When my youngest brother (Mohair Sam) was about five years old, I decided it was time to take the training wheels off his little black toddler Huffy and teach him how to ride on two wheels. Everyone was busy and I must have been bored that day or some shit.
Anyway, I took him outside to the far end of the front yard, which has a long stretch of sidewalk perfect for Mohair's first lesson in Cycling 101: Don't Eat Shit.
While straddling his bike and with both feet firmly planted on the ground, he listened to my instructions to start pedaling as soon as I gave him a push. In his shrill 5-year old voice, he made me promise not to let go. Not, "don't let go too soon" or "don't let go until I'm ready", he simply asked me not to let go.
It was the only time I have ever broken a promise to him.
But he didn't make me pinkyswear which means its totally legit. Legal loophole for the win!
With one hand on the handlebars and the other on the back of his seat, I told him to put his little feet on the pedals. With no center of balance, the bike wobbled a bit, but we held on (since I was only about a foot taller than he was at the time, it made it easy for me, I didn't have to hunch over like normal-sized people. Thanks, midget-genes!). We started moving, and I ran with him a bit while he became more confident in his pedaling. After a few laps back and forth across the yard, I told him now I would hold on to only the back of his seat.
He eyed me nervously. "Ok, but don't let go. Or else I'll fall."
We started again, and as soon as I knew the bike was being propelled by Mohair and not by me, I let go. For about a minute, I watched as he effortlessly made his way down the sidewalk, proud that I had taught him how to do it on the first try.
Until he casually happened to glance over his shoulder to ask how to make turns, and he realized there was no one there. Rather than be proud that he was doing it all by himself, he freaked out that his safety net was gone. He stopped pedaling immediately and went crashing spectacularly on the lawn. With all the rage that a five-year old can muster, he shot back up and charged at me.
"YOU LET GO! I CRASHED! THAT WAS YOUR FAULT!"
And he stormed into the house.
The fact that I laughed when he ate it and was still laughing when he shrieked at me probably didn't help. I followed him into the house and demanded that he go do it again.
"No. I'll fall again."
"No you won't. Just keep pedaling and you'll stay up. If you need to stop, just pedal backwards and put your feet down."
(I'm totally aware that I pushed him off on a bike without telling him how to stop. I'm the best teacher ever.)
After a bit of cajoling, he came out again and got back on the bike. This time, I only took enough steps to give him a good shove, reminding him to pedal to stay upright.
And I let go. And off he went.
He could turn, stop, and ride up and down the sidewalk just like a big kid. He was beside himself with glee, hopping up and down and bursting with pride. The entire lesson took about half an hour.
This morning, I dropped off a now 18-year old Mohair Sam at Loyola Marymount University for an overnight orientation. He will meet potential new classmates, get to know the school that will be home for the next four years, and pick his fall classes. The five-year old who made me promise not to let go is long gone, replaced with a lanky teenager who has been taller than me since he was eleven years old. Regardless, I couldn't help but notice how he checked his bag twice to make sure he had everything, how he held his breath and made a wish in the terminal tunnel, and how he nearly shit himself with excitement when he saw a plane take off when we passed LAX.
When we got to campus, he slung his bag over his shoulder and stood for a second, as if he wasn't sure what to do next, waiting for someone to guide him. He smiled anxiously. I could see the cap on his front tooth, and it reminds me of the day he took a baseball to the face. To this day I don't remember how I got to him so fast, I may have even shoved kids out of the way. All I remember was being in the stands and then being on the field, where he plowed his face into my chest so his teammates wouldn't see the blood or tears. He was still smaller than me then.
"I'm kinda nervous now, dude."
"You'll be fine. Do you want me to go with you to check in?"
He thinks for a second. "No. I think I'm ok. Thanks dude."
We hi-fived and fist bumped, as we always do.
And I let go. And off he went.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Scammers are Fun, Pt. Dos: The Spanish Inquisition.
Yesterday, my mom got a phone call. All of the following conversations happened in Spanish, but I wrote them out in English for you. You're welcome.
Also, 'Murrica.
Mom: Hello?
Person: Hi tia, it's your nephew here in Mexico!
Mom: Who is this?
Person: You don't recognize me? It's me, calling to say hello!
Mom: Who are you?
Person: See if you can guess.
So my mom threw names out of cousins we have in Mexico (keep in mind, this is a LONG list. I once did a tally of all the cousins I have on both my parents' sides, and the number came out to about 82. That was when I was in college, about eight years ago. We're like the people from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, except louder and more fertile.)
Dude latched onto the name Jesus and said he would be flying in the next day, because he had to buy something for his work. Could someone maybe pick him up at the airport? He would be flying in from Tijuana.
My mom, having no reason to doubt at this point, gave "Jesus" my cell number, said she looked forward to seeing him, and hung up.
(On a sidenote, JESUS?? REALLY? You pick, of all names, JESUS? Dude. Way to exploit the son of God in your little scam. I bet you have a shitty beard. It probably just looks like face pubes.)
