When a Stranger Calls
I. Introduction
Driving around Los Angeles county, picking people up, and then dropping them off is my day job at the moment. They give me a time and a place, I give them a five-minute window. Anything happens in that five minutes and I’m theirs. No matter what… Just kidding. I wish I was as cool as Ryan Gosling in the movie Drive. I’m actually an Uber driver. I’ve been doing it for a little over a year now. When I mention it to people, they’re always curious to know if I like it. The real answer is: I don’t mind it. Honestly, I enjoy it most of the time; otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it.
Although, driving for Uber certainly does come with a few cons. It’s a strange job in terms of hardly ever being in communication with a boss, co-worker, or anyone else that works for the company. You’re on your own, knocking out trips on the road as the hours pass by, and eventually heading home whenever’s most convenient for you—there is literally zero sense or feeling of community within the company that you work for. Because of this, it can be a long, lonely day at work sometimes and for me, that’s by far the worst aspect of the gig. Getting stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the way to the airport, not having much opportunity for growth within the driver position itself, and every once in a while, suffering annoying, drunken fools are a few other downsides. Being an Uber driver seems to have a bit of a stigma around it these days for some reason, and I find people are often complaining to their driver about the price of a ride. What does that have to do with me?
On the other hand, there are a lot of good things that come along with driving for Uber. My schedule is constantly open and flexible for creative work, taking a last-minute meeting, getting a workout in, or whatever else I need to get done during the week. It’s also a legitimate, easy-to-qualify-for job where you can make good, quick money if you hustle and put the hours in. This is especially true in a city like LA, where I’ve seen a virtually non-stop, endless demand for trip requests all year long. But at the end of the day, my favorite aspect of being an Uber driver, without a doubt, is that I get to meet the most random, interesting passengers from all over the world and they are always willing to share their story. Their thoughts, viewpoints, and recollections continue to expand my horizons, broaden my worldview, and change the way I see things.
A few months back, I picked up a small family of three from LAX airport that told me about a harrowing personal experience they recently endured in their home city of Shanghai, China. About 2.5 years after the Covid-19 pandemic initially hit, the Omicron variant began spreading locally in different parts of the world. During this time, China doubled down on its strict Zero-Covid policy, which included intense lockdown measures whenever a small number of cases emerged. One day, a single person in this family’s building of residence tested positive for Covid-19 and they, and everyone else in the entire building, were forced into a mandatory quarantine. For fourteen days, the husband, wife, and middle-school-aged son were locked inside a tiny government hotel room while guards stood outside in the hallway, prohibiting them from stepping out at any time (even though they each tested negative, repeatedly). For food, they were allotted only the bare minimum necessary to survive: a small piece of meat, a couple eggs, a slice or two of bread, and one vegetable per day. That was it—for the three of them, all together. Starving and exhausted, they came up with ways to entertain themselves while they waited it out in their prison-like lodging. Eventually, the quarantine period came to an end and they were then permitted to go home and return to work. But, now having an increased awareness that their government could send them back into isolation at any time, they remained fearful and on edge. For this same reason, protests emerged in Shanghai soon after and the family of three decided it was time for a break. So, they planned a trip to visit Los Angeles and a few other cities across the US.
(Note: July 2022: In total, just over 8% of China’s population, 114 million people, are now living under partial or complete COVID lockdowns, according to Japanese investment bank Nomura...Yes, July 2022, over 2.5 years since the start of the pandemic. It’s madness.)
Over the course of our 45-minute Uber ride, it was clear to me that the trio was beyond happy to escape their home country for a while. Funnily enough, after recounting their experience, the husband felt the need to seriously assure me that they are not, in fact, big fans of the Chinese government. (Hey, guys, I don’t blame ya!) It was almost like they grew accustomed to this sort of inhumane treatment since the start of the pandemic. But to me, their story sounded like they were describing a prisoner of war camp—cruel, oppressive, and insanely brutal. On the bright side (no pun intended), they were now in Los Angeles for the first time and I could see the energy of this city was filling them up with joy and wonder. They took in everything they saw, wide-eyed and unbelieving, as we drove through the exotic, bohemian streets of the Hollywood area. Later on during the ride, we discussed a few of the major differences between the places we live. After chatting for a while about the wide array of luxury cars on the road around us, I wondered out loud, “What’s the most commonly driven car in China?”. And with this, the son, who had been quietly sitting still in the backseat without uttering a word for the entire trip, excitedly shouted out, “TOYOTA!!!”. It was so loud and sudden that it scared me and caused me to jump a little in my seat. Then, the four of us had a good laugh together. I’ve been recalling that moment with a smile ever since.
