Ms. Shopper’s in the store when her kid has to pee. While she’s helping the little one, her purse is stolen from the store restroom. She put it on the floor, hung it from the hook, left it on the stroller, whatever. Now it’s gone. She reports it to the store manager and goes home, distraught.
At home she gets a phone call. It’s the store. They’ve got her purse. She packs the little one into the car and drives back to the store with relief and apprehension. What will be missing from her bag?
Dragging the kid, she marches into the store, finds a manager, and expresses her gratitude, relief, and apprehension, all at once.
“We didn’t find it,” the manager says.
“But you phoned!”
“We didn’t.”
Ms. Shopper goes home, rattled.
Yep. Her house has been burglarized.
If you read this blog, you’re probably already security-conscious. But this reminder is worth repeating. Don’t trust anyone.
Sorry.
It’s a shame that’s what the world has come to. Even the good samaritan has to be looked at sideways.
Scammers are now blasting entire towns, phone number by phone number, telling residents that their debit card has been restricted. They target customers of a specific local bank or credit union, name it, and give the customer an 800 number to call in order to correct the situation. If you have a debit card from that financial institution, you just might believe it. Well, other people are believing it. After all, their caller-ID proves that it really is the bank calling.
Or does it? The scammers are able to “spoof” the phone number, so it only appears to be the bank calling. You have no inkling that you’ve been targeted by overseas phishers. If you aren’t a customer of that bank, you probably just hang up and forget it.
If you follow the scammers’ instructions, you’ll give them your card number, pin, and all the other juicy data they need to rack up the charges.
So the tired old reminder worth repeating is this: If you suspect a problem with your bank account or debit card, etc., call your bank’s main number. Call the number on the back of your card or on your bank statement. Especially don’t call a number given to you by the bearer of the news.
Don’t give your credit card details if “the front desk” seems to be calling you in your hotel room. It’s a scam!
Heads up, travelers. Beware the clever new scam happening in hotels now.
In order to thwart it, proactive properties are placing notes like this one into guest rooms:
Dear Guest:
Lately, scam artists are attempting to secure credit card numbers from guests in hotels. They’re calling guest rooms at random and claiming to be hotel employees needing to verify credit card information. For your own protection, please do not give your credit card number over the telephone while staying in the hotel. …
Hotel phone scam
My regular readers know that I stay in hotels more than 200 nights a year, and I research scams and cons. Yet, even I could very easily have fallen for this perfectly believable trick. It falls into the “pretexting” and “social engineering” categories. I got a chill reading this hotel management’s note, having just received a similar phone call in a different hotel a few days before. It took me a moment to recall that the request was for my frequent stay account number, not my credit card. Whew!
I’ve confirmed this ruse’s widespread existence with police and hotel security chiefs in several countries. Although aware of the ploy, not all properties believe in taking a proactive approach. As always, it’s up to us travelers to look after ourselves.
“Somehow they get the guest’s name, call the room, and explain that they are from either room service or the front desk and need the credit card number again,” the security director of a major hotel group told me.
“We never connect calls if the person calling can’t say the name of the guest he/she is looking for,” said the security manager of another hotel chain.
But a phone-pharming data-miner can sequentially call every room in a hotel once he knows the phone number convention. Most of us, as generally trusting (and/or oblivious) humans, will miss the fact that the data-miner on the phone fails to address us by name. If he’s any good, he’ll get “the name on the card” just as easily as he gets every other useful tidbit, and I’d bet he gathers quite a few “profiles.”
Legal-but-dirty, beat-the-system, shady business is being committed by Las Vegas homeowners at the inducement of a real estate agent, as reported by Joel Stein in TIME magazine (8/14/09 issue).
[Real estate agent Brooke] Boemio specializes in short selling, in a particularly Vegas way. Basically, she finds clients who owe more on their house than the house is worth (and that’s about 60% of homeowners in Las Vegas) and sells them a new house similar to the one they’ve been living in at half the price they paid for their old house. Then she tells them to stop paying the mortgage on their old place until the bank becomes so fed up that it’s willing to let the owner sell the house at a huge loss rather than dragging everyone through foreclosure. Since that takes about nine months, many of the owners even rent out their old house in the interim, pocketing a profit.