I thought it was odd that someone would want to fly from Tijuana to the airport here, a trip that basically amounts to 2 hours by car (or an hour and 45 minutes if you drive like me), so I looked up flight times coming in, simply so I could make my workout schedule for the next morning. There were no flights. I checked the Tijuana website for flights leaving, to land here. Again, nothing.
'Something's not right." I said.
"I can figure this out right now." My mom replied. She called her sister in Leon, but she had left for Sahuayo so she spoke to my cousin, Liz (like I said, there are a LOT of us). Liz promised she'd call Jesus and call us back. A short while later, sure enough, Jesus had not called us and had no plans to travel. Right away, my mom blocked the number on the house phone, and I put a fraud watch on my cell. My first concern was that they would "clone" my number, calling from a throwaway cell phone and thereby saddling me with the fraudulent charges. I then went online and did a little research. It was a much simpler scenario than I thought.
Apparently the way the game works is this: someone calls pretending to be a relative in Mexico. They tell you some vague details about being in town later that day or the next, making arrangements to visit. When they call back, they have fallen victim to some tragedy: they ran over a kid, their money was stolen, or they have been kidnapped by a crew of outlaw circus clowns who have retired from the Big Top but have developed a crippling addiction to Pai Gow at the local casinos and they kidnap people for ransom to pay for their gambling debts. They are also addicted to children's cough medicine for some reason. The clowns, I mean. Not the relative. They ask for the money via Western Union, so if you fall for it, you lose money and there is no way to get it back.
Anyway, I giddily waited for my cell phone call this morning from my 'cousin', who I will now call Cayetano. He called in the morning, as I was heading out for a run.
Me: Hello?
Cayetano: Hey cousin! It's Jesus!
Me: Oh hey. How are you.
Cayetano: I'm good. I just landed in Tijuana and I just need to pick up my luggage from baggage claim, so I can get on my next flight. I'll call you when I land.
Me: Ok. Sounds good.
Cayetano: I'll see you soon, cousin! I'm sending you kisses!
*shudder*
During the run, I formulated all sorts of hilarious things I would say to Cayetano when he called back. Like, if he called saying he ran someone over, I'd ask him to send pictures of the gory scene because I got a kick out of gross shit like that. Or if his money was stolen I'd tell him to go pimp himself out on Avenida Revolucion and MAKE IT RAIN. Clown scenario? Easy. I would have said to surrender to a life of renegade whimsey, making balloon animals and riding around in a 1994 Honda Civic with 19 other people. It's not like Mexicans aren't used to the latter part of that scenario.
An hour later, my phone rang.
Me: Hello?
Cayetano: OMG cousin! Something has happened, my luggage and money are gone and I am stranded here with literally nothing! I need help, there is a licenciado here who is going to help me, will you talk to him?
Me: Sure.
Plutarco (I decided I would name him after a historical dickwagon): Hello, this is licenciado so and so, from such an such an office! With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?
Me: *gives first name* (Taco!)
Plutarco: Taco what? I need your name.
Me: No, you don't. I don't know you.
Plutarco: Miss, I am here trying to help your familiar. In order to do that I need your full name, please.
Me: No. I don't know who you are. So I'm not giving you my full name until I need to.
Plutarco: Miss, why are you behaving so rudely? I am simply trying to help your familiar.
Me: *becoming irritated now because this fool is talking to me like I'm a child* I DO NOT KNOW YOU. I WILL GIVE YOU INFORMATION AS I SEE FIT.
Plutarco: *to Cayetano* Sir, your familiar is not cooperating with me. Can you speak with her?
Cayetano: Taco, what is going on? This man is being very polite and cordial with you. Why are you behaving so poorly with him?
I wanted to keep going, I really did. But I was still about three miles from home, I was tired and sweaty, and Cayetano had now pissed me off by trying to call me out on my "behavior", like I was a toddler being sent on a time-out. Who does this shitpail think he is?
Me: You know what dude? Because I am very well aware that you are not my cousin. You aren't getting shit from me. So you can just go on and fuck yourself, asshole. *cackles madly*
Cayetano: VIEJA CABRO-
And then I hung up.
To be honest, I'm not sure what he said after "vieja" which means "old lady". I couldn't hear him over the sound of my own laughter, so we'll just assume he had a few choice vulgarities to throw my way. I have to admit his anger surprised me. As if he was truly pissed that I had the audacity to not fall for his scheme and send him my money. I laughed at the absurdity, put my phone back in my armband, and finished my run.
