I cried wolf. And it didn’t end badly.
In high school I played a wolf in the senior class play (1999), Beauty and the Beast. One afternoon during school hours, dressed in full shag-carpet costume, I had just left from a photo shoot for the local newspaper, as class had just gotten out. There happened to be two girls getting into a fist fight, as a crowd was gathering accordingly. I was faced with a decision:
A) Enjoy the fight.
B) Break up the fight by simply making a scene.
I rushed up near the girls and began growling and howling, similiar to the transformation process on the TV version of The Incredible Hulk. The crowd started laughing at me instead of paying attention to the girls pushing each other around. The two fighting girls both looked at me with confused faces. It’s difficult to continue a fist fight when there’s randomly a 5’ 9” wolf waving around his claws at you, who is making so much racket that the fight itself is no long interesting. The fight was over. Both the crowd and the fighting girls walked back to class like nothing ever happened.