I am not the most tech savvy guy in the world.
In fact, here at the Paragraph Factory on Genesee Street, I am on the back end when it comes to talking about front-end systems. We recently activated a new Finger Lakes Times Instagram account but — thankfully for all our users’ sakes — I had nothing to do with it. Our summer intern, Devyn Williams, and our youngest staff member, sportswriter Jacob Rodriguez, got that baby up and running (Sobering note: Devyn and Jacob’s ages added together don’t even approach mine!)
I am, however, very good on one plank of the digital platform — spotting scams and phishing attempts. Maybe because I receive so many of them. You probably wouldn’t believe how many of them I get here at the office. Well, maybe you would.
Everything from fake invoices (we owe how much to who?) to fake work tickets (we contacted who about adjusting what?) to fake pitches (we can save how much if we switch over our what to which company?) and email delivery issues (my email inbox will be unblocked if I contact who?) A lot of those go directly spam but many don’t. And they are in addition to the personal ones from would-be benefactors who represent royalty who died in Bangladesh or Nairobi and whose last dying wish was to turn over millions of dollars to me, of all people, for, you know, safe keeping.
I get emails from Paul Barrett, former publisher here at the Times who remains a close personal friend. When the note starts, “Dear Mike, I trust that you are having a lovely day … please ring me up at your earlier convenience. I have some startling news for you,” I know it’s an impostor. Paul’s a Southern gentleman to be sure, but he sure doesn’t speak like that.
Hey, I even sometimes get emails from … drum roll, please … me! Yep, from Mike Cutillo. Sometimes asking me to do a favor for me. Sometimes telling me that I have to run to the post office but I will contact myself later in the day to talk to me about something very important to me.
Now, as noted, I’m getting a little long in the tooth, but I definitely would remember if I had sent myself an email. I think.
So, all this is to say that I think I am pretty good at spotting something that isn’t quite right in the old in-box. Which is why I really was bummed that I fell for one recently. It came not to my work email but to my personal one.
It was from Home Depot, from which we recently had happened to purchase some fencing. It was offering a wonderful garden wagon if I would take a short survey. It was close to my wife’s birthday, and I just didn’t know what to get her, but she does a lot of landscaping and gardening, and I thought, “Wow, that would make a terrific gift.”
The hook was that if I took the survey, I would only have to pay the $9.99 shipping cost for the wagon. I looked it up on the Home Depot website, and one similar to that being offered had a pricetag of $150. I mean, $9.99 for a gorgeous and useful garden wagon? Sure, I’ll take a short survey for that deal! I had visions of presenting my wife with that wagon and looking like Dudley Do-Right in her eyes (kids, you may need to google that reference).
I also figured that I would begin taking the survey but if it got to onerous, I would quit and go get her flowers or gift certificate or something else instead. But guess what? It was only 3-4 simple questions, basically like How often do you garden? And would this item be useful?
It literally took a minute or two and then I got the pop-up screen noting that I had earned that beautiful garden wagon for the low, low shipping cost. I just needed to provide a good credit card, and the site showed the icons of all the credit cards that would be accepted.
I chose my Discover card and entered all the info, along with the shipping address. Then I got a notice that no, this offer was not good with a Discover card. I could have sworn that Discover card was one of the icons, but when I looked back on them, there was no Discover card icon.
OK, stupid me, I thought. I mean, that’s how much I wanted that wagon for her. So, I went through the process again, this time using a Visa card. Entered all the info and then got another note that, no, this offer was not good with a Visa card, either.
Now, I was born in the morning, but not yesterday morning, so that was when it struck me that something wasn’t quite right — sort of like getting an email from Mike Cutillo. I had laid out all my CC info for two cards for which I was quite sure I’d seen the icons. I looked up the original Home Depot note offering the garden wagon and realized that it had not come from like a gardenwagon@homedepot.com email address but rather someone like julie.smith@gobbledygook.com.
I’d been had!
Luckily, I guess, I figured it out before I entered even ANOTHER set of credit card facts and figures! I immediately called the two credit card companies, told them I thought I’d been the victim of a scam, canceled both and requested new ones.
I guess this story has a good ending, at least for now. I’ve been watching my credit card bills (my new credit card bills, that is) for a few months now and haven’t noticed any wacky charges.
But I felt like such an idiot.
On the one hand.
On the other hand, I was angry. Angry that I’d been taken, but also angry at the scammers. But this was the perfect storm: The original note from “Home Depot” looked legit, had their logo all over it; we had just ordered from Home Depot, so sure they had my info top of mind; I needed a birthday present for my gardener wife; the survey was so simply; and the deal was so good. And I wanted to be Dudley Do-Right.
As for the scammers, I mean, with all the time and effort that they put into configuring that scam — and the multitude of others that are out there (such as the crypto scam noted on Page 3A in today’s FLT) — if they would only put their immense talents to good use, the world would be so much better.
And gardeners everywhere would have shiny, handsome wagons to haul their plants around. My wife did love the gift card and flowers, however!
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