When I got home, I replayed the conversation over in my head and to be honest, it made me sad. Because I knew that Cayetano and Plutarco would be pissed at me for all of five minutes before they called some other poor soul and take advantage of their generosity. When I told my dad the story, he simply shook his head and called them "huevones", which is a slang term for a lazy-ass. And it's 100% true. An epidemic of sorts among many in Mexico that has led it to the state it is in now. Good for nothing deadbeats who, rather than work for a living and carve out a niche for themselves, will take the hard-earned money of others and not think twice about it. It gives the non-deadbeats a bad name, saddling them with this reputation of a ne'er do-well who only wants to sneak into the U.S. and live off government subsidies and SMOKE HELLA WEED. And if they aren't given such wealth and privilege on a silver platter, they become enraged and self-entitled.
All I can really do is hope both Cayetano and Plutarco, and others like them, one day really do get kidnapped by the circus clowns, except they are REALLY afraid of clowns and for the rest of their lives they wet the bed and chew off their fingernails while humming Entry of the Gladiators, and they are really bad at making balloon animals so they can't stay in the clown gang so the clowns run them over with their clown car, or they o.d. on children's Tylenol. The end.
In the meantime, dearest fake cousin, you didn't get my money.
Suck it.
Also, 'Murrica.
Mom: Hello?
Person: Hi tia, it's your nephew here in Mexico!
Mom: Who is this?
Person: You don't recognize me? It's me, calling to say hello!
Mom: Who are you?
Person: See if you can guess.
So my mom threw names out of cousins we have in Mexico (keep in mind, this is a LONG list. I once did a tally of all the cousins I have on both my parents' sides, and the number came out to about 82. That was when I was in college, about eight years ago. We're like the people from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, except louder and more fertile.)
Dude latched onto the name Jesus and said he would be flying in the next day, because he had to buy something for his work. Could someone maybe pick him up at the airport? He would be flying in from Tijuana.
My mom, having no reason to doubt at this point, gave "Jesus" my cell number, said she looked forward to seeing him, and hung up.
(On a sidenote, JESUS?? REALLY? You pick, of all names, JESUS? Dude. Way to exploit the son of God in your little scam. I bet you have a shitty beard. It probably just looks like face pubes.)
I thought it was odd that someone would want to fly from Tijuana to the airport here, a trip that basically amounts to 2 hours by car (or an hour and 45 minutes if you drive like me), so I looked up flight times coming in, simply so I could make my workout schedule for the next morning. There were no flights. I checked the Tijuana website for flights leaving, to land here. Again, nothing.
'Something's not right." I said.
"I can figure this out right now." My mom replied. She called her sister in Leon, but she had left for Sahuayo so she spoke to my cousin, Liz (like I said, there are a LOT of us). Liz promised she'd call Jesus and call us back. A short while later, sure enough, Jesus had not called us and had no plans to travel. Right away, my mom blocked the number on the house phone, and I put a fraud watch on my cell. My first concern was that they would "clone" my number, calling from a throwaway cell phone and thereby saddling me with the fraudulent charges. I then went online and did a little research. It was a much simpler scenario than I thought.
Apparently the way the game works is this: someone calls pretending to be a relative in Mexico. They tell you some vague details about being in town later that day or the next, making arrangements to visit. When they call back, they have fallen victim to some tragedy: they ran over a kid, their money was stolen, or they have been kidnapped by a crew of outlaw circus clowns who have retired from the Big Top but have developed a crippling addiction to Pai Gow at the local casinos and they kidnap people for ransom to pay for their gambling debts. They are also addicted to children's cough medicine for some reason. The clowns, I mean. Not the relative. They ask for the money via Western Union, so if you fall for it, you lose money and there is no way to get it back.
Anyway, I giddily waited for my cell phone call this morning from my 'cousin', who I will now call Cayetano. He called in the morning, as I was heading out for a run.
Me: Hello?
Cayetano: Hey cousin! It's Jesus!
Me: Oh hey. How are you.
Cayetano: I'm good. I just landed in Tijuana and I just need to pick up my luggage from baggage claim, so I can get on my next flight. I'll call you when I land.
Me: Ok. Sounds good.
Cayetano: I'll see you soon, cousin! I'm sending you kisses!
*shudder*
During the run, I formulated all sorts of hilarious things I would say to Cayetano when he called back. Like, if he called saying he ran someone over, I'd ask him to send pictures of the gory scene because I got a kick out of gross shit like that. Or if his money was stolen I'd tell him to go pimp himself out on Avenida Revolucion and MAKE IT RAIN. Clown scenario? Easy. I would have said to surrender to a life of renegade whimsey, making balloon animals and riding around in a 1994 Honda Civic with 19 other people. It's not like Mexicans aren't used to the latter part of that scenario.
An hour later, my phone rang.
Me: Hello?
Cayetano: OMG cousin! Something has happened, my luggage and money are gone and I am stranded here with literally nothing! I need help, there is a licenciado here who is going to help me, will you talk to him?
Me: Sure.
Plutarco (I decided I would name him after a historical dickwagon): Hello, this is licenciado so and so, from such an such an office! With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?
Me: *gives first name* (Taco!)
Plutarco: Taco what? I need your name.
Me: No, you don't. I don't know you.
