I work at a bank call center. One time I had someone call to check the balance on an account they recently opened with us. The bank I work for is regional, and this caller was on the other side of the country. The account number they gave pointed to an expensive private school in our area. When I asked for more information, the caller said they gave someone 500$ to open the account for them, and that person gave them some checks from us with that account number. I got my lead on the line, did some more Q&A, and we determined this person had been scammed, and given fake checks. The lead said they would close the account. The next week I get a direct message from the fraud investigation team director asking me why this account wasn’t closed. I was able to provide a screenshot of the message from my lead saying they were going to close the account. They thanked me and that was it. I went to check on it, and over 60,000$ in fraudulent checks had cleared the account in that week. I’ve only been working there a few months, and I’m 60,000% sure they would have dropped me like a hot potato on the spot.
Is it normal for a call center rep or lead to close customer accounts? I’d assume that the fraud department would be the ones making that decision and handling issues raised. Anyway, I’m glad you had the receipts to prove it wasn’t your fault.
Honestly, it’s not typical, but neither was the rest of this situation. In cases where it’s that clear there’s fraud on the account, leads absolutely have the authority to either close or approve the closure of the account. I can’t speak for all banks, but as far as I know, all leads at our centers have worked on the fraud teams, so they’re very well versed in these matters.
As a Ukrainian, I can’t even imagine ever dodging a bigger bullet than when I left Ukraine before the war started…
If I had stayed there I’d have to either constantly hide from the “draft officers” or risk my life trying to either (of course illegally) cross the border to Romania through mountains/rivers or to the occupied territorries. Or I’d just be dead already from a shell…
Literally life versus death decision.
I’m glad you’re safe.
Thanks.
I’m from Israel.
I was abroad on October 7th.
My most recent ex and her family. She was pushing for marriage toward the end of the relationship but I was getting sick of her crises of the week and her horrible family. I eventually saw a therapist that helped me realize that my ex was abusive, so I ended it with her and went no contact. I then went on a 6-month dive into learning about narcissists and abusive relationships. Once I learned that, I started noticing all of the fucked up shit she and her family did. They were seriously legit psychopaths. They were so bad that if they came out in a documentary about psychopaths, I would feel validated. I would think, “Yep, the world makes sense.”
Looking back, the way her two brothers-in-law behaved made so much sense. One was was a complete anxious wreck. I never saw him last more than 15 mins in any social gathering with the family, even leaving his own wife’s birthday party at his house once her family arrived. He also didn’t allow anyone to be physically behind him, was typically alone even in social events, and always carried a gun. The few times my ex and I offered to help him with something, he was quite suspicious and declined. I was never able to meet up with him one-on-one no matter how many times I tried to reach out to him over a period of about 6 months. I’m almost certain that the sisters did not want that to happen, so they sabotaged any chances.
The other brother-in-law was clearly disassociated from reality. You could tell by looking at him that he seemed to not be mentally there. It was like he was somewhere else in his mind. His eyes wouldn’t focus on objects, he would not have emotional reactions to things, and had a fake smile on no matter the situational discomfort. Think of people yelling at each other, a horror movie playing at full volume, and something burning in the kitchen, yet this dude is calm and smiling like everything was great. It was odd. Towards the end, he was dropping hints at me like, “I have never seen [your ex] care about how her behaviors affect men,” and told me that, “To survive in this family, you need to understand the Stockdale Paradox.” Btw, the Stockdale Paradox was a mental approach that an American POW in Vietnam used to survive imprisonment while others died. He would also send me songs that were quite depressing, almost as if they were a call for help. I remember thinking that he was trying to tell me he was in pain through songs but couldn’t directly tell me for fear of his wife (my ex’s sister) finding out.
In retrospect, both brothers-in-law were prisoners. The anxious one was in permanent fight-or-flight mode, while the other one was implicitly telling me the hell he was in. I think about the latter from time to time. He was a good guy surrounded by psychopaths. Imagine the hell someone is living if they need to engage in POW tactics to survive their spouse and her family. It would not surprise me in anyway if I found out that guy killed himself one day.
