Ruben, a guy I used to go running with, is well-known around these parts for his big personality and his practical jokes.  On a typical day heading down the block to our run route he might greet 10 people by name, and 9 of them could tell you a Gotcha story where Ruben was the jovial perpetrator.   

Cold-calling salesmen were special targets.  He would feign enthusiasm for their products only to dash their hopes in the end by telling them he’d love to sign up except that his wife had just run off with the checkbook and the TV repair man, or that he was being committed to the insane asylum later that day.  One time an insurance salesman was the hapless victim.  Ruben listened briefly to the spiel before blurting out with overplayed sincerity that the guy’s call was an absolute Godsend.  He then made up some tale of woe about how he’d lost his job and with it his insurance only to discover a few days later that he’d somehow contracted a neural disease that would render him deaf, dumb and blind.  Even before the salesman could think of a tactful way to bring up pre-existing conditions, the call was interrupted by the sound of sobbing.  Unbeknownst to Ruben, his young daughter was at the doorway listening in and was, of course, very upset.  That was the last of the phone pranks, but they were fun while they lasted.