Another time, I met an older hispanic man who was in the midst of fighting a long, strenuous battle with cancer. And… he was losing. Badly. It was a beautiful and sunny weekday afternoon in the suburbs of East Los Angeles, and this broken, late-middle-aged man just wanted someone to talk to. When I picked him up, he explained that he was on his way back to his son’s apartment following a chemotherapy session at the doctor’s office. Shortly after his cancer treatment started, he lost his physical strength and was no longer able to continue going to work. And since he was a long-time laborer for tax-free cash under the table, he wasn’t able to prove any current or past income to receive any kind of benefits from the government. So, eventually, he lost everything he had: his job, his truck, and his home. But worst of all, his lost his dignity. He now had to rely on his son take care of him (while his son was having a hard time getting by to begin with), which made him feel like a nuisance. While he shared his story, I couldn’t help but silently shed a few tears for him. Compared to my typical daily hassles and worries, his present situation sounded devastating and was heartbreaking for me to hear about. Yet, in spite of it all, I could tell that a little flicker of light inside him remained. He still had a sense of humor and hadn’t given up all hope. When we pulled up to his son’s place, I took a minute to wish him and his family the best of luck. He graciously thanked me, and then flatly stated, “I hope I make it out of this ok.” Which was a pretty standard thing to say in that moment, but the way he said it really struck me. It was such an unexpected, jokingly-casual delivery of those few words—it sounded like a self-deprecating comedian delivering his ultimate punch line on a Netflix comedy special. To this I chuckled, then said, “I hope you do too”, and off I went to my next pickup. I think about him every once in a while and hope that he and his son are doing ok.
While on the road driving for Uber, I’ve met Dj/producers on their way to Vegas for multi-million dollar gigs, single moms off to work for a minimum-wage salary, and everyone in between. I’ve given rides to young pop stars, a Crips gang member, OnlyFans girls in town from London, a yogi couple from Costa Rica, the principle automobile supplier of the James Bond movies, Leonardo DiCaprio’s landscaper… the list goes on and on. Everyone is so different from one another in this city; they are all so idiosyncratic—it’s endlessly fascinating to me. In just over a year of driving for Uber, I feel that I’ve learned mostly all the roads, venues, clubs, bars, touristy spots, and best places to eat around town. If anyone asks, I have all the recommendations. It’s a cool gig in that regard.
Fortunately, in over 3,000 trips, I’ve never really had a big issue with a passenger. I try to be professional and respectful (or, at least as much as I can be) at all times while at work. (I think LA in particular is in desperate need of this kind of day-to-day humanity by the way.) Though every once in a blue moon, I’ve had to put my foot down and call out someone who was being rude, overly aggressive, or just plain creepy. I don’t really take shit from obnoxious drunk people during rides. They’re in my car (which is almost always spotlessly clean) and I’m providing them a convenient private service; they should at least attempt to be respectful. I can get into it with debating/argumentative conversations with folks here and there, especially over evocative political subjects or things I strongly disagree with. (Hey, they brought it up and wanted to go there!) Yet, I’ve never really had a low rating or major complaint so far. Have you ever seen a 5-Star, Diamond-tier Uber driver? Well, hi, here I am.