I learned the real meaning of “don’t stick your dick in crazy”. It’s not that they will get obsessed, stalk you on social media, demand attention, or break your heart. It’s that your judgment will be clouded and that will prevent you from protecting yourself, ultimately seriously ruining your life. Those two men are stuck without a way out. However, let’s say that if by some miracle either of them escape, they will never fully recover. The emotional injuries they have suffered have caused permanent damage.
tl;dr: the bullet I dodged was imprisonment with a family of legit psychopaths.
Imprisoned guy here. This reads like my life story of the last 10 years. Funnily enough I realized all the abusive shit, but the dick still thought love was possible although I knew how a real relationship feels. Sadly the dick also decided to have another two kids to the accidental in the mix so I’m in prison for at least the next 20 years.
Edit: loving the hell out of the kids though, gotta protect them from becoming like mom.
The Stockdale Paradox
James C. Collins related a conversation he had with James Stockdale regarding his coping strategy during his period in the Vietnamese POW camp.[21][non-primary source needed] When Collins asked which prisoners didn’t make it out of Vietnam, Stockdale replied:
Oh, that’s easy, the optimists. Oh, they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say, ‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come, and Easter would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart. This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.
Collins called this the Stockdale Paradox.
Damn, man
deleted by creator
/ \ / \ | \ | \ neighbour youis this what happened?
Was walking home one night and a bit less then a block behind me, I heard multiple loud rifle shots, turned around a saw a group with at least one person collapsing, others either trying to help him, maybe also falling down and others running.
Did not get the best glance at the victims, as the car with the guy half hanging out of it with a draco was now speeding down the road toward me, firing a few more shots vaguely toward the group.
I ran around a building and down a hill as fast as I could.
Whilst having a panic attack, a techbro walking a tiny dog takes out one ear bud and asks ‘Was that a car backfiring?’
I am quite winded, catch my breath a bit and say ‘No, gun shots, drive by, get INSIDE.’
He then gives me a look of disgust, yanks his dog away from me as if I am a threat to it, puts his earbud back in and walks up the hill, toward the scene.
‘Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action’
epic story
The greatest thing I remember that might qualify is way back in the day when Rainbow Six Rogue Spear came out, I had it on N64 and there was no PvP in that version, but there was co-op and friendly fire; so my friend and I would just kill all but 1 of the bad guys in a random small room, and leave him there so we could fight each other.
At one point he came around a corner at me and I fumbled the controls and just looked straight down; but because your model bent at the waist when doing this, I basically Matrix dodged every round he fired at me and was able to look back up and nail him.
Literally dodging figurative bullets counts, right?
my wife and I were driving to some appointment and we thought we heard gunshots but we’re driving.
So I wait in the car and listening to tunes and the guy parked next to me asked if someone was shooting at me and pointing to my door. My window was down all day so I was like what?
He pointed again and I got out to look and on the top of the window frame of the door is a odd angled hole. It was something powerful but not at the right angle to go more than the first layer of steel.
Totally bizarre. IDK if it was a bullet for certain but IDK what else would make a hole like that in a car
When I was a teenager, I was hanging out with my brother who is 8 years older while he was fucking around with his .45 (probably ostensibly cleaning it) and it was pointed towards me when for some reason the slide suddenly released and the live round that was inexplicably involved jammed in the mechanism.
So I mean, I guess I didn’t dodge a bullet, but I think I got pretty lucky.
I was the second to last pilot to fly an airplane before it suffered a catastrophic engine failure. The pilot after me put it down in the woods. The plane was a total loss but he was okay, worst injury he had was a scratch on the legs walking through the brush to get out of the woods.
Hell of a pilot to land that thing safely after what you did to it. /s
Seemingly innocuous activity. I was changing the band on my watch.
Watches have a little spring-loaded pin that goes through the band and in to the bezel. I had the spring compressed with some needle tweezers and I was removing the band when the tweezers slipped. One side of the pin was still seated in the bezel, but the other side was free, and pointed right at my face as I was leaning over this watch to work on it. The pin shot straight into my eyeball.
Or at least it would have if my vision was better. It hit my glasses instead, with enough force to leave a dimple in the polycarb lense. Lesson learned, wear safety glasses when working on anything that could possibly get launched, sprayed or blown into your eyes.
