Dirty Rotten Scoundrel
(This is going to be long but I want to have it down for posterity.)
The last thirty-one and a half years have taught me one thing: if a life lesson is to be imparted, it's going to cost me.
Like everyone, I make mistakes. Some big, some small. Some easily dismissive, some legendary. But unlike almost everyone, the consequences of these mistakes do not take a myriad of forms, such as but not limited to physical injury, loss of opportunity, loss of possessions, delays, hurt feelings. No, for me, consequences all just have a price tag.
Here's my latest one, not so much to do with Mexico but certainly the sociopolitical climate of Mexico led to its existence.
I belong to an online community of travellers by the name of Hospitality Club. The group operates like a combination of online dating and eBay: all members have profiles with which you decide if they're the kind of people you'd like to meet, and you leave comments for those you have met. Travellers go to the members in their destination cities and scour the profiles for potential friends, send emails, you meet for coffee or dinner or a tour through a museum or whatever, it's fun and stimulating and challenging.
When I first joined, I was wary. Trusting complete strangers is not an easy thing to do, and posting personal information online is not always wise (says the blogger). I joined slowly, in stages, but it wasn't until a young German woman with 100+ ravingly positive comments wrote me that I decided to take the leap. Screw it, I thought, I'm going to trust until someone gives me reason not to.
It's a truly excellent site indeed: over the years, I have met close to 100 individual people from all around the world, some of whom I can't imagine there was a time I didn't know them. My friendship with Pavel, actually, is a direct result of this site - he was my very first host, two years ago. And, sure, I've met people where I was anticipating saying goodbye with some fervour, but all in all it's been great.
Now, as a female in a big city, I get a lot of requests. I host very very few of them, opening up only to those who really click with me in their emails. The rest I will scan their profiles and, unless something strikes me as odd or unappealing, I will say to them, "hey, sorry I can't host you but let's meet up for coffee, my cell number is..."
The Saturday before Christmas, a German guy calls me on my cell. "Hey, it's Friedrich the German, from Hospitality Club!" he says, "I'm in Mexico City, let's do coffee!"
Sure, I say, but I'm doing laundry right now and need to go to the grocery store. Can it be tomorrow, Sunday?
I rack my brains for memory of a German guy. Yes, I believe there was one who said he had a hotel and didn't need a host but wanted to meet for coffee.
Friedrich calls me Sunday. "Hey, it's Friedrich the German, from Hospitality Club! Shall we meet for coffee?"
Sounds good, I say. When and where? I ask him how he's enjoying Mexico City. Very nice, he says, loving it. We're laughing a lot, he's very nice.
Then the phone goes dead.
He calls me back twenty minutes later. He is frantic, inconsolable. "They just stole my wallet!" he said, "Oh shit, they just stole my wallet!"
I tell him not to panic and I offer him my computer to cancel his cards. He's going on and on and on about shit shit shit, I didn't think, I put my bag on top of the phone and these two guys and oh shit shit shit. I'm hushing and reassuring, give him my address and tell him I'll pay the cabfare.
When he arrives at my house, he's this well-dressed man in his mid-40s, very sweet. He shows me a photocopy of his passport to prove that it's him: the photo looks Latino, which I comment on and he blinks innocently and says, "Really? It's me!"
Man, retelling this story is reawakening my feelings of being the biggest chump to have ever chumped. How many red flags does one need?
The German is thanking me endlessly for letting him use my computer, canceling his card and commenting angrily that the bastards already got 500 Euro out of his account. We sit and chat and strategize, while he chain smokes and pets the cat. No one warned him about Mexico, he says, so I tell him the commiserating story of my robbery last year. He describes the robbery in detail: two guys, grab and run and split up, Friedrich tried to chase after but they were just so darn fast. I feel so horrible for him. I am sad that his first experience in this incredible city is the stereotypical one.
He then looks at me square in the eye and says apologetically, "If I do a online money transfer right now into your account, could you lend me a little until I can get my replacement cards?"
