Sucker

Sucker: a person easily cheated or deceived.

That’s me.

I try conjuring rationalizing thoughts to help soften the blow:

• ‘Stop being so hard on yourself.’
• ‘It’s really not a big deal.’
• ‘These things happen to everyone.’

But these thoughts are drowned out by the voice of my ego clapping back:

• ‘You’re a fool!’
• ‘You should know better!’
• ‘What were you thinking?!’

Where to start…

It was an ordinary day. The kind of day certain to be skimmed over in the annals of my personal history. I was making dinner with headphones in, listening to some kind of pop/country/rap/rock/R&B song. The type of song with a good beat and vaguely generic lyrics whose final resting place will be a department store’s loudspeakers in five-ish years. For now, it was the perfect post-work, audio-blah providing the accompanying soundtrack to mindless vegetable chopping.

(humming out of key) 🎵 You’re sooo for-gettable… chop-chop-chop… in-dig-estible… chop-chop-chop… like a chopped vegetable … knock-knock-knock 🎵

I was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Why would there be a knock? I wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just hearing things. Back to hum-chopping…

*KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK*

Another knock. Louder this time. Definitely a knock. Weird.

I took out my headphones and put on my best ‘Who’s at the door?’ expression. I call it my ‘tired face, awake eyes’ look.

I opened the door, rueing my lack of a peephole, to find a friendly-enough looking guy wearing casual clothes. He had a nametag. Red flag #1. And was carrying a clipboard. Red flag #2. In hindsight it’s all too obvious.

‘Hello sir, I’m with the local utility company.’

Hm, the local utility company? How vague… Red flag #3.

Before I could say anything, he looked down at his clipboard.

‘Did you know that your power company enrolled in a new green energy program that gives you free credits to lower your monthly bill? You should have been automatically enrolled in that program, but blah blah blah. Do you have a recent statement I can look at to make sure the credit is being applied? There’s nothing to do on your end.’

Hook.

Did he say free? Lowered monthly bill? No work on my end? Red flag #4. There’s always something to do on my end.

‘Uhh, sure? Let me check.’ The thoughts of paying less on electricity somehow overpowered my skepticism. I blame the economy.

I found a utility bill in my catch-all kitchen drawer. I showed him the bill with the naivety and innocence of a baby ladybug flying towards a bright light, completely ignorant of the intricate maze of shimmering thread in its path.

He flipped to the backpage and scanned the document, methodically absorbing personal information with each blink. ‘Hm, I don’t see that credit. Your neighbor, John, didn’t have it either. Man, this has been happening a lot. Let me take down your information and we’ll make sure this gets sorted out.’

Line.

Did I have a neighbor named John? Probably. Who doesn’t have a neighbor named John?

‘Ok. Um … yeah, sure … I guess that’s fine.’ And with those four words, the ladybug flew full steam straight into the web.

He pulled a tablet out from behind his clipboard and started taking down my information faster than a cheetah takes down a gazelle with directional dyslexia.

• Name? Check.
• Account number? Check.
• Address? (Wait, he knocked on my door. Shouldn’t he know that one? Red flag #5) Check.

This was all happening so fast that I couldn’t hear the sound of my gut mumbling ‘scam.’

• Email? Check.
• Phone Number? Check.
• Credit card?

My inner voice started blaring its sirens, ‘SCAM! SCAM! SCAM!’ Unfortunately, my fight or flight response was in high gear. My mental acuity dulled as blood rushed to my muscles and heart, exactly where I didn’t want it to go.

He tapped something on his tablet.

‘Ok, that was easier than I thought. Er, I mean you’ll just need to confirm your information using the link I just emailed.’ Red flag #6. ‘By the way, do you know any good spots to eat around here? I’m new to the area and I’m S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G!’

He was using misdirection. A true magician.

‘Uhmm, well, what kind of food do you like?’ My conditioned politeness let me down, again. I was in auto-response mode, pupils fully dilated. I felt like I could sprint a marathon, but somehow couldn’t seem to think clearly.

‘I could really go for some ribs. Full rack.’ Red flag #7. Ribs? A true predator.

‘Maybe just go downtown?’ (I mean, come on, ribs?)

‘That sounds great! Which way is that? Here, real quick though, just sign into your email on my tablet so that you can click that link I sent you. I need you to click that link to make sure you’re registered.’

Finally, my pattern recognition caught on enough to allow my inner voice to break through. This sounded scammy. I know not to press emailed links. Never click on links. As a teenager of the internet age I’ve been conditioned NOT. TO. CLICK. LINKS.

I realized I was a frog swimming in a rolling boil and needed to get out, fast. What did I just register for? What should I do? What would you do?

I could run. But where? I lived there.

I could fight? Assault charges.

I could just roll over and hope that he leaves? Certain death.

I could throw up? That could work, but I can’t just do that on command!

I could tell him, ‘Please go away, I’m not interested.’ Well... yeah, that probably would have been the best option.

Instead, I opted to go with Plan P… for Passive.

‘I’ll just use my laptop. It’s inside. ’ (The helpless ladybug found a loose thread in the web.)

‘Um, sure. Let’s just finish this sign-up process and then you’ll be all set. Here.’ He pushed the tablet towards me. His sudden desperation meant that he knew I had caught on.

‘No, I’ll need to read this over, sorry. I’ll finish this later tonight.’ (Flap those wings, little ladybug, come on.)

‘Ok, well here’s a number to call if you get stuck. The sign-up process can be REALLY confusing.’

‘I’m sure I can figure it out, thanks.’ (Fly, ladybug! Fly, fly away!)

I slowly backed into my apartment and started to close the door.

He peered through the narrowing gap. ‘Make sure to call that number if you get confused! I’ll also send you another link for a survey to fill out so be sure to keep an eye out for tha–’ *Door closes*

[Scene change: Narrator leans on front door, slumped, defeated. Slow pan in.]

I felt nauseous.

Abbreviated, fleeting waves of the stages of grief each took their turn washing over me.

Shock. What just happened?

Denial. That couldn’t have happened.

Shame. I always knew this would happen.

Bargaining. Maybe it was actually a legitimate deal?

Depression. Definitely not, I’m worthless.

Acceptance. I acknowledge what happened and it was probably a little good and a little bad because reality is both subjective and objective.

I’m still in the processing stage. I signed up for something, but I’m not exactly sure what. I don’t know enough about our national energy infrastructure to make much sense of it. I blame the public school system.

Several phone calls with my actual utility company suggest that there’s been no critical mishap. I still feel the need to justify my actions by reiterating that ‘No, I’m not a sap, just too trusting,’ every time I explain to them what happened.

The good news? There was no sinker. The ladybug flew away before the spider liquified its insides. Instead, I’m left with the same exasperated feeling I get when I drive by a sign in a window offering ‘25% OFF ALL OIL CHANGES’ right after having my oil changed somewhere else.

On the bright side, I like to think that I’ve learned and grown from the process. Next time, I just won’t answer the door.  Or, maybe I’ll learn how to politely say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

On second thought, probably not.

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