Psst! Keep this under your hat because you know how fast gossip travels and I don’t want the whole world to know my business.
Just received a letter in the mail informing me that I had won a Caribbean/Mexican Riviera cruise for two with all the amenities aboard the Carnival or Princess. Suppose I can take my pick of either luxury liner.
That’s a lot like saying, “What’s your dream destination? St. Thomas or the Bahamas?” To me, it’s one in the same so long as I escape this frigid winter and see warm sun instead of cold snow.
The invitation couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time. By now, we New Englanders are reeling from the winter blahs. There was even an electronic boarding pass that appeared official, with a registration number and destination point of Orlando. They even spelled my name correctly, right down to the middle initial.
But wait! There’s more. In reading on, my eyes settled upon another offer: “Congratulations, you have won the new Mercedes Benz, BMW, or Porsche–value $49,000 or cash equivalent.”
Now, we’re really getting somewhere. Just when I could use a new car, too.
All I have to do is show up at church in a new Mercedes and the fundraisers will be tailgating me to increase my pledge. Maybe the BMW might be a tad more inconspicuous.
Hold the fort again. If I don’t take the car, I can have a $1,500 shopping spree or a five-day exotic island adventure with airfare and hotel accommodations included. How the organizers can equate the two bonuses is beyond me.
To get my prize, all I had to do was call a certain number to arrange for a convenient pick-up time. It came with a written guarantee as well as a confirmation letter. I had 72 hours to react. Better yet, no purchase was required.
I picked up the phone and dialed right away. What did I have to lose except my sanity? The number was toll-free.
“Wow, this must be my lucky day,” I told a voice on the other end. “The only thing I’ve ever won in my life was a trinket at a carnival booth. How may I claim my prize? Says here I have a choice between a Mercedes and an exotic island adventure.”
The woman was ready to book me on a flight to Florida for “the dream vacation of a lifetime.” And once I got there, I would qualify for the car. It would be at one of Orlando’s finest hotels.
It turned out to be a hoax, just like all the other come-ons I’ve received through the mail. Never put my trust in any of them, including those from Publishers Clearing House. But then, somebody must win. I see them celebrating on television from time to time. The ads are alluring.
This latest gimmick was buying property in Florida. Probably alligator swamp land not worth a pittance to anyone except reptiles. They would pay my airfare, put me up in one of their hotels, then tighten the noose until I relented. The steak dinner was also complimentary, along with the drinks.
Their investment would be about a grand. Do the math. If one out of 20 couples complies, they make a killing. The odds are definitely in their favor.
I answered one of these invitations before and was determined to face the gauntlet and see how far my tolerance would last. The pitch was being made in Greater Boston so the distance wasn’t much.
They wined and dined us, then on came the overture. It went something like this inside a room filled with uncertainty and sweat.
“Tired of living in a run-down atmosphere? Let us take the worry and anxiety out of your home and place you inside your own personal Shangri-la. It’s heaven on earth. Yadda! Yadda!”
The presentation could have won an Oscar for special effects. Such alluring pictures of people in their hot tubs and private pools. All I needed to live in perfect bliss was a million dollars. And money was no object. They would help us with the financing.
Representatives were at each table with brochures and paperwork, armed with pens. Just sign below and they would take care of the rest.
How uncomfortable was it? Like being six fathoms under the ocean without a snorkel. We both sought permission to visit the lavatory before making a quick escape out the building.
Tom Vartabedian
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