I balk but the fact was that he had asked me at the only point in time that there was a chance I would say yes. Not only was I feeling all sorts of sorry for him, and not only was it Christmas, but at that moment I had $500 cash sitting in an envelope in my room, an unexpected and unbudgeted for Christmas bonus from a boss renowned for her unethical money withholding. So I concede, frugally only offering him $200 of it.
Yes, kids, this is the point wherein you throw your hands up in the air and howl for my stupidity. But, really, wouldn't you have done the same thing? No? Really no?
But he even let me watch the wire transfer, copying the details into a Word file on my desktop!
Still no?
To thank me for my kindness, he invites me for lunch the next day. I show up with a French guy, another guest from this site, and the three of us have a lovely lunch. He didn't get his new cards, he says, because it's Christmas proper now (it's the 24th) but he has spoken with his bank and they can send him the money in Puerto Vallarta, where he is to meet his girlfriend that evening. He produces a very formal looking printout from Deutschebank that says he has now transfered 500 Euro into my account, but to his dismay I don't have my bank card on me. The French guy gives him another $100, under the agreement that I will pay him back when we get back to my place. So, all in all, the German Asshat now has $300 of my money, plus the cab fare.
I'm not sure at which point I started to twig that something didn't smell right. His hotel in Puerto Vallarta did tell me that there was no one there by the name on the money transfer report, when I called to let him know it hadn't gone through, but I somehow managed to override the oddity of that. I also tried emailing him at the address on the transfer slip and it bounced, but somehow that was only marginally concerning. Every time a nagging little fear poked up its head, I would think, "But he kept calling me! Why would a scam artist have returned? Wouldn't he have just run with the $300 he got and find a new victim?" And he was so nice, besides, that it just wasn't possible.
But I knew. I did. I didn't want to admit it, but I think I knew right from the moment I was fishing that first $200 out of my Christmas bonus envelope. I just didn't want to offend him but implying that I didn't trust him.
How Canadian of me, alas.
Now imagine the moment of temporary relief when I run into him in the new year. I collapsed into his arms and exclaimed, "Oh thank god! I thought you were a scam artist!" He smiled and hugged me back warmly and said that he'd just gotten into town and was going to call me later that day.
Oh stop rolling your eyes, you. I can sense it even as I type this. Hindsight is 20/20, remember.
He tells me he's in room 407 at the Hotel Miguel Angel, although he was thinking of changing rooms because there had been a hot water problem. He says, hey, let's meet at 6 tonight for dinner and so I can give you your money back!
He calls at 4 - he's going to the pyramids to see the sunset, but how about lunch tomorrow?
He calls the next morning - he's going to Puebla for the day, but how about dinner on Monday?
He calls on Monday at 4pm - we on for dinner? "Yes!" I say. "Ok," he says, "I'm just heading back to the hotel now. I'll call you in an hour."
I never hear from him again.
Tuesday Pavel sends me the link to a forum topic on the Hospitality Club site, where a Mexican member has written:
Recently I recived a telephone call, to request me Help. From a german man, that say that he is member of this comunity.. I check my profi and i can saw him... He told me that his Wallet were stoled, and he ask me about if I can change some euros, but if he dosnt have his wallet, why have Euros?? later he rectify and said me, "I lost all my credits cards" and we can do a transfer....what?? Yeah!! give me local money and i´ll do transfer... is it normal?? I dont guess.. Some has heard histories like that??
I nearly throw up.
I ask my colleague, Evangelina, to call Hotel Miguel Angel and ask for him. They say they have no one there with that name. She says Room 407, German, hot water problem. They say, sorry, there is no hot water problem in Room 407 and they haven't had a German guest for a month.
I write to the forum guy and ask for confirmation of the German's Hospitality Club nickname. It's a match. Several people, in fact, are reporting having been called by a German saying that his wallet has been stolen and could they exchange local money for a wire transfer.
You know, in hindsight, his offer makes absolutely no sense. Western Union could do the same thing, no?
So lesson learned, sort of. In all reality, I refuse to learn a lesson from all this. In a world of distrust and cynicism and fear, isn't something like Hospitality Club that much MORE important? I would like to think that, were I in trouble in a foreign country, someone would be willing to help me. And I would rather be scammed again than refuse help to someone legitimately in need.
