Sucka'ed
Hmmmmmm . . . I'm afraid I may have a client for 
grey_twolf.
I had just rolled into the parking lot here at 12:30 Saturday night/Sunday morning. I was gathering my things up out of the back seat of my car when I was mildly startled by a feminine voice saying, "Sir?" over my shoulder.
Even in the relative darkness it was easy to see that she was white as a sheet. Heavy semi-circles ringed the bottoms of her eyes. She was shaking visibly.
"Do you happen to have a phone?" She asked.
"Sure." I fumbled in my pockets to find it. I felt the pressure to make small talk: "How are you doin' tonight?"
"Not so good," she rambled, looking left and right, "I just found out my little boy passed away tonight. We've got to get up to Butterworth (Grand Rapids hospital) to sign off on the body."
I can't imagine how I must have looked. I attempted a look of concern but I'm sure my skepticism must have leaked through. I expressed sympathy. I was afraid she was going to ask me for a ride. Grand Rapids is forty miles away from here.
"Is number seven working tonight?" She said into the phone after dialing. "I don't know," she said, obviously annoyed, "5915 [can't remember the street name]." She listened to the voice on the other end of the line, grimaced in shock, and then said, "All right."
She hung up, gave me the phone back, and said, "I need eight dollars for cab fare, and, of course, there's no odd jobs to be done at this time of night. Could I borrow it from you?"
I was fully aware of the likely real reason she needed the money. I really can't tell you why I did it. It was diametrically against my better judgment. Maybe it was the relief at her not asking me for a ride. Maybe it was because it was clearly the sickest ploy I'd ever seen. At any rate, I gave her a twenty.
"Oh, thank you so much," she said. "I know my pastor will give me the money in the morning. I'll be back to give it back to you." If I wasn't positive that she was lying before, I sure as hell was now. Telling compound whoppers is the scammer's most common mistake.
I parted ways with her certain that I would never see her again. I was wrong. I answered the doorbell on Sunday morning and there she was. She flashed a huge, fake smile. She handed me the morning paper that she'd gotten out of my delivery box. "Good morning, Mr. . . " [few second pause] "B (I live in apartment B). Thank you so much for helping me out."
Her voice instantly changed from grateful to imploring, "I have another big favor to ask. We need another six dollars for . . ." I stopped listening at this point.
I made my irritation visible. "No." I said firmly, "that twenty was the last cash I had."
She made a face of surprise and disappointment. "Oh. OK. Well thanks anyway." As she was walking away she said, "I'll be back this week and I will get the twenty back to you."
Mmmmm Hmmmm. I'm practically spending it already. It may be uber-cynical, but I'm glad I'll be home most of the time for the next couple of weeks to guard my stuff just in case.
grey_twolf.
I had just rolled into the parking lot here at 12:30 Saturday night/Sunday morning. I was gathering my things up out of the back seat of my car when I was mildly startled by a feminine voice saying, "Sir?" over my shoulder.
Even in the relative darkness it was easy to see that she was white as a sheet. Heavy semi-circles ringed the bottoms of her eyes. She was shaking visibly.
"Do you happen to have a phone?" She asked.
"Sure." I fumbled in my pockets to find it. I felt the pressure to make small talk: "How are you doin' tonight?"
"Not so good," she rambled, looking left and right, "I just found out my little boy passed away tonight. We've got to get up to Butterworth (Grand Rapids hospital) to sign off on the body."
I can't imagine how I must have looked. I attempted a look of concern but I'm sure my skepticism must have leaked through. I expressed sympathy. I was afraid she was going to ask me for a ride. Grand Rapids is forty miles away from here.
"Is number seven working tonight?" She said into the phone after dialing. "I don't know," she said, obviously annoyed, "5915 [can't remember the street name]." She listened to the voice on the other end of the line, grimaced in shock, and then said, "All right."
She hung up, gave me the phone back, and said, "I need eight dollars for cab fare, and, of course, there's no odd jobs to be done at this time of night. Could I borrow it from you?"
I was fully aware of the likely real reason she needed the money. I really can't tell you why I did it. It was diametrically against my better judgment. Maybe it was the relief at her not asking me for a ride. Maybe it was because it was clearly the sickest ploy I'd ever seen. At any rate, I gave her a twenty.
"Oh, thank you so much," she said. "I know my pastor will give me the money in the morning. I'll be back to give it back to you." If I wasn't positive that she was lying before, I sure as hell was now. Telling compound whoppers is the scammer's most common mistake.
I parted ways with her certain that I would never see her again. I was wrong. I answered the doorbell on Sunday morning and there she was. She flashed a huge, fake smile. She handed me the morning paper that she'd gotten out of my delivery box. "Good morning, Mr. . . " [few second pause] "B (I live in apartment B). Thank you so much for helping me out."
Her voice instantly changed from grateful to imploring, "I have another big favor to ask. We need another six dollars for . . ." I stopped listening at this point.
I made my irritation visible. "No." I said firmly, "that twenty was the last cash I had."
She made a face of surprise and disappointment. "Oh. OK. Well thanks anyway." As she was walking away she said, "I'll be back this week and I will get the twenty back to you."
Mmmmm Hmmmm. I'm practically spending it already. It may be uber-cynical, but I'm glad I'll be home most of the time for the next couple of weeks to guard my stuff just in case.