Plutarco: Miss, I am here trying to help your familiar. In order to do that I need your full name, please.
Me: No. I don't know who you are. So I'm not giving you my full name until I need to.
Plutarco: Miss, why are you behaving so rudely? I am simply trying to help your familiar.
Me: *becoming irritated now because this fool is talking to me like I'm a child* I DO NOT KNOW YOU. I WILL GIVE YOU INFORMATION AS I SEE FIT.
Plutarco: *to Cayetano* Sir, your familiar is not cooperating with me. Can you speak with her?
Cayetano: Taco, what is going on? This man is being very polite and cordial with you. Why are you behaving so poorly with him?
I wanted to keep going, I really did. But I was still about three miles from home, I was tired and sweaty, and Cayetano had now pissed me off by trying to call me out on my "behavior", like I was a toddler being sent on a time-out. Who does this shitpail think he is?
Me: You know what dude? Because I am very well aware that you are not my cousin. You aren't getting shit from me. So you can just go on and fuck yourself, asshole. *cackles madly*
Cayetano: VIEJA CABRO-
And then I hung up.
To be honest, I'm not sure what he said after "vieja" which means "old lady". I couldn't hear him over the sound of my own laughter, so we'll just assume he had a few choice vulgarities to throw my way. I have to admit his anger surprised me. As if he was truly pissed that I had the audacity to not fall for his scheme and send him my money. I laughed at the absurdity, put my phone back in my armband, and finished my run.
When I got home, I replayed the conversation over in my head and to be honest, it made me sad. Because I knew that Cayetano and Plutarco would be pissed at me for all of five minutes before they called some other poor soul and take advantage of their generosity. When I told my dad the story, he simply shook his head and called them "huevones", which is a slang term for a lazy-ass. And it's 100% true. An epidemic of sorts among many in Mexico that has led it to the state it is in now. Good for nothing deadbeats who, rather than work for a living and carve out a niche for themselves, will take the hard-earned money of others and not think twice about it. It gives the non-deadbeats a bad name, saddling them with this reputation of a ne'er do-well who only wants to sneak into the U.S. and live off government subsidies and SMOKE HELLA WEED. And if they aren't given such wealth and privilege on a silver platter, they become enraged and self-entitled.
All I can really do is hope both Cayetano and Plutarco, and others like them, one day really do get kidnapped by the circus clowns, except they are REALLY afraid of clowns and for the rest of their lives they wet the bed and chew off their fingernails while humming Entry of the Gladiators, and they are really bad at making balloon animals so they can't stay in the clown gang so the clowns run them over with their clown car, or they o.d. on children's Tylenol. The end.
In the meantime, dearest fake cousin, you didn't get my money.
Suck it.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Scammers are Fun
Ah, the world wide web and it's infinite possibilities. Especially the ones that crowd your email inbox.
"You're BALD! THAT SUCKS! GROW YOUR HAIR AND HAVE A GLORIOUS MULLET!"
"Take these pills and grow your weenie to THE SIZE OF A DINOSAUR."
"Russian mustachioed singles wanna meet you! Comes free with Communism!"
"Facebook is gonna charge money now! OH NOES! But send us your banking info and the ghost of Ed McMahon will drop a ghostly turd on Mark Zuckerberg's head!"
And on and on.
A few months ago, my friend and former roommate was apparently robbed at gunpoint in London while there on vacation with the family. Problem is, she has never been to London. However, those of us on her email contact list received her sad, poorly spelled, story. Since I didn't ask first (because I am an inconsiderate asshole) I changed her name for this blog.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Subject: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
I'm so sorry to bother you,but we really need your help at the moment,my family and I came down here to London, UK for a short vacation,unfortunately we were mugged at the park of the hotel we staying ,everything we had on us was stolen including,cash,credit cards and cell phone....We need help to settle the bills and flying back home,the amount needed now is £1,850. We'll surely pay back as soon as we get back home. I am so confused right now and thank God i wasn't injured because I complied immediately.
Waiting to read from you so we can let you know how to get the money wired to us.
Thanks.
Slim
Shortly afterward, we all got a Facebook message (courtesy of Mark Turderberg!) from the real Slim Shady (HAHAHAHAHAHA SEE WHAT I DID THERE?) saying she had indeed been hacked and to delete the message. Naturally, I ignored her excellent advice and replied to the fake Slim.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Oh my gosh! Are you ok? You weren't hurt were you?? I can only send you $800, but maybe that will help with the flights to return? Let me know ASAP what you need so you can come home!
P
I imagine some barefoot Somali kid is clapping with glee at this point, thinking he had hooked one of Slim's more hapless friends into sending money.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Glad you replied back
I'm sorry for the late response, i would have mailed you back immediately but i'm having problem with the hotel internet were i lodged.....they are having a minor problem with their internet service, i have nothing left on me i would have gone to a library were i can access the internet.
