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Dec. 19th, 2003 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hafoc
I'm sure I get conned all the time. But in a formal sense I've been conned twice, as far as I know. Oddly enough, it was for three dollars each time.
In both cases I was taken by a glib young man, bright and cheerful. Very dependable-looking. I suppose that's why they call it a confidence game; the people who con you must be people you could have confidence in.
Thing is, I knew I was being taken both times. The problem was they were both so forthright and cheerful about asking for money, once to get back to Detroit and once to support some fake cause or other. (That's the one you know about, Athelind). For me, and I guess for many people, money is the ultimate obscenity. Offering money is a terrible insult. Asking for money is the most abject admission of failure. Maybe that's a Midwestern thing, but I think it's pretty widespread.
Point being that I can't see myself asking for money unless I were on the point of death. And I'm hesitant to offer money to friends in need, for fear they'll be insulted and won't want me around any more. As would be their right, as I see it. I still do make contributions to people, but I prefer it if they never mention it again; that's just the way I am.
And here these guys were, asking for money, cheerfully. There's something WRONG with that.
I knew I was being taken, but in each case I had three bucks and gave it to them saying it was all I had. Which I'm not sure they believed either, but who cares?
I guess I felt if they were so desperate to hustle somebody, they must really need it. And I have nobody to blame, because it hardly counts as being conned if you know they're doing it, now, does it?
But what I really wanted to do was sit those young men down and do the writer thing to them. Which is trying to understand, trying to figure out what motivates them. I wanted to ask.. is this your life? Do you enjoy what you do? Does it make you happy? Where did you come from? How did you get here? When you were seven or eight years old and still believed in things, did you ever for a moment think you'd be earning a living by conning tired fat old tourists out of lunch money?
But perhaps that would be the most cruel thing I could possibly do to them. So I just handed over the three bux.
In both cases I was taken by a glib young man, bright and cheerful. Very dependable-looking. I suppose that's why they call it a confidence game; the people who con you must be people you could have confidence in.
Thing is, I knew I was being taken both times. The problem was they were both so forthright and cheerful about asking for money, once to get back to Detroit and once to support some fake cause or other. (That's the one you know about, Athelind). For me, and I guess for many people, money is the ultimate obscenity. Offering money is a terrible insult. Asking for money is the most abject admission of failure. Maybe that's a Midwestern thing, but I think it's pretty widespread.
Point being that I can't see myself asking for money unless I were on the point of death. And I'm hesitant to offer money to friends in need, for fear they'll be insulted and won't want me around any more. As would be their right, as I see it. I still do make contributions to people, but I prefer it if they never mention it again; that's just the way I am.
And here these guys were, asking for money, cheerfully. There's something WRONG with that.
I knew I was being taken, but in each case I had three bucks and gave it to them saying it was all I had. Which I'm not sure they believed either, but who cares?
I guess I felt if they were so desperate to hustle somebody, they must really need it. And I have nobody to blame, because it hardly counts as being conned if you know they're doing it, now, does it?
But what I really wanted to do was sit those young men down and do the writer thing to them. Which is trying to understand, trying to figure out what motivates them. I wanted to ask.. is this your life? Do you enjoy what you do? Does it make you happy? Where did you come from? How did you get here? When you were seven or eight years old and still believed in things, did you ever for a moment think you'd be earning a living by conning tired fat old tourists out of lunch money?
But perhaps that would be the most cruel thing I could possibly do to them. So I just handed over the three bux.