II. My Day Leading Up to The Call
It was a hot summer afternoon in July of this past year (2021). I had finished preparing and filming a self-tape audition early that morning, then afterward, went right to work on an additional last-minute tape that was due by 5pm the same day. The work was emotionally heavy and afterward, I was thoroughly spent—physically exhausted and emotionally drained from the process. But once taping the second one was over with, I felt a strong sense of relief and satisfaction. I knew I did the best I could with the time I was given. Though unfortunately, I wasn’t off the hook yet. It was then time to go through and select the takes that showed the most interesting behavior and that portrayed the character most accurately telling the story (aka the tedious actor-biz stuff), crop and trim each one, and then successfully upload and submit them before the deadline. The deadline to submit the clips was closing in and by this point, mentally, I was about to lose it. It was just one of those days. I hadn’t eaten yet. It was boiling hot; probably around 90 degrees in my living room, where I don’t have central air or an AC unit. My shirt was sticking to my body while I uncomfortably sat, hunched over and dripping in sweat, on the living room couch. But, my mind was locked in on the mission at hand—I was getting these clips in on time no matter what.
So I rolled up my sleeves, selected and trimmed down the best takes I’d send to casting, and began the uploading process. After about five minutes or so, a notice popped up that read, “Upload Failed”; which was marked with a big red X. Now this post-taping tech process was really starting to get on my nerves. My stomach began growling from the hunger and I felt a strong degree of anxiety that was starting to ramp up. At this point, all I could hear was the constant humming of my laptop’s internal fan that had now drowned out the late afternoon sounds of birds chirping and police sirens echoing off in the distance. I sent my manager a text apologizing for the last-minute audition submission and told him that it’s on its way in. Then, I hit the X to cancel, refreshed the page, and started uploading the first of the three clips again.
I was debating whether or not to start cooking dinner while this tape was getting uploaded for the second time, but in my stubborn, frustrated state, I decided to stay right where I was and watch the upload happen, one percentage at a time. It was going particularly slow today. I wondered if that was because all the actors were simultaneously uploading their tapes to the site at the last minute? Or, was the heat slowing down my computer? Or, maybe the site just decided to suck today? I had no idea. I sat there pondering about these things, while staring at the laptop screen, and silently begging the upload to move faster.
Suddenly, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I let it ring. I didn’t have time for whatever it was. Then, about thirty seconds later, my phone screen lit up with a text that read, “Uber support is contacting you your account is going to be suspended.” Upon seeing this, my heart skipped a beat. (Just a few weeks prior, I was reading on Reddit that Uber is apparently notorious for suspending drivers and passengers from the app after major terms of service violations are reported and while a complaint is being investigated. This unsettling possibility that had been lingering in the back of my mind had now sprung forward into my consciousness and set off a mental alarm.) A moment later, my phone was ringing again. As I looked down at my phone sitting on the living room table, I thought, It’s Tuesday evening and I’ve taken off two full days of work so far this week. I have to be up early in the morning and work all day tomorrow. Get yourself together, James, and take care of whatever this is, right now.
III. The Phone Call
“Hello? This is James”, I said. There was a deep, no-bullshit sounding voice on the line that introduced himself and stated that he was a regional manager at Uber. He kind’ve sounded like Eric Thomas, the motivational speaker, but less friendly. “Ok”, I responded. “What’s going on?” He said, very directly, “We have a complaint from a passenger about a ride that took place this past Friday evening around 7:15pm. What happened?” Upon hearing this, I got nervous for a second. What did I do? I didn’t do anything, I thought. I had to strain my memory for a few moments. That was four days ago and I must’ve done 40-50 trips at work since then.
The Friday-Night Uber “Incident”
Then it slowly came to me. I had picked up two American American guys who I assumed were in their late 30’s after a ten-minute hassle of trying to find them. When I got close to the pickup point, we were attempting to coordinate exactly where they were over a phone call, but what they were saying didn’t make much sense. They kept mumbling the name of the street (which was the street I was driving on) and vaguely describing the shape of the building that I should drive to. It was quite strange. Just be at the address you typed into the app. How hard could this be? I thought of cancelling the trip at one point, but for some reason, I decided to stick with it. It was a high-paying ride to the airport and I wanted to see it through. After driving in circles and making several U-turns for what seemed like forever in this dimly-lit neighborhood in the middle of nowhere, I finally found them, clumsily sitting together on a curb, clutching two backpacks. Once they got into the car, I realized the cause of all the confusion. They were high as kites—absolutely stoned out of their mind. So high, they couldn’t tell what planet they were on, let alone what street. The smell of the weed coming off them pungent and intense—I felt like I was getting stoned just sitting near them.
