6 hours ago
4
I am staring at my computer, mouth ajar, when my phone rings. The call is from an unknown mobile number, which I would not normally answer, but I’ve just emailed someone requesting an interview, with my own phone number appended to the bottom, and I’m hoping this might be them. I’m also hoping it might not be them.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hello, is that Tim, yeah?” a male voice says. I leave a long pause.
“Yeah,” I say. This is definitely not the person I emailed. In the background I hear the sound of a busy open-plan office – a call centre perhaps.
“Good morning, Tim,” he says. “I’ve just got some urgent questions to ask you about your account.”
“What account?” I say.
“The account you set up with us,” the voice says.
“With who?” I say.
“Maybe you don’t remember setting up the account?” he says.
“What account?”
“Maybe you … ” He stops speaking for a moment. I’m pretty certain I hear him giggle.
“You may have dealt with my colleague Tony,” he says, now openly laughing. “I think …”
“I don’t know who you are,” I say. “Or what you’re talking about.”
“If you could just … ” But he is suddenly too hysterical to say anything more. There is only the occasional snort – the sound of a man trying and failing to regain control of himself. I hang up.
As bewildered as I am, it still hurts to be randomly rung up and laughed at. I leave my office shed, cross the garden, step into the kitchen and tell the oldest one what happened. Soon he too is laughing.
“What was he trying to do?” he says.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe he was on his first day of being a phone scammer, and forgot to read the part of the script where he pretends to be from my bank.”
“Do you think?” the oldest one says.
“And then he just couldn’t recover,” I say. “Or maybe he was just laughing at me.”
“Maybe,” the oldest one says.
“Either way, it’s the lack of professionalism I find galling,” I say. “Even the people trying to con me out of my savings can’t be bothered to take it seriously.”
To be honest I find it increasingly hard to distinguish between fraud and incompetence. Every example of either feels like a deliberate attempt to confuse me. My stock response when I think I’m being manipulated – to feign incomprehension – is now genuine: I have no idea what’s going on.
This time last year, while waiting at home for a package, I received a text announcing that my parcel had been successfully delivered within the scheduled window. But my doorbell had not rung and the text included a photograph of a man in a pink jumper with a snowflake on the front, standing on his doorstep holding my parcel. According to the text, the man was called Dave.
I knew no Dave, nor did I recognise his yellow front door. I suspected an elaborate scam, at least until my package arrived later that day. After that I began to suspect I’d simply been texted the picture of Dave in error, at a highly coincidental moment. In truth, I never for a moment understood what was going on.
Many years ago I invented a charmless PA called Ron, who answered my phone, was monosyllabic with cold callers, and claimed not to have any idea when I would be available.
“Yeah, fine,” Ron would answer when asked to pass on a message, in a tone that made it clear he wouldn’t. Ron was, in many ways, my truest self. Ron knew what was going on.
I’ve been lost in thought in the kitchen for some minutes when the oldest one clears his throat in a manner that says: I’m working.
“When’s lunch?” I say.
“I have a Zoom meeting at one, so after that,” he says. I think: so like Ron.
I go back to my shed. A few minutes later my phone rings – another unknown number. For old times’ sake, I adopt Ron’s unfortunate manner.
“Hello,” I say.
“Is that Tim?” a voice says. I’m about to say I’m not here, when I realise this is the person I’ve emailed requesting an interview.
“Yes it is,” I say brightly, picking up a pen and a notepad with questions on it. “Thank you so much for doing this!”