“It’s greedy. But we’re all doing it. Because why not?” It’s very hard, she says, to suffer as the one honest person in a town of successful con artists.
I have no problem suffering as the one honest person in Vegas and I know many others who’d say the same. Boemio seems to be implying that she has given up honesty and joined the con artists of Las Vegas. In a blog about scams and cons, how can I not report this smelly business allegedly occurring in my own backyard?
First though, I’m wondering why banks extend loans to people who already have a hefty mortgage. How do they qualify? Easy, says a real estate lawyer I consulted. The buyer claims the new house will be owner occupied, while the old one will provide income from rent. While investor loans may be hard to get right now, those for owner-occupied houses are not. The fact that the borrowers can afford to pay their mortgage—they just don’t want to!—and default on the loan, choosing to give their money to another lender on a “better” deal is a question of ethics, not legality. If you’re a person of principle, you might have a hard time walking away from the promise you made to pay back your loan. If you’re a Vegas scumbag, or a con artist, or really, really hurting financially, there’s another option: you can simply skip on the loan. Because, why not?
Ever hear of the Golden Rule, Boemio? “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” What a simple way to fix the world.
Anyway, back to scams and cons. While the broker is scamming the system, she’s not committing fraud. The homeowners knowingly and temporarily destroy their own credit for the privilege of upgrading their homes and lowering their financial obligations. But otherwise, only the banks are hurt—and who pities the banks? It seems to be the state of Las Vegas and, actually, the state of the country. Look out for yourself. Get what you can. Screw the other guy.
This is practically the definition of kiasu, the Chinese-Singaporean attitude of “me first.” Bob and I spent much time in Singapore, but never quite got the hang of pushing to the front of the line, taking all the lychees on the buffet in case there were no more later, diving into a train before the departing passengers can get off, etc.
We’ve imported so much from Asia. Now we have kiasu, If you don’t believe in the Golden Rule, get the hang of kiasu. Because, why not?
A tiny skimmer removed from an ATM way back in 2006.
A reader wrote of an ATM experience which, soon after, led to $9,000 in fraudulent withdrawals. He was abroad, but this happens at ATMs everywhere; and so frequently that I think it’s worth posting as a reminder.
As I was using an atm at a money exchange kiosk, I received the cash I wanted but was unable to get my card back. The man in back of me told me I had to enter my pin number again in order to have the card returned. He even reached in front of me and hit some buttons and told me to enter my pin. I did so and after a slight wait, the card came back. The experience was unsettling because I had never heard of entering a pin number a second time to get your card back after a transaction and no one had ever brazenly reached in front of me to assist me at an atm. Since I received my cash and finally my card, I felt everything was fine. But that was the day the mysterious withdrawals began.
I called my bank as soon as I realized there was a problem. The woman I spoke with immediately closed the credit card account linked to my atm card. Within a couple weeks, the bank had deposited the total of the disputed withdrawals into my account.
There are two essential goodies the card fraudster needs: the info on your card and your PIN. Info on the card can be gained in many ways. A snapshot can be taken of it with a cellphone camera, an imprint can be made, or a skimmer can be attached to the ATM itself. Nowadays, skimmers can be tiny and imperceptible. The vital PIN can be easily obtained by the crafty thief’s strategy. The example above is a classic: the false samaritan. The fraudster offers help in order to gain what he needs. Sometimes these “samaritans” even make cellphone calls to helplines, handing the phone to the mark; but the person on the other end of the phone call is the fraudster’s colleague, who pretends to be a bank official.
To protect against these scams, first, don’t use an ATM that looks suspicious in any way. Unfortunately, they usually don’t look suspicious, even if they’ve been tampered with. Second, shield your PIN with your hand as you enter it. A wireless video camera may be mounted to capture the entry of your PIN. The illicit video camera, which is only the size of a sugar cube, might be in front of you, so your body won’t block it. Use your hand. Third, if your card gets stuck, get suspicious! Do NOT accept help from a stranger. Walk away from the card if you must, but do not give up your PIN. And lastly, always suspect the stranger who enters your personal sphere. That’s just not natural. He or she is after something—of yours!
