The Scammers are at it Again

Don't you just love scammers? If you're like me, you wouldn't mind if they took a nice, long hike to, say, Pluto or Mars, without the use of their phones. Usually, I simply hang up on them. But there are times when I'm in the mood to let my alter-ego (known as Her Royal Snarkiness) have a little play time.

Of course, there are degrees here: how soon do I hang up, how much snarkiness and trouble I unleash, etc. This afternoon was one of those degrees days: I could have simply hung up when the scammer called a little while ago, or gone into full-fledged scamming-them-back mode. However I wasn't quite up to that, but did want to work their last nerve, since they called to scam.

Note: For anyone wanting to know about my previous escapades with the scammers, check out "Scammers, or Didn't I have that tattoo that said "Gullible" removed?" (about computer scammers), "The Scammers Are At It Again - And I Wasn't Home... " (IRS scammers), and/or "For Anyone Needing a Smile - and a Lesson Dealing with Scammers " (again, with IRS scammers, and dealing with them).

So, this afternoon, the phone rang. The caller ID showed "Clearwater, FL." Instead of ignorning it, I answered, and immediately heard call-center noise in the background before the heavily accented voice said, "Hi" to my "hi."

"This is John at your local power company. I believe I am talking to the person who pays the power bill."

"Okay, who, exactly, are you looking for?" I asked, and, after a minute of checking his computer, he came up with a name. Granted, it's the name associated with the phone number and our power bill, with a glitch: my first name, and what would have been my married name, had I taken my husband's last name. (As friend husband liked to tell people who questioned my keeping my maiden name, "I let her keep her last name, and she let me keep mine." Used to stop questions about the last names in a heartbeat.)

"Okay, so what power company are you with?" I asked, and he answered...sort-of, adding one or two words to the name of the power company. "Okay, so why are you calling?"

"Well, we've noticed that you over-paid your bill for the past year, and we would love to send you back the money you over-paid."

"Okay," I said. "But I want to ask a couple of questions first. Why did the caller ID say 'Clearwater, Florida' instead of the power company?"

"Well, our power company lines were tied up, so we had to use other numbers." Uh, huh, sure.

"Well, how is the power company going to pay me back?"

Well, all he needed was my banking information so they could send me money...

"The power company already has that. Also, the power company can always give me a credit on my bill to go towards my future bills."

"Oh, no," 'John' told me. "That's not how we do things."

At that point, I was getting tired of his b.s., and told him, in my politest voice, "Ya know, I do smell a scam. So, go ahead and have a very f*#ked up day."

That's when I hung up.

It wasn't anywhere near as satisfying as when I dealt with the computer scammers, or the second time I dealt with the fake IRS agents, but that's okay. At least they didn't get a chance to take my money...

Memories in the Mail

Our mail showed up maybe an hour ago. Not that there was much in the mailbox: only a postcard-like ad for a dentist's office, and an envelope from Valpak. The envelope always mentions the chance of $100 in the envelope, so to entice people to open and look at the ads inside. Some ads, I put aside, thinking I might use it some day, maybe, while the rest go into the recycling bin.

One ad that almost always gets my attention is for Village Inn. There are at least three in the county I'm in. But it's been several years since the last time I was in one, and, before that, decades since I'd been in another Village Inn on a regular basis. They tend to be a little out of the way for me at the moment, especially when I have to catch a ride places. But there was a time...

I'd worked on several fire departments in Pinellas County, Florida, decades ago. The first was when I got on as a volunteer with one department in 1979. Then, the beginning of 1980, another department had an ad for full-time firefighter/paramedic trainees. I applied, and was one of six or eight people hired, including another woman. At that time, there was only one other female firefighter in the county (as far as I could tell), and she'd been on the job less than a year. There may have been a couple of other women volunteer firefighters in our county, but I'm talking about paid positions.

I absolutely loved the job, loved getting my EMT license, going through the training. There were only two draw-backs: one was that I had to cut my hair (when it was long, I'd put it in a braid, and, at a fire, could get the hair completely out of the way under my helmet; couldn't do that when it was short!), and the other was that I only got three hours of sleep a night for the 6-1/2 weeks that I lasted in the fire academy. (It had to do with an unsupportive S.O. I'll leave it at that. We all have stories to tell, right?)

I then worked on another department, left that, and, a couple of years later, became a volunteer, then a paid firefighter, at a fourth department.

That's where the trips to Village Inn came in. Whenever we had a large fire, there was always a recap of how the fire went, what we'd done right, and how we could have improved. For the recap, after we had cleaned up and restocked the trucks, the chief would have the group that worked the fire meet up at the nearby Village Inn, where he'd spring for coffee and several pies, so we could pig out while discussing the fire. Nothing like getting a little extra comradery in. The pie and coffee sessions could last a while, and would frequently dissolve into general talk.

"Hey, how are the kids doing?"

"Great. You still seeing what's-her-name?"

"Yup. Hey, Chief..."

Now, whenever I pass a Village Inn, especially the one we'd frequent, I feel like I should stop in and hash out life's eccentricities.

Maybe someday...