A friend of mine living in Duxbury owed me 15 Gs after Liverpool beat Barcelona two weeks ago. He finally told me to stop by his house to get the money. He gave the directions, and told me what time he'd be home. It sounded good to me.
The first thing that seemed off was the young girl that answered the door. I asked her if I had the right house; that I was looking for Dave.
"Dave? Aren't you [some random Internet screen name]?"
"No, not at all. I'm here for my 15Gs."
I put a hand up to Sir Ian McKellen, who had driven me there, and was sitting in the car with it running. He gestured for me to come over to him. I shrugged my shoulders. He got out.
"There's cops staking out the house, man. I think we should get out of here."
The cops got nervous, and jumped out of their hiding places. They yelled for me to get down on the ground. I put two and two together. They thought I was there to have sex with the girl. I was on Dateline. It took a far amount of work, but once the Perverted Justice people were able to confirm that I didn't look like the guy they were expecting, and there was no obscene chat that corresponded to me, they let me go. There was also the threat of me and Sir Ian suing them, which convinced them not to use any of the footage of my visit.
Dave had skipped town. A friend of his at the local police station told him of the Dateline sting, and he thought it would be funny to set me up, so he established a chat with one of the decoys, made an appointment to meet her, and then sent me over. I found out from someone else that he was over in Chicago, so I put in a call to the Mayor, who I knew would take care of him for me. Awful jackass.
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