Confessions of a Scammer

The Blog of Deacon Caddel

Before you go on, please note that I have the occupation of a scam caller. 

That lone sentence would make anyone with half a brain click off this blog, or better yet, report it to the authorities or something.

I am simply a man doing my job, like any other businessperson in town. Yet I am made fun of, shunned even by my own family, and the common victim of acne-ridden teenagers' prank calls. If anything, people should respect us scam callers.

We work your average 9 to 5 in secret organisations, yet can call up to a thousand people in the span of one shift. That's more than the amount of spreadsheets completed or slideshows created per office department in a year, folks. Even better, us scam callers actually get paid fairly for what we do, and unlike cashiers or the like, we keep a large portion of the money we make off customers.

Our job isn't that gruelling either— we simply are provided with phones and are tasked to call random phone numbers with the same country calling code as the one we're currently in. And we get to do that as we lounge in plush chairs,  have the privilege to choose when our lunch breaks take place, and are free to wear whatever attire we'd like when we show up to work. My co-worker, Damien, once showed up in his pyjamas. Nobody even bat an eye!

When we call said phone numbers, we improvise our way into being given money from unsuspecting people. It takes good lying and acting skills to do so, and that's not a trait you see every day, do you? (Or maybe you do. But they're too good at hiding it, potentially.) So if any of your friends or family fit that description, chances are, they might work for us! Don't bother asking, though. Obviously, they will play dumb and lie about it.

As I type this, I'm calling someone in real time. Maybe I should type it out, so you can get the gist of my job. Yes, I'll probably do that.

"Hello?"

"Ma'am, this is your son's school calling," I said. "Our plumbing system just broke and we are in desperate need of renovation. Would you mind sending over some money to fund the process?" 

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "Okay..." She replied skeptically, not believing a word.

"Oh, well, thank you for your time, ma'am. I know rich folks like you have better to do." I sighed, feigning dejection.

"Wait, wait— I'll send some money over." The voice declared, afraid not doing so would ruin her reputation. With that, I sent her the link to my company's joint PayPal account.

Here's something I've learned from this job: If there's anything people cherish more than money, it's their own ego.

The rest of the call had went on swimmingly; I got my money, and she got the false notion she'd helped the 'impoverished'. In total, she had sent 5 grand. 

I kept 90% of the profit, so the remaining $500 had to be sent elsewhere.

Mobile in hand, I stood up and briskly made my way to the double doors at the back of my office. Knocking twice, I opened it slowly and ambled towards my boss.

Namely, The Lord Majesty Aglęca.

I approached it, gingerly scanning a QR code tattooed in the gaping jaws of Lord Aglęca. These days, QR codes were the only way you could provide offerings to the Lord. Failing to do so would result in immediate 'firing'. Although, I was certain it interpreted the action of 'firing employees' much more different than what you'd think. I looked at the burning hearth against the back wall, the flames swallowing a recently 'fired' co-worker, his body so mangled I could only recognize him from his clothing.

Lord Aglęca roared in approval, indicating the successful transfer of the money.

I bowed in respect. "Pleased to serve you, my Lord." I swore an oath in its language with a hand over my heart, Aglęca's gaze never leaving my body as I did so. I could only hope it was pleased with my offering, or I would be killed on the spot. After I was finished, it curtly nodded, dismissing me.

I left the room stoically, too afraid to do anything that would provoke the eldritch Lord.