Thank you very much for your kidness and support to help me out of this horrible situation... Any amount you can afford to spare will be much appriciated. You can have it wired to my name via Western Union i'll have to show my passport as ID to pick it up here and i promise to pay you back as soon as i get back home. Here's the info you need at western union location below
Receiver's Name: Slim Shady
State: London SW1X 8HW,
Country:United Kingdom
Please as soon as you are done help me write out the MTCN and the details you used in sending me the money. Thank you so much as I would be waiting to hear from you.
Thanks
Slim Shady
At this point, I let it sit for a few days. Partially because I didn't know what to reply back, also because I am busy sometimes doing things like teaching alligators long division and learning to apparate. I still have not managed either of those things. I figured Fake MP would give up. I was wrong.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
May i know what's going on??? Am full of panic right now and i need your urgent help to get out of this horrible situation.
Thanks
Slim Shady
I sent a quick note while I thought of a more substantial reply.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
I'm sorry...I just got out of work. I'll go to the Western Union here in town and send you the money within the hour.
I let a few hours go by, just so the barefoot Somali kid could fantasize about how many goats he would buy with his imminent riches. Alas, it was not to be.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Sorry Slim, I know you've been through a really rough few days and you really need the cash. I went to the bank and I was going to get my savings out, but I figured I'd toss in an extra couple hundred from my new job. Since we used to be roommates and all, I know you're good for it. Anyway, I went to the Western Union so I could wire you the money, and I was just so distraught over your situation that I ran a stop sign and hit an elderly lady walking her schnauzer! I almost drove away and left her there, broken collarbone and all, because I know you're in such need. But I knew you'd be angry with me if I did that. So I got out and checked on the old lady and her dog, who was stuck under my front axle. I had to take the lady to the emergency room to be treated, and since she was so angry with me she made me take her schnauzer to the vet to have his legs reattached. While at the vet, the damn dog bit me, so while the dog was in surgery I had to go get a tetanus shot. When I got back to the vet's office, the doctor told me the dog died in surgery so I had to get a new one that looked like the old one in hopes that the old lady wouldn't notice.
Unfortunately, all of this cost me the $800 I was going to send, but don't worry - I'm going to have my mom wire me some money tomorrow so I can send it to you. When you come back, do you think you can add a little extra? It would help get the dog blood out of my car. We've been friends for so long, I know you're an honest person!
You're the best.
P
Lucky for me, after spinning my own sad story, Slim was quite understanding to my eventful afternoon.
Thank you very much for your kindness and support to help me out of this horrible situation... Kindly get back to me with the full transfer details and the MTCN# as soon as you have the money wire, i definitely promise to refund it back as soon as i get back home.. I owe you a lot.
Hope to read back from you as soon as you have the money wired.
Thanks
Slim
Just to show how very very trusting (read: gullible) I was, I offered to make things a bit easier for poor, destitute Slim Shady.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Would you rather I just gave you my credit card info instead? That may be faster.
Apparently this was not the answer she was looking for. Maybe you can't buy goats on credit.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
As I explained to you earlier, phone cables were ripped off and the Hotel's Database was compromised which means no phone calls nor credit card payment. Western union is faster and cheaper, all you need is my name and present location as i have provided it for you earlier in my previous mail, I will be waiting to read from you. Here's the info you need at western union location below
Receiver's Name: Slim Shady
State: London SW1X 8HW,
Country:United Kingdom
kindly get back to me with the transfer details once you have it done.
Thanks
Slim
At this point, I decided to test the waters a little bit.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Well that is just shitty. You should write them a really bad Yelp review. That will show them!
Hey, I just noticed your email is different...did you get a new one? Man, I need to pay attention more! Ok. I am at the Western Union now.
Sadly, this was to be my last correspondence with Not The Real Slim Shady. Maybe they realized I knew they were full of shit, or maybe the dial-up connection they were using to email me crapped out because a cow chewed up the cables. Or maybe they decided they didn't really want those goats that badly anyway.
Oh well. In the meantime, I should really answer that email from my long-lost relative in Nigeria. Apparently I am related to African royalty. Who knew?
"You're BALD! THAT SUCKS! GROW YOUR HAIR AND HAVE A GLORIOUS MULLET!"
"Take these pills and grow your weenie to THE SIZE OF A DINOSAUR."
"Russian mustachioed singles wanna meet you! Comes free with Communism!"
"Facebook is gonna charge money now! OH NOES! But send us your banking info and the ghost of Ed McMahon will drop a ghostly turd on Mark Zuckerberg's head!"
And on and on.
A few months ago, my friend and former roommate was apparently robbed at gunpoint in London while there on vacation with the family. Problem is, she has never been to London. However, those of us on her email contact list received her sad, poorly spelled, story. Since I didn't ask first (because I am an inconsiderate asshole) I changed her name for this blog.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Subject: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
I'm so sorry to bother you,but we really need your help at the moment,my family and I came down here to London, UK for a short vacation,unfortunately we were mugged at the park of the hotel we staying ,everything we had on us was stolen including,cash,credit cards and cell phone....We need help to settle the bills and flying back home,the amount needed now is £1,850. We'll surely pay back as soon as we get back home. I am so confused right now and thank God i wasn't injured because I complied immediately.