It’s sad that we must suspect a friendly stranger, but a look at identity theft statistics is enough to convince anyone that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Ruthless, creative scammers specialize in benevolence, and they’re darn convincing. CONvincing, as in gaining your CONfidence. That’s why they’re called CON artists!
All these photos are framegrabs from video; not very high-resolution. Here the victim watches as the thief, in front of him (in a gray-striped shirt) puts her hand in his pocket. In the background, another Clavelera (in gray sweater) conducts another theft.
The Offer of a Flower is a Foil for Filching
Palma de Mallorca, Spain— Bob and I trailed a trio of young women through Palma’s shopping district. Working separately but near each other, they halfheartedly approached a seemingly random selection of meandering tourists. Most ignored the women’s overtures, but one amiable couple paused with interest.
Bob filmed the scene and I alternated between watching the scam and watching Bob’s back. He was balancing a huge camera on his shoulder and I carried the ponderous tripod and brick-like battery. Neither of us could hear the exchange, if there was one, but the con artist must have made her desires clear. The male tourist had his wallet out, then replaced it in his front shorts pocket. Bob and I could see the pocket from where we stood, behind him. As we watched (and filmed), the con woman reached across the man and put her hand into his pocket! She made no particular effort to disguise her move, and the man reacted not at all. How brazen she was, and how trusting was he. How well she read him.
Bad photo, but I like the action.Remember this face.
Suddenly, I was roughly pushed. I had failed to notice that one of the thief’s partners had observed our camera focused on her teammate. She raised her hand to push away the camera and I blocked her with my arm. Her fist crashed down on my wrist, breaking my stainless-steel watchband.
“No photo!” she shouted.
Now Bob swung around and looked at the woman through his lens.
“No photo!” she yelled again, and ineffectively waved a tissue at the camera. Then she swiveled, bent, and rose in one fluid motion, and hefted a massive rock. In a classic pitcher’s posture—or was she about to throw like a girl?—she aimed for the camera lens. A frame captured from the video makes a lovely portrait of her, rock poised in one hand, dainty bouquet of carnations in the other.
Wound up and ready to smash our camera, she bared her teeth and raised one foot.
“Hey-hey-hey!” commanded a male voice behind us, or something to that effect in the woman’s language. A cloud of dust rose and the earth shook as her boulder plunked to the ground.
With a sneer, the would-be destroyer turned and rejoined her companions, who had just finished their scam. Bob and I caught up with the victims.
“First they pretended to give us the flower,” the woman said cheerily, “but then they asked for one peseta.” She and her husband were both smiling, amused by the bold stunt and pleased to be interviewed.
“When I gave her some money, she gave it back,” the husband cut in. “She said no-no-no. And she put her hand in my pocket and the hand came out. I only lost 400 pesetas.”
That explained their jovial mood.
The Massies, British tourists, happily fall for the scam.
Palma de Mallorca has long been a favorite holiday destination for Germans and Swedes, and for Europeans in general. Many British retire to Mallorca, or have second homes there. Ferries bring daytrippers from mainland Spain, and cruise ships regularly dump sightseers by the thousands to bask in this balmy Spanish paradise. Its beaches and nightclubs are a perennial draw, and have been long before the spotlight hit Ibiza. Low-lying criminals, too, are attracted to Palma’s easy-going lifestyle and laid-back law enforcement.
“Claveleras, that’s all we do!” one of Palma’s police officers told us in exasperation. Clavel means carnation; claveleras are the thieves who use them. The police officer had stopped us from filming an incident at the claveleras’ request.
Bob's filming brazenly, from over his head. The thieves jump at the camera, then threaten me. The Massies look on, baffled and unaware that the women are thieves.
“Why do you protect them?” I asked the cop. “They’ve been here for years!”
“It’s not possible to arrest them,” the officer said. “They only took 200 euros. It’s not enough. They must take 300.”
“But they’ve been doing this for years! It’s ruining Palma’s reputation.”
