Shame lives in that fuzzy space between our original desire to create harmony and our ultimate comprehension that we’ve been conned.
I’ve been scammed a couple of times. Notably by taxi drivers. Who hasn’t? Once in Paris and the other time in New York City. The scammers were good both times. Each took place in a moment of slight confusion when I wasn’t quite paying attention and was in slightly foreign situations.
When each fake taxi swooped in, I must have felt lucky, like things were too good to be true. Maybe I realized the car wasn’t in the right lane or perhaps that the passenger queue was absent. I might have ticked even on the car’s lack of distinguishing markings or noticed that the cabbie’s meter looked phony.
But the drivers were so friendly and accommodating. Both were helpful and very chatty. Suddenly whooshing me and my luggage and family members into their vehicles to save the day so skillfully and with such intention that I accepted.
I wanted them to take me to my new destination.
A client, or any human being, has trouble holding two conflicting beliefs at the same time. Fake and real. Good and bad. Yes and no. So a choice is quickly made.
The mental discomfort of experiencing inconsistency between our own thoughts or beliefs and another’s actions, is often so unbearable that we rush to make it right by placating or ignoring, by denying or rejecting, by avoiding or explaining the contradictory behavior away in order to stay the course or to be polite or just to belong.
“A nice cabbie cannot be a crook. He said he would take me safely to my destination… forget about the missing meter!”
I personally really like nice people and I love to chat too. I’ve always been absolutely sure there’s good in everyone, convinced that each situation in which I find myself brings lessons to be learned. My mom refers to it as always finding a pony in every pile of shit, which is precisely how I’ve moved in this world. With optimism. With my eyes on the experimental prize. With the conviction that every single day brings with it adventure and opportunity… for something!
So I get into the car. And I go for the ride. And I usually chat the whole way as I look out the windows at the sights and plan for the excitement of my arrival… but obviously until very recently, without being truly present to what’s really transpiring… often throwing my caution to the wind or, in fact, right out the window.
And that’s is exactly how the con man scams his prey. First, he chooses her. Then, if he’s really good, he doesn’t even need to chat in order to distract her. He follows her lead. He mirrors her behavior and gives her more of what she wants and needs. Comfort, protection, safety, speed… entertainment, information, guidance… agreement… He reels her in, to make her HIS accomplice… so she can never really — not — have known.
Which is exactly where the guilt is hatched and where the scam lives.
When the car pulls up at the passenger’s destination and the cabbie asks for his stupendous fare, the guilt and the judgement set in.
She knew it was too good to be true, didn’t she? This was as much her fault as it was his. She should have known better. She should have seen it coming.
The driver had seemed so nice originally, but if he could do this, he could probably do anything. He starts acting aggressively and fear takes hold. He has her luggage. He could hurt her. Should she shout? Cry out for help? Or just pay him and move on?
One out of two clients probably gives the pirate taxi driver at least half of the fake fare they demand. Rarely are they caught. Rarely do clients have the time to get their fake numbers and so what if they did? So rarely do the confidence men ever pay for their scams.
The pickup always happens in a busy, confused setting when the client is not at her best and not in her element. The drop off as well. The angst and frenzy of the moment are accompanied by her embarrassment, shame and guilt. It’s invariably messy. But the unlicensed taxi just moves on to his next victim… while the ex passenger is left reeling on the side of the road.
A taxi ride like that lasts only 30–40 minutes. Ploof-ploof and the scam’s complete.
But I was with Ted for nearly 12 years. We were married even.
I’d trusted him with my own life and with those of my children, with my home and my money, with my health and well being, with my dreams and with my deepest desires.
He’d picked me up at my most vulnerable — as my attorney… as the wise and gifted and powerful savior in my emotional separation from the father of my young children, in a foreign country where I was alone, with no family and little money.
He listened to me. He took me where I thought I wanted to go.
He used me the whole way for his solo amusement.
Then he kicked me out of his car. Bereft. And drove away.
Scamming is more than an amateur sport. It’s not just a hobby. It’s a honed skill. And Ted was a pro in every sense of the term.
That’s where my shame and guilt live… in the realm of the coulda-shoulda-woulda. Why hadn’t I seen it coming? How did I let it happen? In what way was I an enabler? Was I an accomplice even or just another woman in a compromising situation under the influence of another powerful man?
As a victim, I could continue to beat myself up for a lot longer, but as a survivor, I’ve chosen to pick my bags back up and move on to bigger and better things for myself alone.
And I actually consider myself lucky… because although Ted stole my life out from under me, he did leave me with a mountain of lessons learned and a come-to-Jesus moment I’d never-ever imagined.
So if I mark my own words — that “every single day brings with it adventure and opportunity for something amazing” — I can chalk this one up to the most insane ride I’ve ever experienced.
