It's getting real now. I've got "Julia Simpson" on the hook and she's fighting hard. I've stalled Scammy for a week, making him think I'm dumb enough to send both the painting and a huge refund check in the same package, without waiting for his bogus $1835 check to clear. It's Saturday afternoon, April 5. I'm going to cut and paste my notes from that day.
April 5, 2014: About 3 pm. I get a call. I can
hear a man’s voice say Hello? in a foreign accent. It’s tinny and distant. Liam
answers at the same time. We both ask, “Hello?” and the man hangs up. He wasn’t
figuring on getting two people. About 20 minutes later he calls again.
“Julie?” he asks. It sounds like “Zhulleh.”
Again the accent, the tinny, distant, echoey sound. He sounds like he’s calling
from the bottom of a well in Timbuktu.
“Yes?”
“This is Julia Simpson’s husband. I want to
know if you send the painting.”
Hmmm. What an odd way to introduce oneself,
without using your own name. A chill goes down my guts to my feet. I don’t say
anything for a moment.
“How did you get my phone number? Oh, right. I
gave it to you. Hey. What’s your
phone number?”
He mumbles something like, “You do not need
this phone number I am calling from, it is different phone.”
I can’t place the accent, but it’s heavy. Maybe
Middle Eastern. Maybe even Russian. His voice is deep and very dark.
“Wow,” I say, stalling a bit. I put on an air
of innocence, but at the same time drench my voice in sarcasm. “You sound like
you’re in a foreign country. Very far
away!”
“Did you send the painting?”
Oh you creep. At that moment anger explodes in
little fireworks behind my eyes. I hate what he does for his miserable living,
hate that he exploits people who can’t afford to be robbed, hate that he’s been
posing as “Julia Simpson;” hate that he’s been so bold as to invade my home
with his greed, his desire to get something for nothing, and try to rob me on
top of it. I hate his icky voice. I want to smash him like a roach.
“How stupid
do you think I am?” I hiss.
“Very very,” he snaps. It sounds like, "Beddy beddy."
“Really. Very very stupid,” I reply. I'm winding up to give him both barrels. I'm going to tell him he's a scum-sucking parasite who preys on innocent people, no better than an engorged, stinking tick on life.
There’s a rustle and a click. He knows I’ve nailed
him, and hangs up on me, a coward through and through. I hold the phone and stare at it as if
he might reach out of it and grab my throat.
My heart is beating out of my chest. I am
completely creeped out that he’s called me at home from whatever rathole he
lives in, in whatever country he inhabits. It takes me awhile to compose myself
and start to laugh. I realize that, in a way, I’ve won this sick game he’s
playing. I’ve wasted almost a month of his time, stringing him along with
emails that gave him almost what he was after, but not quite. That make him
think he had me dead to rights. And then I’d slip out of his grasp again. I’ve
won because I’ve figured out two of his modus operandi, and that’s armed me for
any future approaches from shady art buyers. I can share my experiences here,
and warn other innocent online vendors what kinds of snakes slither through the long, tangled
cyberspace grass. I’ve won because I’ve learned something and lost not a cent
doing it. I’ve gotten his hopes up, kept them high with my dopey friendly rube
act, and when I could no longer keep the ruse up, finally and completely dashed
them. He thought he’d get a painting, which he’d probably simply throw away,
and $1415 out of my bank account. He got bupkis.
As long as he doesn’t call me in the middle of
the night, I’m good. Whyyy did I give him my phone number?? OK, he pinked me.
--end of journal notes--
It's June, 2015, and I haven't gotten any calls from Spammy. In the interim, I have gotten several inquiries, all from overseas, wanting to talk with me about purchasing paintings. And I've ignored them.
In the end, "Julia Simpson" did me a favor, and that's a favor I'm passing on to you. Don't take any wooden nickels.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
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