It’s Thursday. As is my custom, I’m working on my laptop out of a coffee shop in downtown Lexington. My mind deep in some code I’m rather proud of, I hit Ignore on an incoming local call flagged as potential spam. (That describes most of my calls.) They immediately call back. That’s new. Well, the warning has been wrong before. I answer.
I’m greeted by the Fayette County Sheriff’s Department. Am I aware that I’ve missed a jury duty summons? “I had jury duty the whole month of February - are you telling me I have it AGAIN? This is the first I’m hearing of it.” That must have been county, they retort (and they’re right). This is Federal (I can hear the capital “F”. And “F” is what I’m thinking).
The officer continues in crisp “cop voice”. They’d sent an officer to my house, but no one was home. The judge is angry. There is a warrant out for my arrest. They’re going to dispatch an officer to my location and take me into custody. It’s exactly how they described it during Jury Orientation in February. He reads out a street address and asks if it’s mine. It is. (In my mind’s eye, I see myself being arrested in front of my kids, my wife. Our neighbor who works at Grey’s school and whose daughter is Grey’s friend. We would be outcasts. Would I lose my job?? Would my family ever look at me the same way again?? Melodramatic, I know.)
Or, he continues, I can turn myself in at the Sheriff’s station. Face the music like a man. They’ll process and book me, and I’ll have to go before the judge and explain myself. Trembling, I carry my laptop out of the coffee shop and to my car. How do I call Alicia and explain this? I’ve been irresponsible and put our whole life in jeopardy.
But I can’t call Alicia because the cop is still on the line. In fact he transfers me to his supervisor. The supervisor rattles off a list of acronyms and terms. “If you want to avoid arrest, you can post your bond - $2,000.” Alarms go off. Is that quite how bond works? Don’t you get arrested FIRST? Isn’t $2k a bit low? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter: I’m onto them now! What will they ask for? Additional personal information? My credit card number? Give me an account to wire money to? I risk an accusation. “Respectfully, this is starting to sound a bit like a scam. Someone called me out of the blue and is asking for money. You understand why I’m concerned, right?” I call him “Officer” just to hedge my bets. I don’t really know how this stuff works, after all. He assures me in practiced, matter-of-fact but stern cop-voice, that this is a very serious call on a very recorded line.
The bond can only be paid in cash - no checks or credit cards. That throws me. I can’t see the scam in walking down to the Sheriff’s office with $2,000 cash in hand. My boss is messaging me on Slack, asking if I’m free for a Zoom call tomorrow. “Um…hopefully?” I can’t deal with that now. My hands are shaking again. Voice, too. This might be real. There’s no harm in going to the bank and taking out the money. If it’s real, I’m cooperating. If it’s a scam, they haven’t got anything yet. Over the phone, I hear police dispatch chatter. My stomach drops.
The officer stays on while I try to find a nearby branch of my bank. There’s no time to consider how weird that is, because I’m trying to find parking near a bank downtown. The cloth ceiling of my car has decided now is a good time to start falling down and completely cover the rear window. I need to change lanes. I wish I could call Alicia, but I don’t want to lose this person who seems to be a cop and who seems to be so helpful. I know I’m not thinking clearly. Screw downtown, there’s a bank on New Circle with a nice, calming parking lot where I can sit and collect myself. While I drive, the officer tells me to mute the mic when I go inside “so they don’t overhear any of my banking information.” He’s being strangely helpful, but I’m only focusing on driving without being able to see behind me. I hit mute.
The bank is low on $100s and $50s. “Is it alright if I give most of this to you in $20s?” I jokingly ask for a bag with a giant dollar sign on it, like in cartoons. The teller chuckles politely and offers an envelope. I’ve had time to calm down. I walk out to my car. “I have the money.” The words bump me as they leave my mouth; those are the words of someone being scammed. But I’m headed to the Sheriff’s station, right? I’m looking for a problem but can’t see one.
Then he tells me where to go: Walmart. WTF? “I mean the Money Center that some Walmarts have. We’ll send your mobile device a barcode, you scan it into the machine, then give them the money. The account will be in your name, with your SSN, and you’ll get a full refund after you meet with the judge.” Obviously I’m not doing THAT. “How can I be sure you’re who you say you are? This sounds like textbook scam stuff.” The officer feigns offense. How DARE I accuse the Fayette County Sheriff’s Department of trying to scam me! “That’s not what I meant…”, I begin. He cuts me off. “Sir, I’ve tried to help you, but you’re being an asshole, and I can’t deal with you anymore. You can turn yourself in, or I can transfer you to my supervisor.”
That’s unexpected - I’ve been very calm and respectful. “Yeah, let me talk to your supervisor.” Officer Randall Combs answers immediately. I Google the name and get a page of news articles and social media hits for a Lexington police officer. (Is there even a 1% chance this is real? If I’m wrong I go to jail.) He’s calm at first, then takes incredible offense when I repeat my suspicion. Here he is, a man - a hero! - in uniform trying to help me. Yet I have the temerity (no, he doesn’t use that word) to accuse the entire Sheriff’s department of trying to scam me! The response is both threatening and illogical.
I realize I’ve been given a false choice - pay now or be arrested. Surely there are other options. All but certain now, my mind begins to clear. “Can you give me a number at the Sheriff’s station I can call to confirm all this?” He offers one, I Google it. No relevant hits. “That’s not coming up as a Sheriff’s office number. What if I call the number on the Sheriff’s office website?” He struggles to explain why that isn’t an option: if I hang up, I’m as good as booked and fingerprinted. Gaining confidence, I ask him again what will happen if I call the number I found. Now he’s really mad. “You just go down to the Sheriff’s office and SEE what happens!!” Again, not a logical response.
I look down at my phone and see the call time - 50 min. They’ve kept me on, kept me talking, driving, and freaking out instead of thinking. I hang up and call the number on the Sheriff’s site. No, there isn’t a warrant out for my arrest. The Officer doesn’t even ask my name. He laughs and tells me not to worry - they get reports of this all the time.
I’m still in the bank parking lot. No way in hell I’m going back into that bank to re-deposit the money and risk having to sheepishly explain myself. Time to find a third branch. I message my boss back. “I think I’m free tomorrow.”