“Yes. I know all of them. Their names, their addresses.”
“Then why don’t you let a tourist,” Bob said, “like me, put 400 euros in his pocket, let them take it, and then you can arrest them.”
The conversation circled unsatisfactorily, revealing firewalls between politicians, law enforcement, journalists, tourist bureau, and the unfortunate tourists. We, like the police, threw up our hands.
After all the commotion we cause, the women snatch the carnation away from the Massies.
We met Douglas and Evelyn Massie outside the fortress, yet another pair of British victims. Their nemesis was a young woman, perhaps in her 30s, who wore track pants and a jacket—an updated wardrobe.
“Would you like to go to the police station?” we asked them. “You won’t get your money back, but a police report might help you with a claim to your insurance company and we’ll translate for you.”
Another clavelera thief who doesn't like her picture taken.
At the police station we were perfunctorily handed a poorly-photocopied theft report form in English. Heading the list of common M.O.s was “woman with carnation.” The Massies duly Xed the box while Bob and I marveled at a system that could officially acknowledge and simultaneously condone such activities. After all, we’d observed this swindle for ten years: same women, same technique, same locations.
A tattered photo album was put before the Massies without comment. Page after page of female mug shots stared up from under plastic. There was the grandmother gang, and there a pair of tall sisters we’d watched. There was the Massies’ snaggle-toothed tormentor and there, grinning wryly, was our infamous rock thrower.
Our rock-thrower's mugshot is at the upper right.
The Massies huddled judiciously over their theft report and laboriously printed out in block letters a story that would likely never be read.
But their tale will be told—by the Massies and by thousands of people who have had the good fortune to visit Palma. The story begins: There was an old woman, who gave me a flower…
This is Part 3 of The Flower Gift Lift. Read Part 1Â Â Â —Â Â Â Â Part 2
There\’s a victim for every thief. Two claveleras have their backs to the camera.
Palma de Mallorca, Spain— Thirty to forty women practice this form of filching every day in Palma. They linger where the tourists are: around Palacio Almudiana in particular, and in the small cobblestone streets around Plaza Mayor. The women perform one-on-one, but they work in groups. We see them walk “to work” in gangs of six or seven, gossiping merrily along the way. As they approach their territory, they don their “uniforms,” tying dark aprons around their waists, scarves on their heads. Many are younger women, in their 30s, 40s, and 50s. The youngest eschew the scarves and, instead of aprons, tie jackets around their waists, keeping the pockets available.
At Palacio Almudiana, we planted ourselves at the end of an elevated walkway to the Moorish fortress. We had a JVC professional video camera on a tripod that day—a huge, heavy thing—and with its long fine lens we could film close-ups unnoticed at a distance.
From around a corner at the far end of the stone walkway appeared a group of six men—German tourists, we later learned. Happily oblivious, they had just toured the fortress. As they turned into the otherwise empty walkway, five women from the morning babushka brigade rushed after them, literally running, with heavy, effortful steps. The eldest woman found a victim first, grabbing the arm of one of the men and roughly poking a flower into his shirt. As she began her swindle, her colleagues, all four of them, attached themselves to four others of the men. In a jolly, holiday mood, the men allowed the women’s aggressive physical appeal without suspicion.
Examining their wallets, the men tote up the damage.
It only took about two minutes. One by one the men broke free, some wearing red carnations, some not. As they sauntered towards us on the walkway, folding and replacing their wallets, the five women regrouped behind them and disappeared around the far corner. Bob stopped three of the Germans.
“Did you lose any money?” he asked, without explaining what we’d just witnessed.
“And why would we?” one of the men challenged.
“I saw you with some thieves,” Bob said. “Count your money.”
All three brought forth their wallets and checked their contents.
“Fifteen thousand pesetas—gone!” one of them shouted. That was about U.S. $85 at the time.
“They got twenty-five thousand from me,” said another, “and now I realize how. She said she wanted a peseta and I tried to give it to her. But she returned it and now my money is gone.”
“I was pinching the wallet like so,” the third man explained smugly. “She wanted to get into the wallet, but I didn’t let go. I have all my money.”
