A small, well-meaning con job was once directed at me when I was a letter carrier walking my route in Virginia Beach. An older man walking his dog approached me.
The dog wasn’t that big, but it was dragging its owner along like a lion pulling a dead wildebeest across the arid African savanna.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got him under control,” the outmatched man said with a straight face.
He wasn’t intentionally trying to con me and certainly meant me no harm. He may have even thought he was in charge, but he had to have known the dog was running the show.
This was the most innocent of con jobs, but I wasn’t fooled and never took my eyes off the dog as it dragged its owner past me.
Then there was a con of a different sort—intentional, but not meant to harm—much—but certainly meant to deceive.