You had me in the first half ngl 😆 Well told 👍
Maybe the time I was headed to lunch with a friend. There was a Mexican restaurant we frequented in a strip mall with a gas station at the end closest to an intersection. We have the green light to cross the intersection as we approach when a shootout occurs at the gas pumps. We were going to turn in right next to the pumps, but my friend geared up and floored it. Yes, geared up. In a diesel. He spent another 15 minutes escaping the danger before asking where we should eat. I told him the safest place was probably at the Mexican place as every cop in town was likely in route.
The bullets I’ve been dodging are small things. Mormon missionaries coming over trying to get young blood to join them. I’ve gotten better at saying no and politely lying about not having time for them. Saves me a lot of headache.
I’m a brass musician and an atheist so the only time I go to church is when I’m getting paid. The last time some Mormons approached me about going to church I asked them, “What’s the pay?”
They were genuinely confused.
They don’t come around anymore, but I used to say that I was disfellowshipped/excommunicated, whichever was fitting for whatever religion they were selling. If they ask why, which they basically never do, just say “I’d really rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind…”
They don’t actually want to waste time talking to people who were kicked out of the church for “bad behavior”, and in many cases aren’t even allowed to, so they blacklist your address.
No soliciting signs typically do the job, too, though.
Well there was a SCUD; a misfiring mortar system; an IED; a negligent discharge with a machinegun; a fire in the ammo stack for the mortars; the several times I almost got thrown from a humvee while off-roading; an artillery rocket that actually hit our position; a midnight ambush (but it was really badly done, like comically bad); several patrols where the one in front of us or behind us got hit by large IEDs; and uhh that one time we drove through a minefield in a sandstorm.
Which time do you want to hear about?
Wow. There is A LOT to unpack, there.
I’d go with the one you are most comfortable in addressing.
Well writing is therapy so you win the jackpot.
In the fall of 2003 we started getting attacked by lone shooters and IEDs. The shooters were relatively easy to handle as long as we were actually keeping an eye out in every direction. The IEDs, were not easy to handle. And they got worse over time. They got larger and more frequent. The randomness of them was definitely starting to wear on us. Near towns they generally hit units that treated the locals poorly. Which wasn’t great but we treated the locals good so we weren’t too worried about it. On the highway though the larger IEDs hit pretty randomly. And it wasn’t uncommon to hear this on the radio, “Ambush, Ambush, Ambush, Need immediate air support at grid 12341234, break, … 4 Kilo 1 Whiskey Urgent over.” Which is someone yelling for help because they got hit, they have 4 dead and 1 wounded. It’s not the official radio call but it’s the most important information right away and the official lines were sent after that, once the Tactical Operations Center had started the medevac and gun helicopters to respond and was paying attention thanks to the topline there.
Most of the time we were doing our own thing and didn’t have the time or orders to respond. By the time we drove by all that remained of the scene was a humvee that looked like a giant had taken a pair of plyers to it repeatedly and blood and medical debris. Sometimes it happened the other way. We left the FOB one day with a convoy behind us, and we opened up spacing as was the standard at the time. They could not have been more than a minute or two behind us on the highway. That night on the way back we saw one of their humvees on the side of the highway. Back at base we found out we never knew because different brigade, different radio frequency. But they lost that humvee and everyone in it right behind us. Unit morale was already low but that put us right in the gutter.
Then it was our turn. The day before the bad guys had blown a bridge on the route we needed to take. They nearly got it done with several humvees on the bridge but ultimately mistimed it. As we approached the creek that ran under the bridge there were two paths, one with car and truck tracks and one with no tracks. Our convoy leader chose the one with car tracks because why wouldn’t you? Well it’s actually an axiom in the infantry not to take the predictable path if the choice is that easy. Our leader fucked up there. If he had taken the other path I wouldn’t be doing writing as therapy.
As we neared the creek I saw something absolutely chilling. I saw the locals flinch. I don’t blame them, they’re in a hard place between us and the AQ guys in their town who mete out justice at night. but seeing that flinch was the moment I knew our dice had come up. The only thing I remember next is the world disappearing and feeling something akin to the hand of god slap me down into the humvee. I would probably have been ejected if I hadn’t been tied to my machinegun. (For you young’uns before you had gunner belts we just used parachute cord and carabineers) A minute, or more later I woke up in my armor hanging from the gun. Nobody knows exactly how long but it was absolutely longer than 60 seconds. Which is a diagnostic threshold for a traumatic brain injury.