The claveleras use whatever aggression is required to give their flower gifts.
We filmed numerous encounters by this gang and by others, in this location and around the town, on this day and over the course of ten years. Without speaking to each victim, it’s impossible to state the percentage of these thieves’ success. Even the victims aren’t always certain whether or not a few bills have been taken, or how much money they started with. Only the thieves know for sure. Clearly, it’s a worthwhile game for them.
In one brilliant piece of footage, several women can be seen earnestly engaged in their one-on-one scams. We pan from one encounter to another, close up. One of the women is seen “closing her deal,” pushing her left fistful of flowers against her opponent’s wallet. As she steps back, apparently satisfied, she loses her grip and money flutters to the ground.
The victim and thief both notice, one puzzled, the other disgusted.
In another scene, an Asian visitor smiles delightedly when a bright red carnation is tucked into his shirt pocket. The old woman, dressed in black from head to toe, raises one finger. One peseta, she requests. The tourist withdraws his wallet and offers a bill, still smiling. Taking the money, the woman raises her finger again, then returns the bill. As the Asian tourist replaces his money, the thief moves in on his wallet and a subtle battle ensues. The man’s expression begins to shift from pleasure to perplexity, then consternation. The woman, defeated, snatches back the flower and moves on.
This is Part 2 of The Flower Gift Lift. Read Part 1 — Read Part 3
Palma de Mallorca, Spain— She looks like your grandmother—possibly even your great-grandmother. With a gap-toothed smile, she offers you a single red carnation. Wordlessly, she pokes its short stem through your buttonhole. Is the old woman an unofficial ambassador of this island resort town?
“One peseta,” she pleads, or “one cent.”
Her black skirt and apron make you think of “the old country,” wherever it was your family began. Her simple cardigan sweater, dingy and pilled, gives her plump body a cozy look, a familiar look. Wisps of gray hair have escaped from the babushka tied tight beneath her chins. She is the image of trust.
The foreign coin she asks for is less than nothing to a tourist. Why not? You smile. You open your wallet, extract a small note.
Grandmother springs to action. “No, no, no,” she says urgently, as if you’re giving too much. Is the flower a gift, then? Or does she want a donation? What is she trying to communicate with such concern creasing her forehead?
She reaches for your wallet, points to your money, touches it. Whatever language you speak, she doesn’t. The international symbol for “this one” must do. Sign language and monosyllabic utterances.
A bunch of flowers and a newspaper hide her theft from the victim.
Without words, grandmother is trying to convey something. Her hands are fluttering around yours, pointing, tapping, hovering. A small bunch of red carnations is in her left fist and their spicy fragrance is intoxicating as she waves them around.
You’re focused on your wallet, your money, the old woman’s hands. What is she trying to tell you? If you’d look at grandmother’s pallid face, you’d be surprised to see such fierce concentration, such tension and determination. But you don’t look. She’s pointing, tapping. What is she trying to say?
She gives the bill back to you and you put it away. “Altra,” she insists. Finally, she taps a bill half exposed in your wallet. It’s the same one you offered in the first place! Her eyes flick up to yours for an instant. Permission sought and granted. With thumb and forefinger, the old woman removes the bill, nods her thanks, and pushes on the wallet with the bouquet. Put the wallet away now, is her implication. We’re finished.
Her last glance lacks grace, lacks the kindness you’d expect from a welcome-woman. Oh well… it was a small donation.
Or was it? It may be hours before you realize the old woman’s expertise.
With incredible skill and speed, she has dipped into your cash, snagged most of the bills, and folded them into her hand. She never takes all the notes—you’d notice. But most of them have been hooked around her third or fourth finger, expertly manipulated under the flowers, and hidden in her fleshy palm.
She’s a one-trick magician, a walk-around performer who needs an audience of one. And her audience-participation act leaves many a disbelieving assistant in her wake. I need a volunteer, she may as well have said. Hold out your wallet and I’ll show you a trick. She needs no applause; her reward goes into her apron pocket.
A shoulder-surfer in Stockholm gets seniors' PIN, then steals their ATM card.
