Gaps in My Logic
The scam wasn't convincing because it was clever, but because it understood human psychology
I’ve made a career of poking logical holes in things: bugs in computer programs, gaps in software requirements, areas for improvement in a user interface. I like to say that my science education helped. College science courses taught me how to do controlled tests to evaluate hypotheses — that is, how to objectively determine whether something is true or false. You vary the experiment conditions, one factor at a time, to see if A and B really do necessarily lead to C. Rather than trusting a single observation, you gather data to see what’s really going on under the surface.
I was ashamed that I’d fallen for it. I watch John Oliver; I’m savvy, smart, and technologically literate; I don’t share fake news or AI slop on social media.
I apply this framework in my tech job and because my brain never really turns off, I approach nearly everything in life with a level of skeptical questioning. This annoys my husband when he tries to make conversation about anything with a remotely scientific bent, but when used appropriately, skepticism is a useful skill to have. Don’t trust what people are selling you without doing a little digging for independent verification, especially in a world that’s rife with scammers.
I thought it was unlikely for a youngish adult who has all her mental faculties and the benefits of automated spam filters to fall prey to a scammer. My Google phone and email are great about routing suspicious messages to spam folders. My job makes me take phishing awareness training at least once a year, and I never get fooled by their orchestrated phishing test emails. I’m in the habit of never answering calls from unknown numbers. But one day I saw the words “Marion County Sheriff’s Department” on the live transcript of an incoming call. I picked up the phone.
“Hello ma’am,” the man said, then stated my correct full name and address. “I’m calling because our records show you failed to appear for jury duty.”
My internal alarm system went off; not alerting me to the possibility of a scam, but stoking the adrenaline that comes when I think I’ve done something wrong. Whenever a problem occurs in my world (an incident at work, my son breaking a rule at school), these adrenaline surges push me instantly toward the conclusion that I am the cause of it and that I need to make amends. It’s part of being a high achiever who’s terribly afraid of being less than perfect. This Honor Student would certainly never ignore a jury summons. In fact, I’d received my first one ever about six months previously and was excited to get a peek at the judicial process. I want nothing more than to be a good citizen: a neutral, objective, rational tool of justice.
But I didn’t get officially called up the first time, and I never saw a second summons come to my house. Could it have gotten lost in the mail? I suggested this desperately, to the caller from the sheriff’s office. He could hear the Pollyanna panic in my voice.
“Oh yeah, yeah, we’ve heard about that happening, it’s not uncommon. Don’t worry about that. However, ma’am, you do owe a fine of two thousand dollars. You need to come and pay it in person.”
He gave me the address of the local county courthouse, as well as a docket number for my case.
Crap! I thought. That large sum of money set my heart to racing. Ignorance is no excuse when it comes to the law, but maybe when I get to the courthouse I can explain what happened.
***
I’m glad to pay restitution when I’m truly in the wrong. I only argued with the law once when I got a sixty-dollar ticket for failing to feed an unseen parking meter at a grocery store that I went inside for ten minutes, tops. It was the only time I’d been cited for anything car-related. I’ve always been a safe and law-abiding driver, the kind who occasionally gets dirty looks and middle fingers for going five above the speed limit. I felt it unfair that the parking cops had chosen me when I’d spend a lifetime being compliant. So, yes, I asked for an exception and was granted a reduced fine.
“Hello, ma’am,” said Sheriff Guy No. 2. I noticed that he had a light Southern accent like the first guy, and both men called me “ma’am” quite a lot. I’m in my forties and I have been referred to as “ma’am,” but not very frequently because I do not live in the South.
However, this must have been serious if the sheriff’s department was calling me directly. I couldn’t slow my thumping heart enough to hear the skeptical questions that should have been forming in the higher-functioning parts of my brain. How likely is it that the postal service lost an official jury summons in the two miles between the county courthouse and my mailbox? Why didn’t they send a second one or call me when they hadn’t heard from me? Isn’t there a website I could use to verify the docket number the caller gave me? I had written that number on a slip of paper and figured I would get it all straightened out during my lunch hour. I was working from home.
“Actually, we need you to come to the courthouse immediately, ma’am. There is a warrant out for your arrest. We need you to stay on the line so we can verify that you’re getting into your vehicle and heading to that address.”