I've just got to be a little more careful in the future, you know?
The last thirty-one and a half years have taught me one thing: if a life lesson is to be imparted, it's going to cost me.
Like everyone, I make mistakes. Some big, some small. Some easily dismissive, some legendary. But unlike almost everyone, the consequences of these mistakes do not take a myriad of forms, such as but not limited to physical injury, loss of opportunity, loss of possessions, delays, hurt feelings. No, for me, consequences all just have a price tag.
Here's my latest one, not so much to do with Mexico but certainly the sociopolitical climate of Mexico led to its existence.
I belong to an online community of travellers by the name of Hospitality Club. The group operates like a combination of online dating and eBay: all members have profiles with which you decide if they're the kind of people you'd like to meet, and you leave comments for those you have met. Travellers go to the members in their destination cities and scour the profiles for potential friends, send emails, you meet for coffee or dinner or a tour through a museum or whatever, it's fun and stimulating and challenging.
When I first joined, I was wary. Trusting complete strangers is not an easy thing to do, and posting personal information online is not always wise (says the blogger). I joined slowly, in stages, but it wasn't until a young German woman with 100+ ravingly positive comments wrote me that I decided to take the leap. Screw it, I thought, I'm going to trust until someone gives me reason not to.
It's a truly excellent site indeed: over the years, I have met close to 100 individual people from all around the world, some of whom I can't imagine there was a time I didn't know them. My friendship with Pavel, actually, is a direct result of this site - he was my very first host, two years ago. And, sure, I've met people where I was anticipating saying goodbye with some fervour, but all in all it's been great.
Now, as a female in a big city, I get a lot of requests. I host very very few of them, opening up only to those who really click with me in their emails. The rest I will scan their profiles and, unless something strikes me as odd or unappealing, I will say to them, "hey, sorry I can't host you but let's meet up for coffee, my cell number is..."
The Saturday before Christmas, a German guy calls me on my cell. "Hey, it's Friedrich the German, from Hospitality Club!" he says, "I'm in Mexico City, let's do coffee!"
Sure, I say, but I'm doing laundry right now and need to go to the grocery store. Can it be tomorrow, Sunday?
I rack my brains for memory of a German guy. Yes, I believe there was one who said he had a hotel and didn't need a host but wanted to meet for coffee.
Friedrich calls me Sunday. "Hey, it's Friedrich the German, from Hospitality Club! Shall we meet for coffee?"
Sounds good, I say. When and where? I ask him how he's enjoying Mexico City. Very nice, he says, loving it. We're laughing a lot, he's very nice.
Then the phone goes dead.
He calls me back twenty minutes later. He is frantic, inconsolable. "They just stole my wallet!" he said, "Oh shit, they just stole my wallet!"
I tell him not to panic and I offer him my computer to cancel his cards. He's going on and on and on about shit shit shit, I didn't think, I put my bag on top of the phone and these two guys and oh shit shit shit. I'm hushing and reassuring, give him my address and tell him I'll pay the cabfare.
When he arrives at my house, he's this well-dressed man in his mid-40s, very sweet. He shows me a photocopy of his passport to prove that it's him: the photo looks Latino, which I comment on and he blinks innocently and says, "Really? It's me!"
Man, retelling this story is reawakening my feelings of being the biggest chump to have ever chumped. How many red flags does one need?
The German is thanking me endlessly for letting him use my computer, canceling his card and commenting angrily that the bastards already got 500 Euro out of his account. We sit and chat and strategize, while he chain smokes and pets the cat. No one warned him about Mexico, he says, so I tell him the commiserating story of my robbery last year. He describes the robbery in detail: two guys, grab and run and split up, Friedrich tried to chase after but they were just so darn fast. I feel so horrible for him. I am sad that his first experience in this incredible city is the stereotypical one.
He then looks at me square in the eye and says apologetically, "If I do a online money transfer right now into your account, could you lend me a little until I can get my replacement cards?"
I balk but the fact was that he had asked me at the only point in time that there was a chance I would say yes. Not only was I feeling all sorts of sorry for him, and not only was it Christmas, but at that moment I had $500 cash sitting in an envelope in my room, an unexpected and unbudgeted for Christmas bonus from a boss renowned for her unethical money withholding. So I concede, frugally only offering him $200 of it.
