers we stopped dead at a harrowing sight. a man, clad mostly in rags, pushing a grey faced and dead eyed lady around in a wheelchair. she was holding her stomach and moaning. the man was exhorting people to give him cash so he could afford drugs for her cancer because the nhs wouldn't provide them. and the killer touch? she had a puppy in her lap.

we were like fat fish in a dry barrel. we scrabbled around and pooled all our cash; we must have given them about twenty quid, which was so much money to us at the time. the man thanked us; his wife moaned softly and we skipped away, glowing at having done a good deed.

three hours later, all shopped out, we left the precinct and walked up to the big grand central mcdonalds by the train station. outside there was another begging couple. the same couple. only - wait a minute -

only this time, HE was in the wheelchair and SHE was doing the begging...

it was a very bitter lesson, and indeed one that started me on the road of bitterness which has ultimately led to me becoming a lawyer.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 16:23, 4 replies)

There's a bloke who walks down the back alley where I live every Saturday and Sunday...
at exactly 1pm, so I normally see him when I'm outside at weekends doing the manly thing of having a beer and working on my motorbike.

He looks like either a smackhead or a drunk, and every week the conversation goes exactly the same:

"Alright mate, " it starts, like he's never seen me before... "I went out last night and I'm stuck here, you haven't got a spare 20p for the bus have you?"

The first time, I fell for it.

The second time, I told him I didn't have any change.

The third time, I got pissed off.

"Listen mate, I've got a fantastic idea. You're short of 20p for the bus every time I see you. So why, the next time you go out around here, don't you spend 20p less on beer so you don't have to keep asking me for it?"

He mumbled 'wanker' before shuffling off.

Cunt.

Ironically, if he was honest and said he was skint and wanted a drink, I'd have given him a beer.


I've also been ripped off over weed twice - the first time the bloke said he needed my phone to call the dealer and ran off with it (luckily it was only a shit phone).

The second time some smeggy smackhead cunt told me to give him a tenner (my last one) and he'd get the weed from a pub. Only he told me to stand down the street because 'the dealer would come outside and kick off otherwise'. Predictably, he fucked off.

So I got in my car and chased him. Put the shits up him in a big way when I swerved onto the pavement and nearly broke both his legs, although unfortunately I never caught him.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 16:06, Reply)

Don't mess with the sister.
My sister, spotter of the Harrod's beggar mentioned earlier, answered the doorbell of her Clapton flat one afternoon. There on the doorstep stood a raggedy (in a shell suit kind of way) gypsy lady with an urchin sniveling in a pushchair. Sister raised her eyebrows in an expectant manner, irritated at being disturbed, and the woman said, pleadingly, 'My child is hungry.' Sister bade her 'wait a moment' and went back into the flat, returning with a little something in her hand.

The woman took the apple as though it was a turd, and as Sister closed the door the child, sniveling no more, was staring at the apple in horror.

Sister was always a lot more savvy than me about these things - she'd lived in London a long time.
(singingringingtree Living in the past., Mon 22 Oct 2007, 15:42, 1 reply)

pron before the interweb.....
Back in the day there was a certain magazine you used to only see in the barber shop, and could could nip a wee look at it while your dad was getting his haircut. There was sometimes a picture or two of a lady in a bikini top, smiling like. If you looked really carefully in the little black-and-white ads at the back, amongst the x-ray glasses/binoculars and magic pocket warmers, there were little ads that read something like this:

"Pictures. Set of 20, $5.00. Money order to PO BOX etc etc"

Friend of mine's older brother got himself a PO BOX, and put in an ad. I went around to his place not long after, and he was just opening envelope after envelope of cash, money orders were few anyway and he just threw them away. Changed the PO BOX every few weeks.

Ah, those days of innocence. No-one, to the best of my knowledge, ever complained, or asked a second time for their "pictures".
(dadadali has hybrid vigour, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 15:36, 1 reply)

Not quite a con but...
At school I developed the skillz of a novice burglar and could pick the lock of most conventional padlocks. As luck would have it most of our classmates used these to secure their desks. Cue a few after school raids; mostly so my mate could rumage in the desk of the girl he fancied. To think, I could have gone the road of a top cat burglar and lead the life of the gentleman thief, always one step ahead of interpol, diamonds and hot latin women all over me... I work in an office now. *sigh*
(brycemonkey No fatal accidents since:, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 15:18, Reply)

Roses selling guy
Best bit of business I've ever seen. We were in a Chinese restaurant and the man selling roses comes in, and approaches the table of annoying drunken loud businessmen on the next table, who'd been pissing me off all night. He tries to flog them 'St George's Day England Roses' (as it was St George's day) and offered them 3 for £5. They drunkenly agreed, and someone got his wallet out. Then the rose seller jumps in with 'Or, I can do you 5 for £10'. The drunken business guy jumps at the idea and pays up.

I nearly shook the rose seller's hand. The drunk guy even gave me one of the roses as I was female and within 4 metres of him.
( St3cks, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 14:29, Reply)