I hope police don't use GPS.
A couple of months ago we had a severe storm through this area that took down a lot of trees. I lost a couple myself, along with a bunch of limbs and branches. A couple of days after the storm a ratty old Ford pickup with a blown muffler rolled into the driveway. I went out to see what was brewing, and a guy probably in his mid-20s got out. He said, "Hi, I'm ___. I'm here to clean up your trees."
I had already contracted with a licensed arborist to clean up my mess, and the guy I hired wasn't named ___ and he didn't drive a ratty pickup with a blown muffler. So I told him I had no idea what he was talking about and I asked him if he was at the right place. He said, "Yeah, 12 ___ Drive." So I got to tell him that he was at number 172, and that this was NOT ___ Drive. And the moron looked at me like I was crazy.
"My GPS says this is the place."
He must have a crappy GPS. The address he was looking for was less than a quarter of a mile away ... as the crow flies. But to get there was about a 3/4-mile drive involving several turns and a couple of intervening streets.