The Column: Staying ahead of scammers is a full-time job
Oh, my, almost happened again — scammed.
This is getting old.
My wife, Wink, and I are aware, 21st century citizens — ever vigilant, on our toes and slightly paranoid.
We do not accept phone calls from unknown parties and under no circumstances give out personal information, not so much as a ZIP code.
(You want our Social Security numbers? Gladly, as soon as you recite yours. Hold on while we grab paper and pencil.)
We ignore phony emails or text messages dressed up to look like they come from the bank or an overnight delivery company or a streaming service that says your subscription is about to run out or — gasp! — your Amazon account has been frozen.
And still …
Still, we got an alert from our financial institution a few months ago warning of “very suspicious activity” on a credit card.
Very suspicious? Only if you consider it shady for someone to try ordering 10 — yes, 10 — $2,000 outdoor gas grills from a big-box store using other people’s money (ours).
Perhaps the intrepid shopper was intending a colossal cookout for fellow chiselers and assorted metro area second-story men. “Eat up, boys, we heisted the hot dogs, too!”
We have a long history of this sort of thing.
Years ago, someone called during the day and told Wink I was a habitual gambler and deep in debt — $10,000. Time to repay, uttered the fellow gravely, and in words of one syllable.
This was hysterical because I find it difficult buying a lottery ticket without a vague sense of unease related to childhood lessons on avarice and envy.
On one birthday, my parents gave me a secondhand Schwinn bicycle — the best a bread deliveryman and his wife cold afford.
It was shiny and in perfect shape, but not new.
I sulked, proving that stupidity can strike at an early age.
“Two wheels, handlebar, brakes,” said my father. “There’s a problem?”
“Be satisfied with what you’ve got,” said my mother.
Wink knew I eventually absorbed enough of the family moral code to make running a tab with the mob no more likely than putting on a wig and sticking up gas stations on weekends.
She called the police. Yup, they said, usual stuff. Hang up if he tries again. She did and that was that.
Over the years, came so many scam attempts that we considered putting money aside as a contingency plan — our own victim’s relief fund.
Someone in Mexico got ahold of our American Express number and quickly spent $2,400 — a few glorious nights in Cancun, maybe.
Another time, our debit card financed a shopping spree in Forest Hills. Pet supplies, bakery items, all sorts of goodies. Only when the fearless consumer tried to spend $125 at 7-Eleven — apparently, a bridge too far — did the fun end and bank catch up.
What else? Let’s see, an enterprising rogue bought office supplies, including a computer desk, with a charge card number linked to the unsuspecting Wink.
“Must be, he was expanding the business,” said my wife.
What prompts this sad review is the latest near catastrophe.
We’re helping one of our kids in another state with a big health-related bill.
Some electronic interloper hacked the provider’s computer system, sent us a sham email and suggested we wire money. The message looked legit, and we momentarily teetered. But a cautionary phone call to the office put on the brakes.
Phew.
Meanwhile, Frank, my neighbor, says some cad clipped his new credit card from the mailbox, a local chat line tells of a 93-year-old woman fleeced for all she’s worth by a bogus phone solicitor, and, big local news, a cyberattack on Suffolk County exposed the Social Security numbers of 26,000 employees and retirees.
One was Wink, formerly of the county Office for the Aging.
“Here we go again,” she said after reading an advisory from Suffolk authorities.
“The beat goes on,” I sigh.
A few days later, Newsday ran a story under the headline: “Cybercrime will Continue to Rise in 2023.”
For sure, there are more good people in the world than swindling sociopaths. Still, I’m refusing unknown phone calls, conducting a forensic analysis on every email, checking bank statements like a CPA.
Danger lurks, friends, and it’s only January.