The implication was that an officer might show up at my door any minute with handcuffs or pull me over and arrest me if I decided to wait and drive myself freely later that day.
My inner Pollyanna shouted at me. No time for questions! I sent a quick message to the co-worker I was chatting with, telling her (truthfully, I hoped) that I’d be back soon, and I assured Sheriff Guy that I was heading to my car. Sheriff Guy No. 1 brought Sheriff Guy No. 2 onto the call, because apparently my case was so severe that they needed backup.
“Hello, ma’am,” said Sheriff Guy No. 2. I noticed that he had a light Southern accent like the first guy, and both men called me “ma’am” quite a lot. I’m in my forties and I have been referred to as “ma’am,” but not very frequently because I do not live in the South. I started to think it strange that two Oregon sheriff’s deputies, both working the same case, would be from the South. But they were polite, and I’m conditioned to respond in kind when people, especially men, make polite requests of me.
***
As I turned on my car’s engine, I started to ask some vague questions about the legitimacy of this process.
“Yes ma’am, don’t worry, we’ll walk you through everything. Just keep us on the line.”
Their patronizing tone felt like a withholding of information and my anxiety started to shift from I’m in trouble with the law to I might be dealing with criminals. Still, I knew where the courthouse was and I had my docket number and I figured I would just let the court clerk explain this whole thing and hopefully not get booked into a holding cell. I started driving and put the Sheriff Guys on Bluetooth.
I, a mid-career homeowner with a moderate income, was likely to yield a payout if they used the right social engineering tactics and wielded the power of authority to tweak the knobs of my nervous system.
Half a mile away from my house, they changed their story. “Ma’am, just so you know, this fine needs to be paid in cash. All you need to do is go to Walmart and start a wire transfer. We’ll give you the account number, are you ready?” There was a newly urgent tone to their voices.
My tide of adrenaline ebbed, freeing the skeptical part of my brain to do its work. I grew quiet and started asking myself questions. Most of them were obviously rhetorical. Why did they start reading off an account number when they know I’m driving? Does the sheriff’s department really send people to Walmart as if they have a brand partnership? Why are two deputies spending so much of their valuable time on me?
“Hello? Ma’am?”
I stopped answering them and pulled off the main road to park. Sheriff Guy No. 1 or No. 2 tried to tell me, slightly menacingly, that I’d better not hang up on them. I hung up. They called back and I declined it. No screening necessary.
Just to be absolutely sure, I continued in the direction of the courthouse, parked nearby, and fed the meter. I glanced around nervously, still wondering if there was a real deputy waiting to pounce on me. Part of me still thought I might have hung up the phone on a law enforcement officer, so I called the sheriff’s office directly. The receptionist said they would absolutely never do that to somebody who missed jury duty. She was kind, but sounded a bit incredulous when she explained that I would not get a warning phone call if I was about to be arrested.
Even after that reassurance, I couldn’t quite relax until it became clear that the scammers weren’t going to call me again and that a cop car wasn’t going to pull up next to me. No Sheriff Guys, real or otherwise, intercepted me as I walked to a restaurant near the courthouse. While I sat down to eat lunch, I thought about the experiment I had just been subjected to.
I was ashamed that I’d fallen for it. I watch John Oliver; I’m savvy, smart, and technologically literate; I don’t share fake news or AI slop on social media. Nevertheless, some calculations had told them that I, a mid-career homeowner with a moderate income, was likely to yield a payout if they used the right social engineering tactics and wielded the power of authority to tweak the knobs of my nervous system. They had operated with their own kind of science, analyzing reams of data that are available through public records and social networks, determining which characteristics make someone a good target.
It’s frightening how close they came to proving their hypothesis about me. I used to think that such scamming tactics were ridiculously transparent, but now I understand why they keep at it.
Kristen Martin is a systems analyst who likes to counterbalance the logical nature of her career with bouts of creative writing. She lives in Salem, Oregon, with her husband, son, and crazy pets. Find her reflections on life and parenthood at www.thisunquietmind.com.
I’m glad you didn’t fall for it. The false sense of urgency and the extra person brought in to create credibility both feel like classic social engineering tactics.
Looks like you passed the test.
Great story, and I hope it gets a lot of reads so more people can spot this kind of scam before it works.
I hate how scams linger like trauma while you are try to tell yourself it was just a nuisance.