Yes, kids, this is the point wherein you throw your hands up in the air and howl for my stupidity. But, really, wouldn't you have done the same thing? No? Really no?
But he even let me watch the wire transfer, copying the details into a Word file on my desktop!
Still no?
To thank me for my kindness, he invites me for lunch the next day. I show up with a French guy, another guest from this site, and the three of us have a lovely lunch. He didn't get his new cards, he says, because it's Christmas proper now (it's the 24th) but he has spoken with his bank and they can send him the money in Puerto Vallarta, where he is to meet his girlfriend that evening. He produces a very formal looking printout from Deutschebank that says he has now transfered 500 Euro into my account, but to his dismay I don't have my bank card on me. The French guy gives him another $100, under the agreement that I will pay him back when we get back to my place. So, all in all, the German Asshat now has $300 of my money, plus the cab fare.
I'm not sure at which point I started to twig that something didn't smell right. His hotel in Puerto Vallarta did tell me that there was no one there by the name on the money transfer report, when I called to let him know it hadn't gone through, but I somehow managed to override the oddity of that. I also tried emailing him at the address on the transfer slip and it bounced, but somehow that was only marginally concerning. Every time a nagging little fear poked up its head, I would think, "But he kept calling me! Why would a scam artist have returned? Wouldn't he have just run with the $300 he got and find a new victim?" And he was so nice, besides, that it just wasn't possible.
But I knew. I did. I didn't want to admit it, but I think I knew right from the moment I was fishing that first $200 out of my Christmas bonus envelope. I just didn't want to offend him but implying that I didn't trust him.
How Canadian of me, alas.
Now imagine the moment of temporary relief when I run into him in the new year. I collapsed into his arms and exclaimed, "Oh thank god! I thought you were a scam artist!" He smiled and hugged me back warmly and said that he'd just gotten into town and was going to call me later that day.
Oh stop rolling your eyes, you. I can sense it even as I type this. Hindsight is 20/20, remember.
He tells me he's in room 407 at the Hotel Miguel Angel, although he was thinking of changing rooms because there had been a hot water problem. He says, hey, let's meet at 6 tonight for dinner and so I can give you your money back!
He calls at 4 - he's going to the pyramids to see the sunset, but how about lunch tomorrow?
He calls the next morning - he's going to Puebla for the day, but how about dinner on Monday?
He calls on Monday at 4pm - we on for dinner? "Yes!" I say. "Ok," he says, "I'm just heading back to the hotel now. I'll call you in an hour."
I never hear from him again.
Tuesday Pavel sends me the link to a forum topic on the Hospitality Club site, where a Mexican member has written:
Recently I recived a telephone call, to request me Help. From a german man, that say that he is member of this comunity.. I check my profi and i can saw him... He told me that his Wallet were stoled, and he ask me about if I can change some euros, but if he dosnt have his wallet, why have Euros?? later he rectify and said me, "I lost all my credits cards" and we can do a transfer....what?? Yeah!! give me local money and i´ll do transfer... is it normal?? I dont guess.. Some has heard histories like that??
I nearly throw up.
I ask my colleague, Evangelina, to call Hotel Miguel Angel and ask for him. They say they have no one there with that name. She says Room 407, German, hot water problem. They say, sorry, there is no hot water problem in Room 407 and they haven't had a German guest for a month.
I write to the forum guy and ask for confirmation of the German's Hospitality Club nickname. It's a match. Several people, in fact, are reporting having been called by a German saying that his wallet has been stolen and could they exchange local money for a wire transfer.
You know, in hindsight, his offer makes absolutely no sense. Western Union could do the same thing, no?
So lesson learned, sort of. In all reality, I refuse to learn a lesson from all this. In a world of distrust and cynicism and fear, isn't something like Hospitality Club that much MORE important? I would like to think that, were I in trouble in a foreign country, someone would be willing to help me. And I would rather be scammed again than refuse help to someone legitimately in need.
I've just got to be a little more careful in the future, you know?
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