We zipped over to LAX airport without getting caught up at many red lights or traffic hold-ups. Meanwhile, they watched TikTok videos on full volume while laughing hysterically in the backseat. To drown out some of the noise, I rolled the windows down and put on a chill house music playlist. It was for sure a Friday-night vibe. When we got to the departure lane at the airport, things started to get a little weird. “Which airline, gentlemen?”, I asked. With this, they gave me an uncertain-sounding response like, “I think it’s near Terminal 5 behind our friend’s car.” Um, ok, I thought. Terminal 5 it is. As far as traffic at the airport terminals, it was a very busy night. After sitting in a long line of bumper-to-bumper cars for quite a while, we finally pulled up to Terminal 5. There I pulled over, unlocked the doors, and then said, “Alrighty guys, have a nice night.” But to this they didn’t respond or even move, they just remained sitting in place in the backseat. “We need to find my friend’s car first”, one of the two awkwardly mentioned after a few moments. “What does it look like?” “Uh, it’s a black Honda”. So, with my eyes peeled, I zigged and zagged through the crowded airport lanes until we got to the end of the terminal. I never saw it. So I looped around the entire airport again and next thing you know, we were back again at the same spot—the beginning of Terminal 5. Now things were starting to get a bit tense and awkward between them and I. Even though the whole trip had been borderline annoying to being with, I was genuinely trying to help these guys and not leave them stranded. But communication on their part suddenly became aggressive and confrontational. They were blaming me for not being able to find this random car, meanwhile not making any attempt to look for it themselves. Insanity. A few minutes later, I pulled up to about the midway-point of the terminal for the second time and put the car in park. From this spot, there was a line of cars in front of us, obstructing our view, so we couldn’t see if the black Honda would be there. But at this point, I decided I’d had enough. I didn’t want to drive to the end of the terminal, and have to loop all the way back around for the third time and sit through traffic for another fifteen minutes with these hooligans still in my car. So I said, as respectfully as I could, “Alright. It’s time for you guys to get out. I don’t know what else to tell ya.” “JUST PULL FORWARD BRO!”, the more vocal one barked back at me in a patronizing tone. With this, I stood (or rather, sat) my ground. “No, it’s time for you to get out”, I stated firmly. Again, they didn’t respond right away—they just sat there, mulling it over while the three of us sat together in tense silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. Then, all of a sudden, the car ahead of us pulled away, and a small black Honda with its hazards on was revealed. It was like a magic trick. I had no idea how I missed seeing it the first time around, but hey, there it was—we found the Mystery Machine. And I was happy this whacked out trip was now over with. “FINALLY!”, one of them yelled as they stumbled out of the backseat while muttering their opinions of me under their breath. As they were closing the car doors, I said in a cheeky tone, “Have a safe flight gentlemen!” (I couldn’t resist one tiny jab.) “WE ARE NOT FLY—“, I heard, as I zoomed away toward my next pickup.
I was sure that was the trip the manger was referring to. It fit the time frame he mentioned. Every other ride for the entire work weekend went smoothly to my recollection—that was the only one that really stood out. Still, I didn’t think it was a big deal. At all. Sure those guys were a pain in the ass, but I was only annoyed for maybe five or ten minutes after I dropped them off. I didn’t take it personally and hadn’t thought of them since. But the manager was pressing me and wanted to know exactly what happened. So, I reported my recollection of it as best as I could, while trying to be as honest as possible and also trying to come off as well-intentioned and professional, despite my current mood and lack of energy I had for this conversation at the moment. We went through all the details of the trip, from me not being able to find them in the beginning, to looping around the airport a couple times, up until we finally found the mystery car. He commented here and there, agreeing with a few thoughts I had and mentioning that, “Well, smoking weed is legal in California.”
As I was finishing up recalling the Mystery Machine story, I started to get the sense that the manager was having a moment of loosing patience on the phone. I could tell he was genuinely pissed off about something, so I waited a few moments until he cooled off. After a little pause he abruptly said, “Ok, I’m going to go ahead and cancel his (referring to the passenger who ordered the ride to the airport) account.” When I heard this I thought, Seriously? For that?, but the manager had already moved on in the conversation. He was getting antsy now. He mentioned that he had about twelve more calls like this to go through before the day’s over and even though I felt that this seemed to be an unfair punishment for the Friday-night passenger, I was simply too tired to question it. I gathered that he also was tired from a long day of this kind of tedious work, and this I totally understood and empathized with. Meanwhile, I felt glad and relieved that I was now in the clear and would be able to get up and go to work tomorrow without any issues to worry about.