As I come to I hear, “Ambush, Ambush, Ambush, Need Immediate air support at grid 12341234, 1 vehicle catastrophic, 3 kilo, over.” There were only three of us in the humvee that day so they didn’t think there were going to be anymore numbers to follow. But our driver was more lucid than I was at first and he got the handset, “Correction 1 wounded, 2 Killed, over”. At this point something in me figured I should yell and let them know I was alive. So I yelled all the nonsense. Literally could not make a sentence or any word approaching what I was trying to say. For those keeping track, this is another diagnostic threshold. But our driver, who is an awesome person by the way, got back on the radio, “correction 2 wounded, 1 killed, over” It was at that point we heard a moan from the the guy in the front passenger seat. He did not look like he was alive. He looked like he had completed a personal appointment with an improperly used wood shop machine. Also one of the greatest guys I’ve ever known. Our driver got back on the radio, “correction again, 3 wounded, 3 wounded only, over.”
In the aftermath we got the area under control without anyone else getting hurt and agreed on a medevac location for our passenger. Wait, no, it would be dishonest to skip that part.
The driver yelled at me to get back up on the gun and I climbed my way up the pole, from the bed of the truck. I don’t mean that pejoratively. I was so weak I had to climb it, like it was a sheer cliff. Another diagnostic threshold. When I got back up on the gun the driver and I saw 4 or 5 young men sprinting away. We immediately assumed they were responsible and gave chase. Our squad leader, in a different truck, got on the convoy radio frequency and yelled at us directly to stop. No radio formalities, just told us to stop the vehicle. In my mind I wasn’t letting bad guys get away. It was still ROE at the time that you could shoot fleeing bad guys if you had positively identified them. My squad leader must have seen me pull the charging handle on the machinegun because he got on the radio again, just in time, and ordered us not to shoot. So I didn’t and those guys are still alive as far as I know. If I had shot it would have gone through most of the village. I was on a .50 caliber M2 that day.
So nobody else got hurt and we pulled out to go to the medevac spot. For some reason, known only to god, the IED hadn’t killed our humvee. At the medevac spot another platoon had secured the area so it was the first time we were able to just sit down and take stock. The driver and I compared our eyes and ears. Both of us had one pupil blown and the other pinpricked, and clear fluid leaking from our ears. Another diagnostic threshold. Our buddy got on the helicopter and they offered to take us as well but they had only brought one replacement. The driver and I were not in any way ever going to willingly leave our friends down 2 guys so we refused. We also didn’t really trust the replacement to drive, I can’t remember if he didn’t have his license or whatever but I ended up driving. On the way the original driver, now in the passenger seat and I, actually driving, had to keep waking each other up. This wasn’t actually abnormal with the operations tempo earlier in the deployment so I don’t think we thought too much of it at the time. But passing out repeatedly after a head injury? Yup, another diagnostic threshold.
Later we would find out that the IED was exactly as big as the ones that had been taking out entire crews. It was because it was buried in mud and water that we’re alive. and I only have my legs still because the shrapnel had to travel through our water, our MREs, and our steel equipment box before it could reach me. To outward appearances I survived with little more than some scratches. But I while I didn’t dodge everything in this story I think I dodged an impressive amount of stuff.
It sounds like your healing will never be done until that eternal sleep takes you. My condolences.
Keep an eye on that brain injury. Here’s hoping you missed a bullet with that as well. AIUI, severe shocks like that prematurely age the brain by 20-50 years, making it look like Swiss cheese towards the end. But judging from the quality of your prose (which is excellent), it seems that you aren’t very far down that path just yet. Good luck.
Thank you, I really do try.
You have some impressive storytelling skill. Have you considered writing a book?
I have actually. Sadly there are cognitive problems with long form writing. But I haven’t given up.
Definitely sandstorm minefield
So it’s late March 2003 and we get the order we were waiting for, to cross the Iraqi border. We set off in lines of humvees and cargo trucks that go from the horizon in front to the horizon in back. We felt pretty safe at this point, pretty powerful. After all this was as big a can of whoop ass as any we’d ever seen. As night fell, the wind kicked up. Visibility varied but generally we were able to see a couple hundred meters with no problem.
