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.