Next, the manager mentioned that he froze my Uber Driver account just before the call, but it should be back to normal now without any bugs or other issues. He told me to login to my Uber Driver app just to double check, which I did, and then reported back that it was running fine. After that, he instructed me to turn the app on, accept the first trip request I receive, and then cancel said trip. This I did right away and then verbally confirmed over the phone, to which he responded, “Ok, perfect. Now, just do it once more. The same thing: accept a trip, and then cancel again.” At this point, I paused to think for a second. Unless there’s an emergency and I have to head home, I hardly ever cancel trips that I’ve already accepted. If an Uber driver cancels too many trips within a certain time period, it negatively effects the stats on his or her profile. And eventually, they would no longer be able to receive benefits that come along with being a highly-rated driver of a particular tier. So, before doing it a second time, I raised my concern by saying in a half-joking tone, “Hey wait a second, I don’t want this to ruin my perfect rating!” “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOUR SPEAKING TO? I AM THE GREATEST REGIONAL MANAGER UBER HAS EVER SEEN!”, the manager responded without missing a beat. He clearly was over-the-top confident with his position at work. I chuckled. This guy’s got a personality, I thought. I trusted my driver profile within the app would be fine and went ahead to accept and then cancel a second trip. In the meantime, he asked if there was any feedback I could provide to make the driver app experience better and we went through a few suggestions I had off the top of my head. With these, he kept asking me questions to more thoughtfully clarify every specific detail to really get to the core of each issue while he considered them.
Once we were finished on the Uber Driver app, now about thirty-five minutes into the call, the manager went on to say, “Alrighty, we’re just about all set here. Lastly, we’ll need to verify your identity over the phone real fast. It’s the same process we do on the app. Just stand by, stay on the phone, and the prompts for you to answer will come through via text message.” (Note: Uber frequently does random identity checks to confirm that you are the driver associated with your account by requesting a selfie. Sometimes they request one with a mask covering your nose and mouth, and other times not. Once you submit the selfie through the Uber Driver app’s prompt, and it’s verified, you can then begin receiving trip requests.)
The first prompt that came through was: Please verify selfie {**Via Uber Support**}. This was standard practice that I was accustomed to after driving with Uber for a few months by this point. Though instead of it being done within the app, it was coming via text message this time. I didn’t think anything of it. I took a selfie right away, sent it over, and then confirmed over the phone by saying, “Ok. Just sent it.” “Thank you for that, please hold”, the manager responded. I sat waiting for about a minute or so until he was back on the line. Next, he said he was sending over a request to verify my ID. With this, he was very adamant that I must wait until I receive the text message prompt before responding. So, I patiently waited for the prompt to come in, and then sent a photo that I had just taken of my license. Do I get a gold star now or what?
By this point, I had successfully uploaded and double-checked that all my audition clips were submitted before the deadline (I got them in on time! Thank god!). I had just thrown a pair of headphones in and decided to start preparing dinner in the kitchen while I was finishing up this Uber Support call. It felt like the longest call in the world, but I knew it must have been almost done by now. I couldn’t wait to plop down on the couch with a cold beer afterward. I was finally finished with all my other work for the day and I felt that my well-deserved relaxation couldn’t come soon enough.
Though unfortunately, the call slowly lingered on. The prompts and holding periods to verify my identity kept coming in. I did what I was told and knocked them out one by one: Please verify insurance card {**Via Uber Support**}, then Please verify vaccination card {**Via Uber Support**}. For the insurance, I had to run downstairs and outside to my car (which was parked down the street) to retrieve it. “Not a problem, take your time”, the manager said, and he patiently waited on the line throughout. He also mentioned that once I send him my vaccination card and it’s approved, I would from then on be able drive without wearing a mask. Oh, hell yeah!, I thought. I was sick of wearing a mask all day at work and this possibility got me very excited. I took photos of both of the documents and sent them over.
