Rouse's Point: There really are times when an offer is far too good to be true By John Rouse
Over the past couple of months I've been offered more than $30 million. Hey, I'm serious. E-mails flood into the computer at my Buckingham manse almost daily offering me fortunes from afar. One message declared that some long lost relative in Botswana (yes, I had to look it up, too) had declared me his sole heir and I should contact his barrister (Brit-speak for lawyer) to arrange for delivery of my big fat inheritance. Several self-proclaimed widows of various African heads of state and former despotic generals have also found it in their hearts to share millions of bucks with me even though I have never heard of any of them. Isn't that nice?
My e-mail address has also won a variety of lucrative lotteries across the globe as well as an offer of a nice chunk of cash from one poor soul who was about to croak but wanted to give me several million dollars, or euros, so she'll feel as though her life has been worth the time spent amassing, or stealing, all that money. It almost brought a tear to my eyes. Almost.
Gee, maybe I could have used this mass of cash to buy the destined-to-close Bowie City Hall and develop it as a haven for old curmudgeons, or perhaps fill it with slot machines, if they ever become legal in Maryland. Or, even better, I could have bought my entire street and fence it in, thus keeping the peddlers of religious tracts, landscaping and new siding from disturbing my afternoon naps or tearing me away from the joys of Bowie Community Media's Channel 77's afternoon offerings. I occasionally like to work out along with the determined and agile aerobics ladies and can never get enough of the erudite banter sent forth into the cable by Dave Sacks' "Green Light" show.
I decided to follow up on one of these recent offers of bountiful cash and e-mailed the alleged widow of some Third World bigwig who was just itching to give me a tidy sum to supplement my Blade-News pension and allow me to again afford to eat top-of-the-menu fare at Grace's Fortune. The supposedly overly moneyed lady replied, and quickly, that her "appointed representative" would carry the cash (boy, $2 million would fill a suitcase or two, I would imagine) from Nigeria (where else?) right to Bowie, but I would have to pay for his flight and his expenses. And probably his overweight baggage as well. Can't you just imagine the customs guys at BWI Airport eyeing all that cash? Ah, sure. I responded and asked why she couldn't just wire me the money. She said she had to have my signature on a release form and it had to be witnessed by her "representative" and blah, blah, blah. Oh, and the money for his flight as well as an advance on expenses should be wired to her. Wired? I then asked if it was OK for me to wire her money, why couldn't she do the same for me? After one more e-mail from the old widow, in fractured English ("My thinks your confused to the needs for money shipping to USA"), I grew bored with it all and ended the correspondence. I guess she knew the game was up, too, as I never heard from her again, though I continue to receive a stream of e-mails offering me more millions from equally bizarre individuals, mostly from Nigeria, including the widow of a king of some obscure country that is no doubt close to Nigeria.
I would think offers of money from these generous Nigerians could easily be wired over to the Bowie area since the Bank of Nigeria has, or will soon have, a branch in Prince George's County, thanks to the foreign negotiating skills of our globe-trotting county executive, Jack Johnson. I wonder if he might consider mediating for me in one of these big-bucks financial transactions? After all, I'd put the money right into my account at the Marketplace PNC Bank, thus giving a little boost to the county's economy, which, as we all know, is millions upon millions of dollars in the red. Maybe the county could get a loan from the Bank of Nigeria. I'd improve the local financial scene even more by eating out a lot and buying oodles of DVDs and CDs at Target.
If I were to find myself suddenly affluent, I might even shell out for an iPhone. Heaven knows my ancient cell phone needs upgrading. It doesn't allow text messages nor does it take pictures. It also merely rings rather than playing some ghastly pop musical selection or extracts from the "1812 Overture." And it sure would be nice to be able to afford a full tank of gas from Belair Sunoco.
What amazes me about these unexpected offers of wealth is that a recent magazine article claimed that a lot of people in this country have fallen for them and have lost thousands of dollars to the overseas scammers. Some dolts actually traveled to Nigeria foolishly hoping to pick up their cash. How stupid can people be? I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I can recognize a ludicrous and totally bogus scam within nanoseconds. Over the past week I've asked several Bowie acquaintances with computers (is there anyone left who doesn't own one?) if they were familiar with these Internet scams, and all of them said they were. When asked if they believed they could be real, each one looked at me as if I had broken wind in church.
Here's an example of how dumb someone would have to be to fall for one of these scams. One Nigerian "correspondent" sent me this impressive communication: "The Prime Minister of Britain in conjunction with U.S.A Government, World Bank, United Nations do hereby give this irrevocable joint approval order in your favor for your contract, inheritance and winning entitlements. You are therefore qualified to receive and confirm your payment with the United Nation(s) immediately within the next 48 hours. (The) Committee On Foreign Payment Matters in United Nations has picked interest in your payment file and want to make sure you receive your fund without hitches." Language is a bit tricky, but how about that? The British prime minister and the U.N. want me to get rich. My correspondent would get everything rolling once I sent him my phone number, the name of my bank, my bank account number and any account codes. Yeah, right. Can you really believe there are people out there stupid enough to do that?
The odds against winning the Maryland lottery (and I buy tickets every Friday from the always charming Bonita at the Free State Giant customer service desk) are astronomical, but there's nevertheless a chance, albeit teeny-tiny, of hitting big and getting presented with one of those big cardboard checks for several million smackers. Heck, I'd settle for several thousand. OK, hundreds. The odds that these overseas e-mail deals will ever yield a single penny are zero, and if you are suckered into one of them, it's going to cost you a lot more than what a Megamillions, or whatever it's called, ticket would set you back. You're better off dealing with Bonita.
I'm afraid my nearest and dearest are unlikely to find themselves flush with wealth anytime soon. But maybe I'll treat them to lunch once my financial stimulus check arrives from the IRS.
---
The writer is the retired editor of this newspaper.
