The Con
“I’m in town from High Level, looking for work.”
I’ve heard this one before.
“I’m broke, and I’ve got my wife and kid in the truck.”
I’ve heard this more than once.
“I just need some money for gas, so I can run the truck a while—warm up the kid’s cold feet.”
It’s been a few years, but I’ve heard these exact words before. I’ve heard this same story more than once. Back then, it was one guy—twice—in two different Tim Hortons locations.
This time, it’s in the trendy espresso joint near the university. It’s been a few years, so I’m not sure if it’s the same guy.
Sorry, pal, can’t help you.
He heads over to the next table. Same sob story. Money exchanges hands.
He does this several more times, until he’s hit all of the tables in the place. Given the benefit of the doubt, he should be heading for the door about now.
He doesn’t.
10 minutes later, he’s sitting at the back of the cafe, a tall cup of coffee in one hand and a bagel sandwich in the other. Same shit, different time and place. And just like the time 6 years ago, I don’t ask about the wife and kid.