Short #4: Hope in a Envelope
Write about someone who thinks they just got a great deal on something, only for them to realize…
I was desperate. Between night classes and a slow season at the pizza shop, my bank account struggled to breathe. Thankfully, my boss was generous with leftover slices and school was a short walk from my one room apartment. I tried to pick up more shifts but my fellow servers were also students suffering through the downturn. And so I spent my lonely hours thumbing through the Free Times, searching for something to ease my anxiety. For weeks I stared at the Help Wanted ads. There were jobs for people with construction skills, telemarketing offers for “highly motivated” individuals, and manual labor gigs that paid less than I took home. And then, on the back page were advertisements, offers of quick cash with “little to no effort.” I did my best to ignore these sirens, having watched people I love fall into pyramid schemes and similar get-rich-quick shenanigans. But, I was desperate, tired of eating cold pizza and spending my nights at home alone.
In my heart, I knew. I knew it was a scam. But the ad read “Make money stuffing envelopes. Up to $5 per envelope! Work when you want. Make as much money as you want from the comfort of home. Simply send $5 to PO Box 38382, Charlotte, NC to receive your money by mail kit. Include your name and address.” And after weeks of staring at those words, I decided to give it a try.
I didn’t tell anyone, of course. Why encourage ridicule? My beat up Ford Festiva was already a magnet for jokes and shame. But, what if? What if it was real? What if I could make hundreds or thousands of dollars by stuffing envelopes?
After I mailed in my $5, I spent the next two weeks in a fantasy land. I could make a lot of money at $5 a pop. An envelope a minute would be equal to $300 per hour. And maybe, I could hire some friends at $2 per envelope. We’d all work one hour per day. After wages and expenses, I figured I could make over $500 every single day. Shoot! Maybe it’s not a scam, and I’m going to hit the jackpot. All hail Nik, the envelope stuffing king of North Carolina.
And then I thought about what I’d do with all my riches. Buy land, yes. But also, I’d donate money to charity. Why wouldn’t I? And then I’d invest, like the most wise of investors. My thousands would become millions in a matter of months. Yes. Of course they would. And, why not? The same man who had the skill set worthy of waiting tables would become a millionaire by stuffing envelopes and beating the stock market. It was all very logical. I also dreamed of giving my notice at the pizza shop. Obviously, I wouldn’t continue to wait tables for a few bucks an hour. Why would I? My soon-to-be envelope empire was about to make me rich. No more insatiable customers or bad tips. No more cleaning diarrhea splatter off the restroom floor.
After a week passed, I slowly began to let my fantasies fade into reality. Until one day, a large padded manilla envelope arrived in the mail. My eyes grew wide with excitement and I raced upstairs to my apartment, my package tucked tight between my arm and ribs like a football I refused to fumble.mOnce inside my apartment I kicked off my shoes and settled onto the couch, ready for my life to change.
First, I inspected the manila envelope for special markings or clues of its origin. It was as ordinary as could be, a stamp, my name and address, no return address. But, I remained hopeful. And then with a flourish, I slid my car key into a loose corner of the envelope to rip it open. It was not a smooth operation. My key caught on the air bubbles of the padding inside and left a jagged scar down the edge of the paper. Instead of a clean cut, it looked as though I used a shark to open my package. Bits of plastic bubble wrap and manila paper fell to the carpet around me. And I laughed at myself and thought about the story I’d tell Oprah one day, of how I opened the envelope that changed my life. Finally, I turned the envelope upside down and shook the contents into my open hand.
Prior to that moment, I ignored the thorn in my brain, a quiet observation that whispered, “this package is too thin.” And then, three measly sheets of paper fell into my hand. This can’t be it, I thought. But it was, and I felt my temperature begin to rise and anger fill my mind.
The first sheet congratulated me for being stupid except they didn’t use the word stupid. They used the word courageous. “Congratulations on taking the first step toward financial freedom. Most people aren’t as courageous as you.” There were more words on the paper but I didn’t need to read them. I knew I had been conned. My heart inched closer to my throat and my head began to pound with embarrassment as I skimmed the next few words, “Simply follow the instructions on page two.”
Out of a desire to know how bad I’d been had, I read page two. And as I expected, what followed was a scheme to commit mail fraud: page two told me to make copies of page three and post them around town- on telephone poles, bulletin boards, laundry mats- anywhere desperate people sought quick answers to their money woes. And page three was a flyer for “The Only Financial Freedom Book You’ll Ever Need.” Supposedly, this magical book contained all the insider information one needed to beat the stock market, buy real estate for “pennies on the dollar,” and all for the low price of $30.
The elegant element to this scam is how the con men tried to bait someone like me into being their middle man. You see, page two told me to add my name to the flyer. The $30 payments along with the name and address of the scammed were to be mailed to me, to my apartment. Then I’d “stuff an envelope” with $25, the name and the address of the scammed, and mail it to a new PO Box in the Charlotte area. Hence, I get my “$5 per envelope,” and the con men got a free $25.
That night, I sat on my couch and cried. I was embarrassed and angry. How had I, a man deemed so smart and worldly by so many, fallen into a mail scam? But there I was, still alone, still broke, headed back to the pizza shop in the morning. And, I wish I could say that’s the last time I let desperation drive my choices, but it ain’t so. $5 is nothing compared to what I lost in crypto.