Then a worrying radio call comes down, reminding us that the minefield between Iraq and Kuwait was notorious for shifting in high winds and the loose sand. It’s worth noting that the convoy was crawling, doing no more than 20 or 25 mph. The worst thing that could happen at this point was a “loss of contact”. Where the front of the convoy leaves the back behind. The digital map technology was in only a fraction of our trucks and breaking into different groups could be a major waste of time or even disastrous if there was no digital map with the group.
As visibility dropped we had to drive closer together. And as we passed the first stakes marking the breaching lane, it went straight down to zero. So we tried to find the rear infrared marker light of the humvee in front of us. Because we’re also doing this in black out, depending on night vision goggles to see. And we found the humvee in front of us all right. We tapped them right on the bumper. Just to explain how low visibility is, we’re riding in a pickup style humvee. Only 2 of the 6 of us are inside. I’m actually standing up behind a machinegun. And not one of us saw the humvee in front before we tapped it. Nobody and no thing was hurt but we got told to back off and trust the stakes on either side for ten minutes or so.
So we did. And then the stakes betrayed us. It was a few minutes later when visibility flashed higher and we saw we weren’t in line anymore. We were next to the convoy, on the other side of the stakes. We were all sure we were about to hit a mine. But we can’t stay there, so we all cringe as we slowly turn back towards the convoy. We made it back, in the correct spot even. Visibility dropped again and we decided the humvee in front of us was our humvee too, nobody complained about the small taps that occurred several more times that night.
We didn’t know it yet but the American invasion brought with it a record breaking amount of rain to southern Iraq. Over the next couple days we would be driving routes that were an inch above shallow lakes and we were constantly wet and gritty. But visibility never again dropped that low for us.
Now do the Comically bad midnight ambush!
Okay, in the summer of 2003 it wasn’t uncommon for the locals to show their appreciation. We had mostly taken over the role of policing and maintaining order until local, non Baathist police could be trained. We had an older gentlemen in the neighborhood near us who took it upon himself to feed us at night. This lasted several nights and the food was way better than our MREs. Things had also calmed way down, so we felt safe to take our body armor and eat with him in front of the small cement hut we slept in. Any soldiers reading this aren’t going to make sense of this happening without realizing that we weren’t in the secured perimeter of our patrol base. Leadership didn’t mind because we were having positive interactions with the locals and that was the priority at the time. Even after this, things didn’t heat up again for several months. It really was this peaceful summer where we all thought it was going to work out easily. Iraq would quickly get a new government and we’d be home by August. Well, we all know how that went.
So one night, unbeknown to us the last night we’d have this guy at our little camp, we’re sitting around and enjoying falafel and some kind of sour cream with the ever present flat bread. It wasn’t Greek pita but it was also too thick to be Indian naan. And this stuff was awesome. Later on we got the local bakers enough money to buy cheese and other halal toppings and create mini pizzas for us. At any rate, about 15 minutes in, after we were done eating, the world’s most polite ambushers rip off an entire magazine from an AK in our general direction. They also shouted something in Arabic but we weren’t exactly stopping to ask questions. We immediately ran into our hut where we had left our body armor, (I know, bad infantryman, bad, but remember we were trying to look friendly) and threw it on as quick as we could. We cut the cords on the poncho over the Humvee and the machinegun and got it into action and the dismounts charged right up to the elephant grass under the cover of the gun. Our buddy was fine thankfully and had sensibly gone home at a high rate of speed.
As we discussed how to handle the elephant grass we heard more Arabic on the far side and the dismounts moved in slowly. The Iraqis most have known somehow because they came bolting out the other side and were visible for about a second before disappearing into the alleys. We decided chasing Iraqis in the dark without back up was a great way to end up on an Angel flight. So we settled for checking the elephant grass for any explosive devices or traps they may have left behind. After all the local kids played there.
We never did figure the why or wherefore of that ambush. They could easily have killed the five of us if they had fired controlled bursts or in semi-auto. Were they the first blush of Al Qaeda? Did they just not like our friend giving us food? (the food situation at the time was still recovering, but not to where we needed to give them humanitarian aid anymore) Had we unknowingly wronged their honor and this was them reclaiming it? Never found out. But I do think that to this day where we might have trouble as Americans in Mosul or Kirkuk, in that town we’d just had have to tell them what unit we were with and we’d get fed again.
That was wild. Thanks for sharing that little story and Thank you for your service. Glad you’re still with us to be able to share this.
No problem, and thank you.
