From Scammer to Scammer

Dale hit me up out of the blue recently asking where I’d been, since he hadn’t seen me in a while. Our paths seldom cross due to our conflicting schedules. He’s an early bird who needs to be home with his cats by eleven. I’m a night owl with a smorgasbord of day jobs. I was surprised when Dale texted me because I’d gotten the idea he’d lost or deleted my number the last time I texted him, since he had responded with a “who’s this?” I hadn’t taken it personally since Dale isn’t financially stable and frankly has no business at the club to begin with, and I continued like normal hitting up my more consistent regulars. I took it as a sign he, for whatever reason, was taking a much needed break, until he texted me,

Him: Where have you been baby *purple heart emoji, kissy face emoji 2x, sparkle pink heart emoji*

Me: Hey Dale! I’ve been everywhere hehe. What about you?

Him: Well it hasn’t been de.

I truly have no idea what my clients are texting me most of the time. It’s like trying to work through a rubix cube without understanding algorithms.

Me: Been de?

I tossed it around trying to unlock the secret.

Me: Oh. Haha! Yes I have. I’ve been coming Thursday’s and Saturday’s, except for this weekend because I wasn’t feeling well.

I took “been de” to refer to the initials of my club, which was in face the answer to the million dollar question. And to clarify, it wasn’t that I wasn’t feeling well that weekend, I wasn’t working because I’d gotten my period and was bleeding heavily-- but of course I could never tell my clients this. I wish I could share my menstrual cycle woes with my regulars, but there are some stigmas even I can’t overcome.

Him: I’m Sorry that you have been bad I hope you feel better soon plus I got lots more$ so that way I went last night plus my b-day is this Friday!! Hope you feel well soon *kiss emoji, purple heart emoji 2x, double small pink hearts emoji 2x, kissy face emoji*

I couldn’t believe it. Dale and I shared the same birthday. It was as if the Money Goddess above sent down a gift to me in the form of Dale and his impulse spending control issues. I was basking in the glow of bag security when he sent me a minor grammatical correction to his previous word vomit.

Him: Feeling

He meant, “Hope you feeling well soon,” instead of what he sent, which was actually the correct phrasing for his sentiment.

Me: Oh wow! My birthday is Friday too.

Him: Oct 25th wow amazing yes for me 1968 Scorpio.

Me: 10/25 for me eyy *Scorpio emoji*

Him: Babe can u please explained eyy I don’t know what that means sorry.

Oh, to be over fifty and on the internet talking to twenty-somethings. The world of text slang is one of endless discoveries.

Me: It’s just like yay! It’s a sound that means you’re happy.

Him: Awhhh that’s great glad you are happy me to *clap emoji 2x, kissy face emoji 2x, purple heart emoji*

Me: Happy birthday week! Hope I catch you sometime soon. I might have some time tomorrow if you wanna come by during the day?

Him: Well yah sounds great Happy birthday week to you too!! I come by and see you some time tomorrow in the day just let me know when you are there *kissy face emoji 2x* !!! *butterfly emoji, heart eyes emoji, clap emoji*

We settled on a time, sealed with emojis.

Tuesday I arrived at the club a bit earlier than I’d scheduled to meet with Dale. I bumped into another newish client I had entertained recently and he tried to pull me for a room, but I turned him down. I had to keep my eye on the prize: a low-impact session with Dale. I knew Dale was good for at least a couple half-hour rooms; he wouldn’t try to push my boundaries; and he would tip me fairly for my time. The half hour I spent waiting for him was like walking through the Valley of Temptations. Regular after regular decided at that moment to come by, but I had to stay strong for Dale. At 5:30, he finally arrived, apologizing for his tardiness.

Him: I had to run a couple errands first. I buy lottery tickets. This time I took out $3,000! I had to go to eight different places. I know it’s probably not a good idea until I win.

Me: Wow, that’s a lot of lottery tickets.

Him: That’s why I took so long! I saw a story about a girl who won the lottery, and she got her ticket from some little gas station in the middle of nowhere. That one was over $90,000,000. Can you believe that? The middle of nowhere!

Me: That’s pretty cool.

Him: I won one time. It wasn’t that much though, just around $30,000. And then another time I went everywhere buying tickets for Kylie’s birthday and she ended up winning $1,000!

Me: Wow, that’s pretty decent.

Him: It was alright, since I spent around $500 buying the tickets.

Me: Oh.

Him: She made a video about it and all of her scratching all the tickets. She told me her fans kept asking where she bought all those tickets.

Me: What did she say?

Him: She said it was a gift, but it was from me.

Me: Ah, well it was a gift.

Him: I spoil her. I got her the tickets that time, and then last year guess what I got her?

Me: The Chanel earrings.

