Almost scammed
Recently a personable voice named Jennifer tried to scam me, but oddly I didn’t qualify.
“Are you sure you don’t want my information? I have a respectable income…” I pleaded.
“No. You have to be at least 25 to claim the prize,” said the voice through the phone.
For the next five minutes, I tried to convince Jennifer that I was a gullible target, but she kept brushing aside my solicitations, saying she wanted an older victim.
“Well ok,” I said, “I’ll call back in January.”
In another reality, one where I’m both one year older and the Nigerian Prince micro-loan market has a better credit score, I would have won an all-expenses-paid trip to Fabulous Las Vegas. Apparently (somewhere in the land of free lunches) the man behind the curtain drew my name out of a hat and handed it to Jennifer. The voice then called me, highlighting the wonders of Sin City; she also mentioned the prize followed from a contest I’d entered 18 months prior. “Do you remember?”
Not sure if it’s false memory, maybe the result of yearning for a free vacation, but yes. I genuinely remember entering the contest. Part of the reason I persisted with Jennifer - I’m not 100% confident it was really a scam. I might just be that lucky. When you’re an optimist, you assume good things.
A long long time ago, B.C. (Before Covid), back when you knew the price of a gallon of gas and businesses listed their hours online rather than on the door, I had somewhat of a movie addiction. As a weekly ritual, I trekked to the theater. (I still have all the movie-stub relics to prove my devoutness.) On this particular instance, in the slowly dying Regal of Northgate, 18 months prior, I tripped across an intrusive cardboard amalgamation. When I looked up, I saw the photo-edited version of the Las Vegas strip - appropriately dressed patrons, all smiling, with their wholesome looking families enjoying the manageable spectrum of lights. I thought it rude to trip me, so I flipped off the cardboard and spit in his coffee. But then, I saw the cardboard was hosting a free raffle, so I apologized and gave him my entry. A short 550-some days later, Jackson McKenzie is declared the winner!
Since I remember entering the contest, I pause when my girlfriend tells me the contest is a scam.
“I’m not so sure,” I say. “Jennifer spoke great English.”
“Did you give away any of your personal information?” asks my girlfriend with a concerned tone in her voice for whatever reason.
“Just my name, phone number, and age. She stopped asking for my info when I wasn’t old enough, but she gave me a phone number to call back when I’m 25.”
I showed my girlfriend a fairly legit email they sent me, but she pointed out a misspelled word, the lack of professionalism, and a sketchy email address.
I frowned. “I think you’re focusing on the wrong details. We’re talking about an all-expenses-paid trip... I get a plus one. Are you saying you don’t want to come?”
“No Jackson, I’d rather not be the plus one to a scam.”
“Well in that case, I’m taking C$.” (Niche joke, my best friend is nicknamed C$.)
