THE
NINE-THOUSAND DOLLAR BLOG
Over the phone I heard the
excitement in my friend’s voice: “You saved someone’s life. I couldn’t wait to
tell you.”
“Really?” Now she had me excited, too.
“Remember that blog you wrote about the
scam you fell for? Or nearly fell for?
And how you barely escaped losing a ton of money?”
“Four thousand dollars,” I said.
“Well, let me tell you about what
happened to my daughter, Allison. An
older man came into her bank and wanted to withdraw nine-thousand dollars. He seemed agitated and in a hurry. As bankers
have been trained to do, Allison asked,
‘May I ask what the money is for?’”
Predictably, he said, “None of your business.’”
Suspecting he might be on the verge of
trouble, Allison said, “Let me tell you a story. This happened to a friend of
my mother’s.” And she related the
details from the blog I’d sent out--about the phone call from a grandson: “This
is your favorite grandson,” how, with that phrase, I honestly thought it was
him.
How from then on, I was hooked. That I believed the young man’s tale about having
done some light drinking (never mind that my grandson doesn’t drink), about his
being in an auto accident with a car full of diplomats (meaning “diplomatic
immunity”), then, my talk with his
“lawyer” about averting a DUI—if I came up with $4000 bail money.
The rest involved gift cards at Target
. . . and quickly thereafter, an appointment with my hairdresser, who said immediately, “I
know how this is going to end.” With that I leaped out of the chair, called my
husband, (who called the grandson), then made another fast call to Target—just
in time to cancel the cards.
Allison’s customer, a retired attorney,
listened avidly, then at last swallowed his pride and related his own story: a
grandson calling from the wrong state (“I’m here for a friend’s
funeral,”) a voice that didn’t sound quite deep enough, the talk with the grandson’s
“attorney”, something about an
accident in a Uber car, about marijuana in the car, and the need for an attorney
to put up bail . . . which meant nine-thousand dollars—in cash.
At that, Allison said, “Let’s call your
grandson,” and so they did, right there in the bank. “May I speak to him?”
Allison asked, and the customer nodded. Of course none of the details given to
the gentleman were true. With that,
Allison turned the now-grateful customer over to her supervisor.
“Without your story,” my friend told me
over the phone, “That man would have lost his nine-thousand dollars.” As it was, the customer, still shocked, left
the bank.
But the tale isn’t over: An hour later, the gentleman returned—with
three boxes of chocolates . . . for Allison, for the bank manager, and for another
teller.
For me, the lovely result is that I’m
now getting all the credit. But hey, I’ll take it. Whatever time I spent on
that blog, it has suddenly become a nine-thousand-dollar effort . . . clearly,
more than worth it.
