I was thinking about committing fraud. Not me, personally, but about other people who do it — scammers, fraudsters, grifters, swindlers. Shame we’ve gotten away from the term con artist — it has a kind of flourish, a romantic flair.
We love these people in movies. They are clever and cunning, possessing a debonaire confidence allowing them to outsmart their unsuspecting victims who, the stories will often suggest, had it coming for some reason.
In the real world, these people are far less attractive — we imagine them sweating over a keyboard, a violent orange shock of Cheeto dust in the air — just trying to get poor, defenseless citizens to give up their mother’s maiden name so they can hack into their bank accounts and drain them of every last cent.
Phishing, spoofing, catfishing all exist alongside good old-fashioned pickpockets and fake charities. “Get a job,” we holler at the endless stream of phone calls flashing “Potential Spam” across our screens — wondering whatever happened to the “Do Not Call List.”
Unfortunately, judging strictly by the steady stream of documentaries and podcasts available to watch or listen to, this variety of criminal is never in short supply; they seem to pop up like weeds, their scams getting increasingly more sophisticated.
This is the part I was thinking about.
Have you ever tried to prove you are you?
It’s exhausting.
I’ve had to do it a few times and every time I do, I think about the criminals who have made it all possible.
I envy their patience.
Imagine, I think to myself, how hard it must be to successfully convince someone you are, in fact, someone other than yourself. These are individuals with great attention to detail and an even higher tolerance for bureaucracy and paperwork. They don’t miss a thing. They can’t or else they risk losing it all, getting caught, going to prison.
I admire their focus.
When I got married for the first time, I changed my name. When I got divorced, I wanted to change it back. You might think it would not be that big of a deal, but you would be wrong.
After filling out all the proper forms and waiting to be called to the window at the clerk’s office, a very kind woman with an even more apologetic face explained to me that the divorce decree needed to have a raised seal. It had to be an original document.
I didn’t know this. But you know who would have? A con artist.
Off I went — up and down sets of grand staircases at the municipal buildings in Albany to secure the document with the seal.
When I finally found what I thought was the right office, I greeted a small, bookish-looking woman behind the counter and inquired if I was, in fact, in the right place to get the proper document with the proper seal.
“Yes,” she said. That was it. Well, that, and then a long pause.
“Am I able to get that today?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. And then, another uncomfortably long pause.
Who is this lady? I wondered. The Sphinx?
“Okay,” I said, confused, “how do I do that?”
“Well, I would get it for you,” she said sharply — insinuating, it seemed, that I was expecting to just be let loose on the filing cabinets and paw through them myself until I found what I needed.
At this point it seemed like the situation had somehow gone from bad to worse. With the clock ticking, the last thing I wanted to do was make this woman mad.
Mustering up my most polite courage I quietly inquired, “is there some thing to fill out or do you just need my name or…”
“Well, yes, I will need your name,” she cut me off, “and you will have to pay a fee!” Her voice went up at the end of that last sentence almost as if she expected that to be the last straw, a complete dealbreaker to send me on my way.
“How much?” I said.
“Five dollars.” She replied.
All of this for five dollars. I looked in my purse.
“Do you have change for a 10?”
She let out a deep sigh before holding out her hand, making change and then disappearing behind a desk. It remains, to this day, one of the more strange encounters I have had with another human being.
I have often wondered if a scammer has ever gotten one over on her and how, on Earth, did they do it?
The sweet and apologetic woman was still in the window when I returned to the clerk’s office and she speedily processed the paperwork.
“What we women go through,” she smiled, sliding the forms back. “You’re all set.”
“Yes,” I laughed, tucking the papers back into a large envelope. “What a scam.”
This essay originally appeared in my weekly column in the April 25, 2024 edition of The Perry Herald in Perry, NY under the title Criminal Mindless.
This is the best one yet. Still loving your podcasts, don't ever stop, they bring a smile to my face even on a not so great day!😘
It's Sunday morning and I must have my Shannon and Jane, but before either of them, I must have my Kate.
Thank you