Once upon a delivery truck in Memphis, a FedEx employee named Antwone Tate decided to weave a tale of dubious distinction that reads more like a heist movie script than a job description. The half-baked plot took root around May 27 when FedEx’s Loss Prevention team at the Memphis Hub noticed a worrying trend—a series of packages, each bearing an enviable allure of riches, had mysteriously vanished into thin air.
Enter Antwone Tate, our alleged protagonist. Unlike a polished casino caper or artful dodgers who make off with fortunes across picturesque skylines, Tate preferred to try his luck closer to home and digital convenience. Engaging in a feverishly imprudent streak, he apparently believed that “finders keepers” was an unwritten perk of his FedEx contract.
First on the heist menu was an $8,500 diamond ring, sparkling alluringly from its snug packing foam confines. Joining the ring in its unexpected detour were gold bars valued at a handsome $14,000, adding a touch of bullion to our story’s gilded drama. You’d think a surreal dream sequence this wasn’t, but nay.
But the sparkle and shimmer weren’t enough; the heist had to go retro with American nostalgia. A third package mysteriously disappeared, entailing a stash of vintage baseball cards that would make any collector’s hands tremble with excitement. The loss comprised iconic relics, including a 1915 Cracker Jack Chief Bender and a 1933 Goudey Sport Kings Ty Cobb. Together, these pieces held a card value of about $6,800, enough to strike a home run in any auction machinery.
The supposed mastermind may have traded stealthy shadows for reckless bravado when his digital footprint better resembled a builder’s boot in fresh cement. Unbeknownst to our tale’s craftsman, the legitimate world awaited with practiced thoroughness and a pinch of help from the digital age. The authorities traced this vanguard of purloined treasure to the least mysterious of locales—a pawn shop, of all places. There sat the glinting diamond and bullion, as if naught was amiss. Both treasures had materialized, courtesy of Tate, who unwisely presumed presenting his driver’s license posed no modern scrutiny. Police indulged in little suspense, quickly identifying this as a misjudgment.
And yet, the most indelible mark of the caper transpired on eBay. When fingers swiped through the accounts, eyes landed on the particularly incriminating username “annta_57.” Whether it’s a lack of creativity or an astonishing oversight, the name tracked back to our FedEx fellow, effectively akin to scribbling “I did it” on your fridge in ketchup.
As the new owner of a pretty thorough rap sheet lined with theft of property charges, Mr. Tate may now find himself engaging in evening storytelling amongst an audience he never quite anticipated. Meanwhile, FedEx exuded corporate succinctness by informing the public that Tate was no longer employed and subtly reminded the world that package piracy was explicitly, if unsurprisingly, absent from job postings.
In a final twist, our delivery hero has become the talk of corners both digital and real. Conversations around the water cooler are painted not just with guesses about the next sporting champion or latest trade gossip but the alluring curiosity about erstwhile packages and stars of cardboard legend transmuted into street tales.
So, each time your latest online shopping binge fails to transition from “out for delivery” to doorstep glee, flick a knowing glance towards eBay. But be wary, for if you spy a listing by “annta_58,” tread with caution. You might just end up bidding on the unmistakable memento of a Memphis misadventure.
