Gumbo for One

And he looked like such a nice guy.

David Owen sent me a friend request on Facebook last week. I didn’t recognize the name, so I clicked on to his profile to see if we had any friends in common.

We didn’t.

I wasn’t sure how he had gotten my name, but I’ve made a few random friends on Facebook in the past. I might make a new friend—and God knows I could use them.

His profile described him as an elderly widower who lived in New Orleans. He seemed harmless. How could I turn someone like that down?

If I ever go to New Orleans, I thought, I could look David up and he could show me the sites. There’s nothing like getting a tour of a strange city from a local.

And if David should decide to visit New York, I’d be more than happy to show him around town.

Now at about this point you’re probably hopping up and down in front of your computer screaming “Schmuck, what’s the hell is the matter with you? It’s a scam!”

And rightfully so.

I only wish you had been there before I very unwisely accepted his friend request. Believe me, I’m saying the same thing now.

It’s not like anything terrible happened—to the best of my knowledge.

But shortly after I accepted David’s request, I received a request from another total stranger—Jim something.

I didn’t even click on this one, knowing now that I was being yanked.

I quickly unfriended David Owen, changed my password, and posted a message on Facebook warning my real friends that David Owen was a must to avoid.

I’m not sure what the plan was for David Owen, but scammers try to gain their victims’ confidence and then hit them up for money.

I supposed new best friend would have dropped some sob story on me that would end with a plea for cash. Or he might pitch some great business opportunity that promised to pay off big time.

The Big Sleazy

At least one of my friends got rooked in by this phantom—solely because of his association with me—and I felt rather dumb.

I’ve written stories as a reporter warning people about online scams. Why was I such a sap when it came to my own social media behavior?

Clearly, part of this stems from a need for—no matter how tenuous. I love working from home, but it does limit human contact.

I also felt guilty turning down someone I believed to be a lonely old man.

I’m not getting any younger. There might come a time when I’ll be feeling isolated, and I’ll want to meet new people.

I also have a people-pleasing flaw in my character where a part of me is desperate to be liked and anxious for everyone to get along.

And these are all things that con artists prey on.

The Massachusetts Consumer Affairs Office recently posted a story on its blog page about an intern at the office who had received a Facebook friend request from a relative he hadn’t seen in years.

“Not wanting to be rude he accepted,” the post said.

Not wanting to be rude.

How many scam stories getting rolling on the strength of these words? Of course, this request was bogus and involved some happy horse manure about a briefcase full of money.

So, David Owens, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be your friend.

And if I ever do go to New Orleans, I’ll eat my gumbo alone.