Next came: Please verify email address {**Via Uber Support**}, followed by: Please verify Uber app password {**Via Uber Support**}. At some point while we were waiting for another prompt to come through, the manager mentioned that he’d been working a crazy amount of hours lately and that he wished he had more free time to take up new hobbies or activities. “I’d love to take a speech class, I feel like I really need it”, he said. This really caught my interest—I told him I had taken two years of voice and speech training and that it’s helped my life and work in so many ways, especially during times when I’ve had to prepare a job interview, give a speech, or do any other performative type of activity. Then, we chatted about what typical speech training entails for a while and I told him that he should definitely take a class if he can fit it in. (The irony of him and I casually chatting about this subject, while he is working on me with clear and resonant vocal power and energy, is absolutely mind-blowing.)
The next prompt that came in was, Please verify selfie with mask {**Via Uber Support**}. At this point, we’d been on the call for a little over an hour. I then made a joke along the lines of, “this is a lot of prompts to verify that it’s really me, bro.” He laughed and noted that it’s the longest and most annoying process ever and then mentioned again that he has about twelve more of these calls to get through by the end of the day. Sheesh, what a nightmare of a gig, I thought. Then I grabbed a mask, took a pic, and sent it over.
While we waited for the mask selfie to get “approved”, I was finishing up preparing my dinner in the kitchen, and the manager and I started chatting more casually. He spoke about his present situation of having to work from home all day during this crazy post-pandemic time, which had been a major adjustment for him. He then went on to complain about his wife at home—she had apparently been nagging at him a lot today for some reason. I thought this was a bit strange to hear, but I didn’t mind. In response, I said something along the lines of, “Hey, we can never keep ‘em happy, but we can always keep trying!”. It was my awkward attempt of trying to relate with a married-man joke. He laughed and agreed. Around this time I had moved back into the living room and began happily nibbling at my dinner. Now that I was finally having some food, I was starting to feel much better physically and mentally. It had been a hell of a long day, but I was now relaxed and comfortable. I felt good. And I kind of liked this guy. After being on this call for so long, the manager and I were starting to connect on a more personal level. To me, he seemed like a hard worker who was doing his job and trying his best to make ends meet. I let my guard completely down as I munched on my sweet potato fries. What’s your name again by the way?, I asked. “John Maloney. Like the football player!”, he proudly stated. I don’t know the first thing about football, but I assumed there was a famous quarterback with the same surname.
“What’s the name of the bank you have on file for check deposits, just to verify?”, John asked a few moments later. “Bank of America”, I said. “That’s right”, he responded. “And there’s another bank linked to your account as well, can you confirm the name of the second one for me? We just need to verify.” But for this, I was drawing a blank. “Another bank on file? I don’t have another one linked to my Uber account… At least, I don’t think I do”, I pondered out loud. “There’s not another bank linked to your driver app?”, he asked again. I thought it over for another second or two. Still with nothing coming to mind, I flatly stated, “Nope.” There was a pregnant pause. Then, “It’s not TD Bank?”, he asked. Oh! My brain was fried at the moment, but this jogged my memory. I hadn’t used that account much in the past couple years (TD bank is mainly used on the East Coast here in the U.S.). Perhaps I added it to my Uber account as a second deposit option when I signed up for the job, I thought. “Oh yeah, that’s right”, I said. “No problem, the next prompt is going through now”, John said. Please verify card on file {**Via Uber Support**}. I took a photo of my debit card and sent it over. “Please hold, just a minute”, he said. Now, the holding periods were getting even longer. My second wind was quickly fading and I was on the verge of exhaustion again. This is the longest call I’ve ever been on in my life, I thought, as I slumped backward into my living room couch.
