The science of deception… and gratitude
A few weeks ago, I was scammed by two guys I met in a parking lot on my way to physical therapy. They were doing mobile repairs on another car in the lot – it seemed like a great idea to let them fix up my midlife crisis Tesla 3. We didn’t decide a price before I went to my appointment, but I saw a lot of pictures of really nicely-finished cars. When I came out and they weren’t done, I let them follow me home to finish the job at my condo.
While there, of course, I mentioned my elderly Honda – the one with the front bumper falling off, the dents and scratches in the sides, the gigantic stains on all three seats. The one I am hoping to sell soon. Rocky and Jeff had lots of suggestions for how they could help get her sale-ready, all so convenient, so reasonable. We would settle on a fair price when I saw how much I liked their work. We chatted about the election. We chatted about forming connections in a Covid world, and in Newton (so stereotypical New England cold). We chatted about the inherent goodness of people.
Nyiri, seeing two strange guys in a truck with Texas plates in the driveway, warned me that the whole deal seemed very sketchy. I thought she was being teen-chic cynical and bought everyone Starbucks drinks. Jeff’s son, who had been sitting in their truck, walked to get them with me, and the two of us had a nice conversation, too.
When the water-based blue paint I gave them to match the Tesla didn’t sit right and Rayleigh looked like a hack had done her bodywork, they assured me it wasn’t their usual level of quality and told me they’d fix it. The paint had been sitting in my coat closet for months, after I tried repainting a scratch myself, and besides, it was just something I bought online. Not really bodyshop quality. They gushed about how they could do a professional job if they could get their own paint. I trusted they would come back to finish the job properly, and they did. Hadn’t we talked about the importance of a strong work ethic and doing a job right? I’m not sure why I didn’t push harder when coming back to fix their mess almost doubled the price we had “agreed upon”, since they had done “hours of extra work”. It struck me as wrong to have to pay for their mistakes, but I wanted to help my new friends, and they were struggling, too, in this Covid world.
My inner alarm bells were pretty quiet in general, even when we were “negotiating” prices and Rocky kept asking me “how much can you afford?” saying “I don’t want to make this a hardship… I just want it to be fair for both of us.” That’s a weird question for someone who’s doing bodywork on your car, right? Looking back I certainly think so!
My alarms were quiet when they kept asking for cash payment, when they couldn’t cash a check, and when it took a full ten minutes to come back to me with a PayPal account to process. After all, I thought, they had just moved from Texas… I even joked about how hard it is for recreational marijuana businesses to set up when they’re not able to take part in the regular banking system.
And… my Tesla looked great. All the dents and dings gone. And if it had been “good enough” as it was, I felt ok spending money I hadn’t planned on because it was an investment. I wouldn’t have to worry about rust, and I would get thousands more for the Honda because it looked so spiffy.
I gave Rocky the benefit of the doubt when he was late coming the next warm day to finish all the Honda detailing we’d talked about that would get the car sale-ready. I knew in my heart they were good people, would finish, It was just the weather that was getting in the way. Stupid New England.
And then we had such a nice conversation when Rocky texted me that the PayPal payment hadn’t gone through and I needed to go into my account and click the “process payment” button, then he’d be all set and would come back and finish up.
I didn’t look up the PayPal account, or Google their names, or look up how much it would cost to have the work they did done at the dealership, or even a high-end bodyshop. I pushed the PayPal button to confirm receipt.
You know the story ending. I never heard from Rocky or his sidekick again.
It took a week of radio silence before I realized I’d been scammed. I Googled them and found a rap sheet for petty crimes in Texas. I looked into the cost of the work they had done and figured it was about $3,000 worth, much, much less than I had paid. I sent heart-wrenching texts (to phone numbers that probably no longer existed), expecting they would have a change of heart and give me my money back. Oh, I thought I was so clever sending $1 on Venmo so I could include a note that way.
When I tried sending a small amount of money with a note on PayPal and got the message “this seller is not accepting payments”, my inner alarm bells did finally start ringing. Right away, I filed a claim on PayPal explaining that the “Seller” hadn’t completed the work and I was unable to get in touch with them.
It did seem so obvious, in retrospect. I’ll bet you’re thinking the same. But this post isn’t about the hollow feeling I got when I thought about how gullible I was. It isn’t about suggesting you Google people you don’t know before sending $4,500 on Venmo or $5,000 to a PayPal account that didn’t, in the end, exist for longer than it takes for them to take the money and run. This post isn’t about being scammed or how I’ll know better next time at all.
What I want to write about, what this whole event makes me think about, is human nature. After getting used to the fact that I had lost that money, the feeling I had when I woke up and got an email from PayPal that they had closed the case in my favor and I would see $5,000 returned to my credit card in 5-7 business days was joy. Relief. Calmness. Gratitude.
Joy as if I had just won the lottery, instead of gotten back half of what I’d been tricked out of a few weeks before.
Relief that my stupidity cost me only a few thousand dollars – and I did enjoy the conversations with Rocky.
Calmness looking back and seeing (role playing) where I could have slowed things down and made better decisions. Where I’ll do better next time.
Gratitude for the controls PayPal has in place to protect people like me (like everyone?) from fraud. And for Elon Musk – not only for my Tesla, but for setting up a system where justice and righteousness prevailed (at least in my case).
And all that probably makes some sense to you, especially if you’ve been listening to podcasts about gratitude and the human mind to fill up pandemic time. But I will add that I also feel gratitude for Rocky and Jeff, the scammers. I have given up on ever getting a response to my text messages or notes on Venmo. They scammed me (which has pretty much never happened before). But they taught me something about myself. That it’s possible to be compassionate and skeptical at the same time. I’d like to think I’m a little less likely to be scammed again.
And even though I haven’t tried to sell the Honda, I think I’ll be happy with the price I’ll get for it when I do.
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| Here’s a super cool Radiolab podcast about deception: why we do it and unusual ways to detect it: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/radiolab/id152249110?i=1000499513408 |
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