Him: You’re right! I got her the Chanel earrings she wanted. Sometimes I feel like I’m not getting enough back. I mean I get her all these nice things. I treat her better than husbands treat their wives, and all I get is a hug or maybe a kiss or two, which I like, because I get to feel her boobies on me and sometimes she lets me grab her butt, but sometimes I want more, you know?

I’ve complained about Kylie in a previous story, perhaps unfairly. Initially I had no feelings about the woman, but after hearing Dale’s endless drutherings about Kylie, I’ve found myself siding at least somewhat with Dale. He is generous to a fault, and my main issue stems from the fact that I have to do so much more than Kylie to earn less money than her. Of course, none of this is her fault, in fact I admire the way she’s strung Dale along for so long and managed to have him finance a substantial portion of her life. But listening to him talk about her for long has soured my previously neutral feelings, and not-so deep down, I want her to have to work a little bit for Dale the way the rest of us have to.

Him: I mean I bought most of the stuff in her room! That vanity she uses to get ready? I bought it. Her bed? I bought it. When she went to France and Italy over the summer? Guess who paid for the tickets?

Me: You?

Him: Yep! I paid for her to go to Coachella. I pay for everything. I know she says she’s grateful to me, but sometimes I worry I’m being taken advantage of.

Me: Do you even get to see her naked anymore?

Him: No. I mean, she never liked to get fully naked anyway. She would always dance with a bikini on because she feels like being naked is degrading.

I’ll add that hearing about her internalized whorephobia also added to my dislike of this person with whom I’ve exchanged not a single word.

Me: Being naked isn’t degrading. In my opinion, uniforms are much more degrading. It’s unfortunate that she would feel that her job is degrading.

Side note, uniforms aren’t always degrading even though the Catholic School child in me resents khakis and polos in a special kind of way. I was just annoyed at the assertion that my decision to work in the nude made me worth less than Kylie since she refused.

Him: I know. That’s why she stopped working here, because they wouldn’t let her wear clothes anymore. Anyway, I’ll stop talking about Kylie, because I know you’re tired of hearing about her.

I love gossip, but after that last time I’d allowed Dale to voice his seemingly unending Kylie Meditations and left feeling entirely emotionally depleted, I knew I wasn’t about to encourage the cycle to continue.

Me: Thanks.

Him: Hey, are you good at knowing when something is a scam, because I’ve been talking to a girl I met on this dating site and I can’t tell if she’s real or not.

As a professional scammer of sorts (although I don’t think of myself that way since I provide real services), I love playing a game of Spot the Scammer.

Me: What dating site did you meet her on?

Him: It was this hookup site, because I’m not looking for anything serious, since I’m with Kylie and all. She says she’s a cam girl and weed dealer.

He pulled up a picture of a pretty young woman.

Me: How old is she?

Him: She says she’s twenty-three. Can you tell if she’s real?

He held the phone closer to me, as if me determining whether or not she’s a scammer was simply a matter of taking a look at her selfie.

Me: It’s hard to say.

Him: How does she know I live in Redondo when I never told her?

Me: You probably had to enter your location to use the app, since it connects you to people nearby.

Him: Oh, that makes sense! You’re probably right. She told me she’s from Florida, but she’s staying at the Marriott in Redondo for the week. I live only about twenty minutes away from there. I asked her to come meet me, but she said she can’t leave until she makes her weekly goal, so I asked her what that was and she told me $500. I told her if she came to see me I would give it to her, but she said she only takes wire transfers.

Me: Scam.

Him: Right? I’ve been scammed before, and I can’t get scammed again. One time I was talking to a woman online and I gave her my banking info and she stole $20,000 from me! I feel like you have to be evil to do that to someone.

I was torn. I care about Dale, but I felt a little pang of FOMO having not scammed him this hard, but then I did some mental math estimating much he’d consensually spent on me over the past however many months we’d known each other and I didn’t feel so hard done. Dale is a simple man. He’s not very bright and he is endlessly gullible. I worry about him and his ability to manage his finances. When we first met and he confessed he was buying my time using the disability settlement he’d been rewarded from Delta, I’d tried to distance myself from him. But after I realized he would continue blowing his money at the club whether or not I enabled him, I decided I might as well get in on it. Back in January he had announced he would likely be unable to come by as frequently as he had once been able to because he was finally buckling down and looking for work; however that plan soon capitulated and Dale returned for his weekly visits. Circling back to the $20,000 scam, to be frank, I was amazed that Dale had had $20,000 in his account to lose. I didn’t think people fell for those money wiring scams, and yet here I was in an intimate, long-term financial relationship with one of those people.

Me: Yep, definitely evil.

Him: Here, take a look at the messages she sent me and tell me what you think.

