We were dove hunting this year and were hunting some Plots.
Erosion had destroyed the main section line trail and the farmers had created a nice smooth alternative track in the wheat stubble. We pulled over off the nice new track and parked in the nasty rutted original trail.
Sure enough - an asshole comes along (looked like a farm truck but who knows), stops, then asks whose truck is parked "in the middle of the road". I said it was me and I'd move it. So I did. Parked it centered on the nice even track - forcing whoever comes next to use the rutted POS track.
I've heard more than one farmer remark that their fellow farmers aren't happy unless they're bitching. I suppose that's true for some of them - just like the human race in general.
We laughed about that a$$hole for days afterward. What an absolute dink.
Sometimes I think we're related. That was perfect.
I once responded to a suspicious package. On scene it was obvious a
CLEAR trash bag full of aluminium cans had blown out of an overfilled dumpster. I got out into the sideways snow, replaced it and squashed down the lid.
I relayed my actions to the desk and was told in breathless reply to remain on scene to identify the bag to the entire responding action force of doom (RAFD). I said I'd put the bag back in the original spot and secure it with a traffic cone. To my amazement; to this day: This was approved. I watched the RAFD put the bag in the dumpster and smash down the lid. They were
not respectful to my rapid strikeforce orange cone (RSOC). I solemnly stood it erect then replaced it with honor beside the spike strips in the trunk.
That is all.