Waiting to read from you so we can let you know how to get the money wired to us.
Thanks.
Slim
Shortly afterward, we all got a Facebook message (courtesy of Mark Turderberg!) from the real Slim Shady (HAHAHAHAHAHA SEE WHAT I DID THERE?) saying she had indeed been hacked and to delete the message. Naturally, I ignored her excellent advice and replied to the fake Slim.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Oh my gosh! Are you ok? You weren't hurt were you?? I can only send you $800, but maybe that will help with the flights to return? Let me know ASAP what you need so you can come home!
P
I imagine some barefoot Somali kid is clapping with glee at this point, thinking he had hooked one of Slim's more hapless friends into sending money.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Glad you replied back
I'm sorry for the late response, i would have mailed you back immediately but i'm having problem with the hotel internet were i lodged.....they are having a minor problem with their internet service, i have nothing left on me i would have gone to a library were i can access the internet.
Thank you very much for your kidness and support to help me out of this horrible situation... Any amount you can afford to spare will be much appriciated. You can have it wired to my name via Western Union i'll have to show my passport as ID to pick it up here and i promise to pay you back as soon as i get back home. Here's the info you need at western union location below
Receiver's Name: Slim Shady
State: London SW1X 8HW,
Country:United Kingdom
Please as soon as you are done help me write out the MTCN and the details you used in sending me the money. Thank you so much as I would be waiting to hear from you.
Thanks
Slim Shady
At this point, I let it sit for a few days. Partially because I didn't know what to reply back, also because I am busy sometimes doing things like teaching alligators long division and learning to apparate. I still have not managed either of those things. I figured Fake MP would give up. I was wrong.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
May i know what's going on??? Am full of panic right now and i need your urgent help to get out of this horrible situation.
Thanks
Slim Shady
I sent a quick note while I thought of a more substantial reply.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
I'm sorry...I just got out of work. I'll go to the Western Union here in town and send you the money within the hour.
I let a few hours go by, just so the barefoot Somali kid could fantasize about how many goats he would buy with his imminent riches. Alas, it was not to be.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Sorry Slim, I know you've been through a really rough few days and you really need the cash. I went to the bank and I was going to get my savings out, but I figured I'd toss in an extra couple hundred from my new job. Since we used to be roommates and all, I know you're good for it. Anyway, I went to the Western Union so I could wire you the money, and I was just so distraught over your situation that I ran a stop sign and hit an elderly lady walking her schnauzer! I almost drove away and left her there, broken collarbone and all, because I know you're in such need. But I knew you'd be angry with me if I did that. So I got out and checked on the old lady and her dog, who was stuck under my front axle. I had to take the lady to the emergency room to be treated, and since she was so angry with me she made me take her schnauzer to the vet to have his legs reattached. While at the vet, the damn dog bit me, so while the dog was in surgery I had to go get a tetanus shot. When I got back to the vet's office, the doctor told me the dog died in surgery so I had to get a new one that looked like the old one in hopes that the old lady wouldn't notice.
Unfortunately, all of this cost me the $800 I was going to send, but don't worry - I'm going to have my mom wire me some money tomorrow so I can send it to you. When you come back, do you think you can add a little extra? It would help get the dog blood out of my car. We've been friends for so long, I know you're an honest person!
You're the best.
P
Lucky for me, after spinning my own sad story, Slim was quite understanding to my eventful afternoon.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Thank you very much for your kindness and support to help me out of this horrible situation... Kindly get back to me with the full transfer details and the MTCN# as soon as you have the money wire, i definitely promise to refund it back as soon as i get back home.. I owe you a lot.
Hope to read back from you as soon as you have the money wired.
Thanks
Slim
Just to show how very very trusting (read: gullible) I was, I offered to make things a bit easier for poor, destitute Slim Shady.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Would you rather I just gave you my credit card info instead? That may be faster.
Apparently this was not the answer she was looking for. Maybe you can't buy goats on credit.
From: Slim Shady
To: Taco Jenkins
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
As I explained to you earlier, phone cables were ripped off and the Hotel's Database was compromised which means no phone calls nor credit card payment. Western union is faster and cheaper, all you need is my name and present location as i have provided it for you earlier in my previous mail, I will be waiting to read from you. Here's the info you need at western union location below
Receiver's Name: Slim Shady
State: London SW1X 8HW,
Country:United Kingdom
kindly get back to me with the transfer details once you have it done.
Thanks
Slim
At this point, I decided to test the waters a little bit.
From: Taco Jenkins
To: Slim Shady
Re: Sad Trip...Urgent Help Needed!
Well that is just shitty. You should write them a really bad Yelp review. That will show them!