He handed me his phone and I scrolled through his messages.

Me: You didn’t transfer the money right?

Him: Nope. I know not to do that now. She told me that was the only way I could do it because her boss is out in the Philippines on vacation.

Me: That doesn’t make any sense. She’s a scam.

Him: She’s really pretty though, isn’t she? Here, I’ll show you more pictures.

He had three pictures in total that all appeared to have been taken on the same day.

Him: She says she’s Brazilian, but I don’t know if that’s true or a lie.

I didn’t know how many times I would have to tell him he’s being scammed before it would sink in. I was fascinated by his fixation on her and his willingness to believe what is so obviously a dangerous ruse. I flipped back to the messages and skimmed their interaction. Poor Dale is so polite and committed with no evidence to back his dedication. Meanwhile, the scammer typed like someone over fifty.

If you’re reading this and you’re over fifty, you may not understand what I mean by this description, so I’ll clarify. Fifty-year-olds have a way of texting that doesn’t make sense. They end sentences with ellipses; use too many emojis and often inappropriately; don’t understand how the tone of their messages is often cryptically moody; capitalize things like LOL and other words randomly; sign off their messages like it’s an email; and tuck in ominous flowery farewell epitaphs full of advice they believe to be inspirational that are in reality insipid. The messages manage to be somehow incomplete 99% of the time, yet simultaneously of the utmost urgency. I can’t tell you how many Boomers immediately get bent out of shape when I’ve taken slightly too long to answer my text messages. It’s as if they imagine my life revolves around answering them (which, to be fair, at times it does), instead of juggling the million and one other pressing demands in my life.

The messages the scammer was sending Dale had those telltale signs they were not coming from a twenty-three-year-old. There were too many ellipses. She called him things like, “hun,” which is definitely not a pet name we use nowadays. It’s 2019 and you’re either “bae” or “baby”. She wasn’t sending puppy face filter videos or trying to convince him to follow her Premium Snap, and when she asked for the money, she didn’t tell him to Venmo or Paypal her, which is a much more common practice for people in our age bracket. I told Dale this, hoping some evidence might finally convince him.

Him: You’re right. Do you think she’s real?

Me: I think the scammer just stole someone else’s selfies.

Him: People do that?

Me: Yep.

Him: Wow, I would have never thought. She’s so pretty, though. And I told her I could go by the Marriott where she’s staying and hand her the money. Maybe I should just go anyway and try to find her.

I didn’t know what to say to this.

Me: How about this: why don’t you ask her to send you a quick video of her saying your name? If she’s a cammer, this should be super easy.

Him: That’s a great idea! Boy, I never would have thought of that. How should I do it?

He started sending a message like the fifty-year-old he is, “Send video now--,” but I stopped him.

Me: Let me do it.

I composed the message: “Hey babe, I wanna send you the money, but first I need to know that you’re real. Could you send me a quick video of you saying my name? It would mean the world to me to hear your pretty voice say my name.”

Him: Wow, you’re really good at that! I bet she’s gonna get mad. The last time I asked her for something she got all mad at me and I had to apologize.

He tapped his phone screen to see if she responded. It had been less than a minute.

Him: I bet she won’t even respond. You’re smart.

We went up for our first dance. He went for the Heaven Box, which is the hour room. He checked his phone again after he’d taken off his shirt and he showed it to me. The message said, “not now”. Curt. To the point.

Him: I think you’re right. I think she is a scam.

He said it definitively, as if he’d finally worked it out for himself.

Me: Yep.

His phone started ringing. It was his mother, as usual. It’s as if the woman has a special sense that alerts her to when Dale is at the strip club. She calls every time, without fail.

Me: It’s your mom.

Him: Jeez, she just won’t leave me alone! She called this morning and then again on the way here. She always wants to talk because she’s lonely, but all she wants to talk about is whatever’s on TV. And we don’t even watch the same things! She’s probably calling me now because my brother is in town. He’s supposed to stay with me tomorrow night, so after this I have to go home and clean my house.

Me: Do you need to answer it?

Him: No, she’ll be okay. I’ll call her after.

Dale was in good spirits for the rest of our time dancing. He bought three hours in total and at the end pulled out an envelope of hundreds. He looked at me and smiled slyly, then counted out ten and handed them to me.

Him: Is this enough?

I was a little shocked. Normally, Dale is generous in the number of dances he buys, but his tips are modest. I felt a bit of guilt for thinking so many unkind things of him.

Me: Yes, thank you. I truly appreciate it.

Him: This has been a great birthday gift. We had so much fun and I didn’t come. I don’t like coming, because then the fun ends.

Me: I’m really glad you enjoyed yourself.

Him: Happy birthday, in case I don’t see you Friday.

Me: Happy birthday to you too.