The Language of Getting Scammed, Naming the Wreckage, and Leaving It Behind

I needed to get scammed a little, at least once in my life.
It didn’t lead to financial ruin, or personality death and public evisceration.
Crawling back from that scam transformed into a brutal course. Real Life 101.
That heinous act, designed to empty my pocket, fine-tuned my BS radar.

So what’s the story? I received a small retrenchment package.
I began saying goodbye to my teaching post, after six years.
Just before the last weeks, a furiously motivated team of “entrepreneurs” rocked up at the school.
What a gig.
They represented a “Business College,” but their MO was brilliant.
They demonstrated a memory palace trick. Yeah, a gimmick, but a powerful one.
Immediately, pupils attending the show managed to remember big numbers through mnemonic association.
The entrepreneurs handed out callback forms. Pupils who were interested could request a callback.
What a nice way to fabricate solid leads. “Ma’am, thanks for taking my call, this is Joe from Blah Blah Inc. Your child, Suzie, expressed a sincere desire to grow and learn lots and lots and achieve scholastic excellence. May I tell you about our Advance Course.”

But the memory circus brought something else to the table that day. There was an additional twist.
Teachers were recruited to join “the entrepreneurs” and earn big bucks, for a price.
The new recruit would engage with extensive training at the Business College HQ.
I was in a vulnerable place. I knew I would be leaving permanent employment soon.
That week, the entrepreneurs’ boss phoned me personally.
I went to see her and she convinced me to buy in. I lost a lot of money.
I needed to have an escape plan. I needed to say I was being useful and that I found a new job. Of course,
I was manipulated, but my burning need to see a way forward paved the way for the illusion that there was a road.
Of course I was manipulated , but my desperation laid the road for the illusion.
There was nothing though. After training, I set up two calls and failed terribly.
Even before I purchased the right to change eager young lives, I knew I wasn’t salesman material. I did not have the demeanour.

Was I scammed? Yes, but I scammed myself. My needs and fears ruled logical thought.
It took me a while to face the wreckage, and call it by name. It took me a while to face the wreckage and name it.
Brutal honesty: the only way out of your own bullshit.
The wreckage was: me being numbed by fear and convincing myself that
benevolent strangers out there were ready to step up as saviours.
When I finally faced the wreckage, I knew I needed a new job, fast, and I began studying COBOL, to capitalize
on the Y2K drama that hit the computing world.
Facing the wreckage also meant there would be no quick fixes. Not for me.

I can add that facing that wreckage was worse than facing serious illnesses and surgery as a child.
Emotionally it was tougher than surviving conscription in the military.
I was the one making the choices, and accountability ended with my subsequent choices.
I could not say, Oh the universe dragged all of this across my threshold.
I couldn’t blame the universe for dragging this across my threshold. Nope, it was just me.

So what else can I say about facing the wreckage?
Well, it’s one of those magnifying mirrors that show all the blackheads and pores up close.
It’s not a flattering sight.
Blaming someone else’s driving skills for a wreckage is easier than blaming your own lack of discernment.
But I also found forgiveness.
My wife supported me. I forgave myself.
Stronger, we emerged from the experience.
Wiser, more cynical, and prepared. We crossed the threshold of believing, straight into knowing.