After a while, John was back on the line. “Ok, that’s all verified. I’m sending over one more and that’s the last of it”, he said. Then, another prompt popped up in the string of our text-message chat. It read: Please verify social {**Via Uber Support**}. I pursed my eyebrows while I looked at the prompt for a moment. And then, I did it. I sent him my social security number. Via text message. What was he thinking?, you, the reader, may be wondering. Well, I’ve asked myself that question about a hundred times since then. The real answer is: I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking at all. I fully trusted this voice I was speaking to. I was on auto-pilot. Mentally checked out. It could’ve been the exhaustion from the long day, or the 90 degree heat in my living room, or just plain laziness instead of paying closer attention to what was happening. I could come up with a million different reasons, but the bottom line is, I just wasn’t thinking. My mind was elsewhere, off in a pleasant daydream about the feeling of tranquility that’ll soon take over my mind and body once this call is over with and I’m able to lean up against the wall and decompress under an ice-cold shower.
IV. The Realization/BoA Fraud Department
I continued fighting threw my current state of exhaustion because I knew our call had to be almost done. So close to home. I was sunk deeply into the corner of the couch, with my finished dinner plate in front of me, when John said, twice, in a casual, but matter-of-fact manner, “Alright this is the last step and then we’re all set here: Please read the six digits that pop up on your phone to verify it’s you.” In the following moment, I received a text message that displayed six digits. I focused my attention solely on the digits and read them aloud. “Please hold a minute”, John responded. After a long pause, he was back on the line, reporting that those numbers didn’t register for some reason. “We just need to try once more.”, he assuringly stated. Again, my phone screen was lit up with a text containing six random digits. But this time, I took a closer look at the message. I noticed that it was from Bank of America. “What’s the number?”, John asked, now sounding the tiniest-bit impatient. Before I could respond to this, my heart abruptly began to race. An instinctive, very intense physiological reaction was coming on. Throughout my body, I felt an acute amount of stress, particularly in my fingers, that were suddenly tingling, and in my vision, that had now blurred. With both hands, I tightly gripped my phone just a few inches in front of my face, squinting my eyes to maintain focus on the fuzzy rectangular screen. I silently reread the text to myself while John continued waiting on the line for a response. Time stood still as I laid there, in full-slump position on the couch, mentally processing this message from the bank. Wait a sec, what is this?, I thought. There was something about the phrasing of it that was catching my attention—it sounded like a warning. The full text message said: BofA: Debit card code XXXXXX expires in 10 min. Don't share it; we won't call to ask for it. Call XXX.XXX.XXXX if you didn't request it. Mental alarms were loudly blaring in my head before my brain could consciously articulate the next thought. Through the chaotic internal noise, I somehow maintained tunnel-like, pinpoint focus on the one, single phrase: “Don’t Share It.” These three words were loudly resonating in me, like a bold-faced tattoo on my conscious mind. And finally, one hour and thirty-five minutes into our phone call, I was aware of what was really happening.
“James, what’s the number?”, “John” sternly probed once again. Questions and rationalizations were now flooding into my mind. Is this really happening right now? Is this guy serious? This was his plan… this whole time? For a moment I didn’t want to accept the reality I was now in. But, I knew the truth—I could feel it in my gut. My voice had gone hoarse when I finally responded, muttering the following words, “I think we’re done here.” Immediately, “John” exploded into an aggressive rant, attempting to regain control of the situation by reprimanding me in his go-to domineering style. “OK JAMES, THEN YOUR ACCOUNT WILL NOW BE SUSPENDED IF WE CANNOT VERIFY. JAMES, WE NEED TO VERIFY…” But his words had no effect on me anymore. They sounded like nothing but white noise, as I had now gone numb from the shocking realization I was experiencing in real time. While at a complete loss for words, I held up the phone on speaker-mode, with one eyebrow raised, just staring at the illuminated screen in front of me. Wow, he got me, was the only thought I could muster. Meanwhile, “John” continued on with his verbal assault. “JAMES, I WORK FOR UB—“, was the last thing I heard as I snapped back into focus and clicked the hang-up button.