Hey, I just noticed your email is different...did you get a new one? Man, I need to pay attention more! Ok. I am at the Western Union now.
Sadly, this was to be my last correspondence with Not The Real Slim Shady. Maybe they realized I knew they were full of shit, or maybe the dial-up connection they were using to email me crapped out because a cow chewed up the cables. Or maybe they decided they didn't really want those goats that badly anyway.
Oh well. In the meantime, I should really answer that email from my long-lost relative in Nigeria. Apparently I am related to African royalty. Who knew?
Thursday, May 23, 2013
On Self-Reassurance.
I'm a whale.
Seriously. All I need is the blowhole and barnacles stuck to my forehead.
Coming off a painful illness that rendered me incapable of anything but trench-crawling from the bed to the bathroom and back again, my mind has convinced my body that one week of inactivity has made me into a 300 pound wildebeest that needs its jaw wired shut, and pronto.
Essentially, I am any large mammal you can compare a fat person to.
With that in mind, I've been sweating (not to the oldies) for the last half hour on an elliptical, followed by an hour-long spin class. Today is a cardio day, and I'm facing the challenge like a possessed creature out to punish herself for having the audacity to become ill.
Ten minutes into spin, my phone buzzes with a Facebook notification from my school cohort group. In the alert, Ally is congratulating me and another classmate.
What the what?
I text her. One word.
"Huh?"
Ally replies that I need to check my school email. I do, and we have been sent a message telling us the winners of the awards given to three students for their capstone papers. The top winner is the other student she mentioned, an FBI agent who wrote about concealed information tests. Ally is the second winner, for her paper on intuition. The third winner is me.
The above incident happened two weeks ago. Just now I went back to the original email, which I have yet to delete even though it offers no pertinent information. Part of me wanted to reread it on the off chance that I somehow read it wrong, that it really said someone else and not me, or that it magically changed to another name.
Nope. Still me.
A few months ago, that research paper was little more than pages and pages of messily scribbled notes pieced together from books, articles, and one lone (though invaluable) interview. At the time, my addled brain was a jumble, as scattered as the crumpled papers strewn on my makeshift desk (my bed). The idea of putting it all together into an academic paper seemed laughable and downright impossible. This is when the doubt crept in.
What am I doing here?
There is almost no research on this topic. I am seriously insane. No, seriously.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Lolz how do I words?
Paradiddle paradiddle paradiddle paradiddle.
Alcohol, you're my best friend. Let's never break up.
Slowly but surely, the paper began to take form. Ideas were shifted into sequence, and my written sheets were chucked into the trash can one by one, as their contents were typed into a Word document. Finally, finally, two weeks after the due date, with some trepidation and a hell of a lot of self-doubt, I ran my fingers vertically, then horizontally across my laptop.
Vaya con Dios.
And I turned it in. It was not my best work, and far from the high expectations I had set up for myself when I began the research. But my brain was fried. I was exhausted, and at the very least, knew that I had managed an A. That was all I needed.
My writing style (even in my paper) is not what you would call academic. My forum posts consist of a few paragraphs, short and to the point with as little extra window dressing sentences as possible. To that end I felt that someone else, someone far more erudite than I, would surely win, and deservedly so.
While I still think of myself as much less eloquent than some of my peers, I have accepted that I am apparently a decent enough writer to win shit. Who knew? 'The slacker who added a badly drawn Fancy Man to the end of her Research Methods paper (much to the non-amusement of the T.A.) is actually ok with research.
The moral of the story? The whale/wildebeest/rhino/manatee may be such, but she can write.
Stranger things have happened.
Seriously. All I need is the blowhole and barnacles stuck to my forehead.
Coming off a painful illness that rendered me incapable of anything but trench-crawling from the bed to the bathroom and back again, my mind has convinced my body that one week of inactivity has made me into a 300 pound wildebeest that needs its jaw wired shut, and pronto.
Essentially, I am any large mammal you can compare a fat person to.
With that in mind, I've been sweating (not to the oldies) for the last half hour on an elliptical, followed by an hour-long spin class. Today is a cardio day, and I'm facing the challenge like a possessed creature out to punish herself for having the audacity to become ill.
Ten minutes into spin, my phone buzzes with a Facebook notification from my school cohort group. In the alert, Ally is congratulating me and another classmate.
What the what?
I text her. One word.
"Huh?"
Ally replies that I need to check my school email. I do, and we have been sent a message telling us the winners of the awards given to three students for their capstone papers. The top winner is the other student she mentioned, an FBI agent who wrote about concealed information tests. Ally is the second winner, for her paper on intuition. The third winner is me.
The above incident happened two weeks ago. Just now I went back to the original email, which I have yet to delete even though it offers no pertinent information. Part of me wanted to reread it on the off chance that I somehow read it wrong, that it really said someone else and not me, or that it magically changed to another name.
Nope. Still me.
