Fool Me Once, Shame on Me

Fool Me Twice, Won't Get Fooled Again

When I was in junior high, the word “scam” meant making out. You’d be bopping around the mall, slurping on an Orange Julius, and a friend would run up and say, “Ohmahgawd Jeremy and Jennifer are totally scamming in the Radio Shack parking lot right now! Kristi saw them!” This was in the dark days before texting, when breaking teenage news traveled on foot.

But this way of describing hooking up is maybe only a thing in North Dakota because I recently told my husband that a guy I know was a “total scammer” in 8th grade, and he thought I meant the kid was running a Ponzi scheme out of his locker. Like he was Bernie Madoff with a Trapper Keeper and a Ticonderoga #2, promising he’d invest your wad of pizza delivery cash in Frogger stock.

That should be the plot to Ferris Bueller II: The Sausage King Returns.

Now, of course, “scammer” exclusively means “an asshole with no soul who steals money from innocent victims.” And scammers are having a field day. Half of Netflix and Hulu’s programming is hastily slapped together documentaries about women (usually) who are duped by smooth-talking charmers. I know this because I’ve watched all of them. “IF IT SEEMS TO GOOD TO BE TRUE, IT PROBABLY IS, JANICE,” I yell. “THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS INVESTMENT PROPERTY IN POMPEII.” That dummy Janice never listens.

The news has been full of stories about people being fooled by professional con artists, like the financial reporter who handed over $50,000 cash in a shoe box to a random man in an SUV. And a mom who lost $10,000 to scammers posing as her bank. And then there was the Kentucky woman who thought she was giving the actor who played Billy in Stranger Things $10,000, only to find out it wasn’t really him. Poor lady.

If anyone’s scamming in the Radio Shack parking lot, it’s this guy.

We all like to think we’re too smart to fall for these tricks, and most of the time we are. I certainly didn’t hand over money to the guy standing outside a Houston CVS who told me he’s raising money for his high school band’s field trip. Mostly because he reeked of weed, he was at least 35-years-old, and the school logo he used on his flyer was actually Monster Energy Drink’s. But that type of thing is easy to spot.

So are the phishing emails we all get from PayPel, Welsh Fargo, and Banc of Ameerica telling us we need to call and give them our social security number. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t even call my parents to give them my social security number. If they really want it, I’ll do it the safe way and mail nine separate envelopes with one number enclosed in each that they then need to assemble into the correct order. I’m no dummy like Janice.

Source: AARP

But I am becoming less cavalier because I’m getting older and the scammers are getting more sophisticated. Preying on the elderly is beyond evil. The AARP magazines that I never asked for but that always show up in my mailbox frequently have warnings for us oldies. “Don’t Fall for the Latest Elder Scams!” they scream. “Don’t Give Your Retirement Savings to the Dark Web!” I’m not quite sure what the Dark Web is, exactly, but I picture it looking like the Star Wars cantina where everyone’s on a laptop asking you to send them a wire transfer. Doot doot doot doot doodily doot.

(Side note: A couple of years ago, I went to Oga's Cantina in the Disneyland Star Wars land, and ordered a theme cocktail called the Fuzzy TaunTaun. One of the ingredients was "Buzz Button Tingling" foam, which is basically Anbesol and it made my mouth numb for 20 minutes. I paid $19.00. I might be right about the Dark Web.)

The scam that I’m most worried I’ll fall for is the one where an AI-generated voice calls and pretends to be your college kid in desperate need of money. That’s f-cked up. Also, desperately needing money is kind of why every college kid calls their parents, so it’s even trickier to suss out. If one of my sons called me and said that he just saw a nice tunic at Chico’s and he needs my credit card number to buy it, I’ll know right away that it’s actually a Russian con artist. Well, maybe I will. A nice tunic might be worth the risk of financial ruin.

But the main thing I’ve noticed in every story about scammers is that before they’re caught, con artists live a great life. Private jets, fancy vacations, gold toilets, pet tigers, the whole nine. Look at a few of the Real Housewives, Elizabeth Holmes, Anna Delvey, and a vast array of cult leaders. They had it good for years. “Yes, they’re in prison now,” I think while I watch the latest true crime tale, “But they sure lived it up during the 15-20 years the FBI was hot on their trail making photocopies of their IRS statements.”

So my question is: Is it better to have scammed and lost than never to have scammed at all? Is spending a few years in the clink worth it if you were able to buy four Rolls Royce SUVs and a Miami mansion with someone else’s nest egg? Does crime pay better than my Substack newsletter? I’m curious what y’all think. Tell me in the comments.

And be sure to include your social security number.

Thanks for reading!

—Wendi

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