I want to wail even in Sweden, because the country has long been perceived as enjoying a relatively low crime rate. And it did. But not any more.
The day I arrived in Stockholm, the paper featured a spread on thieves lurking at ATMs who preyed on the elderly. The scam stars a shoulder-surfer lying in wait for seniors to come use a cash machine. He watches them enter their PINs, then tricks them into allowing their bank card to be physically stolen in one way or another. The thief may ask to change a ten crown note, or may meet the mark at the parking meter and ask for a small coin. Anything to get the mark’s wallet out.
One wallet, many hands.
Then what? “Magic arts,” one victim said. “Finger magic,” said the police. Hard to believe that a bank card can be stolen from a victim’s wallet right under his nose. Yet, Bob and I recognize the trick we call the “flower gift lift,” as practiced by women in Palma de Mallorca (and I’m sure other places, too). It’s forceful, brazen, devious, and it works. I’ve written about that here.
The Stockholm shoulder-surfer was part of an international gang from Romania. He and one other were sentenced to a few years in prison. Police say they’ve operated all over Sweden, targeting the elderly and handicapped. ATM surveillance photos show victims in wheelchairs and using walkers.
At around the same time. a community newspaper warned of “false policemen” also targeting seniors at ATMs. The thieves convinced the seniors that they needed their bank cards and PINs in order to control illegal withdrawals. Police report additional ploys: door-to-door police impostors warn of burglaries in the neighborhood and want to photograph jewelry and valuables. Whatever the ploy, the thief gets in—cash and valuables go out.
Graph from www.bra.se
As I was writing this, the evening news came on. Seems some scammers are knocking on seniors’ doors to give them tips about H1N1. Rather, one scammer knocks and talks. While the senior is occupied, the other slips in and robs the resident.
Meanwhile, last month, police saw for the first time credit cards being skimmed at gas pumps. “So far police have no suspects and haven’t been able to determine how the skimming operation has been carried out.” I have advised them!
Skimmers have been found attached to ATMs at Ikea and a Stockholm Toys R Us store. There was a home invasion in the sleepy suburb where my family lives.
What has Sweden come to?
In Bangkok, seemingly corrupt police are extorting large sums from foreign visitors. In South Africa, pseudo-cops are stopping drivers and pedestrians, requesting wallets in order to see identification or “search for contraband,” then absconding. In Stockholm, thieves impersonating police lured seniors into give up their PINs at ATMs in the name of “controlling withdrawals.”
This strategy seems to have exploded recently, or at least is being recognized for what it is, or at least making it into the news.
The strategist elite are those who make participants of their victims. Like the Palma claveleras, they’re in your face with a story. Their only goal is to walk away with your wallet. Consummate con artists, they’re the slipperiest, wiliest, and most difficult to detect. Garbed in a counterfeit persona designed to gain your confidence, they lay bait and entrap their prey: usually the unsuspecting traveler.
Fake Police = Pseudo Cops
These strategists concoct ingenious schemes. Who could avoid falling for what happened to Glinda and Greg? They were walking in a foreign park in—well, it could have been anywhere, this is so common—when a gentleman approached them with a camera. He asked if one of them would mind taking his picture, and the three huddled while he showed them how to zoom and where to press. Suddenly two other men arrived and flashed badges. The man with the camera slipped away while the two “officials” demanded to know if the couple had “made any transaction” with him. Had they changed money with him illegally? They would have to search Glinda’s bag; and they did so, without waiting for permission.
“It all happened so fast,” Glinda told me a few days later, “I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t have time to think.” The “officials” absconded with Glinda’s wallet, having taken it right under her nose. In variations on this theme, the pseudo cops take only cash saying it must be examined, and they may even offer a receipt. Needless to say, they never return and the receipt is bogus.
On first impression, the pseudo cops’ scam is believable; their trick requires surprise, efficiency and confusion: they don’t allow time for second thoughts. Theirs is a cheap trick, really. They depend on a fake police shield to gain trust; they can’t be bothered to build confidence with an act. Authority is blinding, and that’s enough if they’re fast. It’s a thin swindle, but it works.