A few months ago, that research paper was little more than pages and pages of messily scribbled notes pieced together from books, articles, and one lone (though invaluable) interview. At the time, my addled brain was a jumble, as scattered as the crumpled papers strewn on my makeshift desk (my bed). The idea of putting it all together into an academic paper seemed laughable and downright impossible. This is when the doubt crept in.
What am I doing here?
There is almost no research on this topic. I am seriously insane. No, seriously.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Lolz how do I words?
Paradiddle paradiddle paradiddle paradiddle.
Alcohol, you're my best friend. Let's never break up.
Slowly but surely, the paper began to take form. Ideas were shifted into sequence, and my written sheets were chucked into the trash can one by one, as their contents were typed into a Word document. Finally, finally, two weeks after the due date, with some trepidation and a hell of a lot of self-doubt, I ran my fingers vertically, then horizontally across my laptop.
Vaya con Dios.
And I turned it in. It was not my best work, and far from the high expectations I had set up for myself when I began the research. But my brain was fried. I was exhausted, and at the very least, knew that I had managed an A. That was all I needed.
My writing style (even in my paper) is not what you would call academic. My forum posts consist of a few paragraphs, short and to the point with as little extra window dressing sentences as possible. To that end I felt that someone else, someone far more erudite than I, would surely win, and deservedly so.
While I still think of myself as much less eloquent than some of my peers, I have accepted that I am apparently a decent enough writer to win shit. Who knew? 'The slacker who added a badly drawn Fancy Man to the end of her Research Methods paper (much to the non-amusement of the T.A.) is actually ok with research.
 | |||
| Indeed, you classy bastard, you. |
The moral of the story? The whale/wildebeest/rhino/manatee may be such, but she can write.
Stranger things have happened.
Monday, April 22, 2013
So You've Ruined Your Life.
A conversation in the Garcia household:
[backstory: we were discussing teen pregnancy]
Me: Pregnant at SIXTEEN? Wow, your life is pretty much over. You're screwed.
Jose: Well, look on the bright side. If this was the 1200's that would be totally acceptable.
Me: We don't live in the year 1200, Jose.
Jose: Well that's good, because then she would get the plague in five years and die anyway.
Sorry guys, I've been working (a real grown up job, oh shit!), plus I have recently discovered that ever since I switched the blog over to a new email address all my pictures and such pretty much vanished. WTF BLOGGER. WAY TO MAKE ME LOOK BAD.
Anyway, my next post kinda fell into my lap when a good friend of mine had her yahoo email hacked. Shenanigans were had. Stay tuned!
[backstory: we were discussing teen pregnancy]
Me: Pregnant at SIXTEEN? Wow, your life is pretty much over. You're screwed.
Jose: Well, look on the bright side. If this was the 1200's that would be totally acceptable.
Me: We don't live in the year 1200, Jose.
Jose: Well that's good, because then she would get the plague in five years and die anyway.
Sorry guys, I've been working (a real grown up job, oh shit!), plus I have recently discovered that ever since I switched the blog over to a new email address all my pictures and such pretty much vanished. WTF BLOGGER. WAY TO MAKE ME LOOK BAD.
Anyway, my next post kinda fell into my lap when a good friend of mine had her yahoo email hacked. Shenanigans were had. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
You Can't Spell Diet Without DIE.
For those of you who regularly read, you know that one of my recurring topics is Baloo, my constant, my Caballero Numero Uno.
Baloo and I are currently engaged in a battle of wills. He is overweight, and I have been cutting back on his kibble and replacing it with green beans or carrots. For the last few days, each morning/evening when I go fill his bowl, I find that he has somehow managed to eat all his dog food, while strategically eating around the vegetables. I've kept at it though, seeing as how I hold the power. And I have opposable thumbs.
Only one will emerge as victor in the Game of Bones.
UPDATE: The remnants of tonight's dinner. Bear in mind that I actually MIXED the veggies into his food, I didn't just dump it on top.
Baloo and I are currently engaged in a battle of wills. He is overweight, and I have been cutting back on his kibble and replacing it with green beans or carrots. For the last few days, each morning/evening when I go fill his bowl, I find that he has somehow managed to eat all his dog food, while strategically eating around the vegetables. I've kept at it though, seeing as how I hold the power. And I have opposable thumbs.
Only one will emerge as victor in the Game of Bones.
UPDATE: The remnants of tonight's dinner. Bear in mind that I actually MIXED the veggies into his food, I didn't just dump it on top.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Back to Life
Lying on my bed, it's 2 minutes to midnight and I'm surrounded by books
and papers, most of which will now be promoted to fire kindling. I just
submitted my Capstone paper, my thesis of sorts, for my Master's degree.
I may have turned it in late, due to unforeseen circumstances (I's
workin hard for the money! Though not a lot of it...), and I may have
not gotten to enjoy my spring break (Spring Quarter starts in thirty
seconds), but that shit is done. and it feels AMAZING.
Party on, freakonauts!
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