In the 1990s, I was accused of doing a fender bender hit and run on a lady’s car that did not happen. I even had photos of my car to show that there wasn’t even a scrape on it. I was still told by a lawyer that it wasn’t worth the risk in court, so I should just take the plea bargain.
I ended up having to do 12 hours of “community service,” which involved picking up garbage on an interstate median while cars went whizzing by and I had to hope one didn’t do a real hit and run.
The fun part is that every single person doing community service with me said stuff like, “you shouldn’t have to be here, man. I’m doing this for selling X.”