In the next millisecond, I was dialing the phone number that the bank sent via text message as fast as humanly possible. They picked up in the first ring. “Bank of America, Fraud Department”, I heard a woman announce in a kind, motherly tone of voice. “Hi. I believe someone’s hacking into my bank account, right now. Please help.” Those words spilled right out of my mouth while attempting to keep my voice as composed as possible. “I’m so sorry, just a second”, the woman said, as we began a quick verification process to pull up my account information. Meanwhile, calls were coming in, nonstop, from “John” the hacker. My body was responding with a mini PTSD reaction as I watched “John’s” number repeatedly light up my phone screen. Suddenly, I was terrified of those eleven digits. Seeing them made me want to puke. And he just kept calling. He wouldn’t give up—he was relentless. I let it ring a few more times as I got myself together and breathed my way through the current call I was on. You had your fun, bro. But now it’s over. Now leave me alone, I thought, then proceeded to block his number. Once the woman from the bank was able to view my account file, she softly uttered, “Oh gosh. I can see there’s a transaction currently pending from your account… It’s an Airbnb purchase, for a total of X amount of dollars.” It was a single transaction that would empty my entire checking account. “You’re not making that purchase, are you?”, she gingerly asked. “No. I am not. Do not let that go through”, I replied, through gritted teeth. “Got it”, she said. “Do you want to cancel this debit card?” “Yes.” “Do you want to freeze this account?” “Yes.” “Do you want to open up a new account right now over the phone?” Yes to everything. This woman was like my guardian angel—she was completely on-point and also sounded very empathetic toward my current situation. She was the best.
After we wrapped things up there, the kind lady transferred me to another Bank of America department. On this next call we began setting up a new account where I’d be able to transfer the funds. And now, I was speaking to another new person. This low-voiced man, however, seemed to be very nonchalant (and almost carefree) about the task at hand. This is a piece of cake, let’s get it over with was his mode of operation, I’d say; it was very cut and dry. As we began the process of verifying who I was (for the third time over a phone call today for Heaven’s sake), fearful thoughts began swirling around my mind. Who is this person I’m speaking to? I don’t know this person. Can I trust him? Can I trust anyone over the phone anymore? Minute by minute, I was becoming increasingly paranoid, until I was close to a full-blown panic. My head was spinning again and I could no longer think straight. I knew that I wanted this situation resolved. And I wanted to feel safe again. But more than anything, I wanted concrete answers. So, I literally asked him—I just blurted out the words, “How do I know you’re who you say you are? How do I know you work for the bank?” There was a pause for a second. Then, “Well, you called me.”, he casually replied. That’s true, I thought, and considered that fact for a moment. He has a point there… But forget all this, I’ve had enough. I still couldn’t shake the intense feelings of paranoia and vulnerability I was currently experiencing. “On second thought, I’ll finish this up in-person at the bank. Thanks for your help”, I said, as I ended the call. I had enough time on the phone for one day.
V. The Following Day at Bank of America
When I woke up the next morning, I was beyond angry at the John Maloney guy. I felt that what he did to me was not only insane, but utterly despicable. I wanted to find out who he was so I could strangle him. But at the same time, I knew that kind of thinking wouldn’t do me any good. I was now well-rested and thinking much more clearly. I had things to get done this week and it was time to move forward. So I showed up, in-person, at a nearby Bank of America branch for the first appointment I could get. The sooner I could leave this humiliating experience behind and move on with my life, the better.
When I sat down in the bank representative’s office and briefly recounted the incident that led to my checking account being hacked into the day prior, to my surprise, the bank rep didn’t say much. His face didn’t change the slightest bit in expression either. He just sat there, completely unfazed, with his eyes locked-in on his computer screen, typing away on his keyboard while pulling up my information to open a new account. For him, hearing about this incident seemed to be nothing more than a typical, business-as-usual transaction. Well, this is strange, I thought. I might as well have Siri or Alexa listen to my hacker story while opening up this account. Does this guy realize how insane of a situation I’m in right now? What a stranger did to me over a phone call? What if he got away with it? What if I had kids to feed and their school bills to pay? Or, what if he did this to my dad, who worked his whole life to now finally relax and enjoy retirement? Or anyone in that position? What if… what if… what if?
Ok, admittedly, I was being a bit dramatic. The wound was fresh from my first-ever hacker experience and I hadn’t told a soul about it yet. I had an overwhelming desire to be heard by someone and desperately craved some sort of emotional release. But the first person I came across, this bank rep, was like a monotoned robot that was only programmed with one skill: to open bank accounts. It was all so cold and transactional—which was infuriating for me. While I watched him proceed almost like I wasn’t even there in the room with him, I was building up emotionally to a point where I was just about ready to explode. Maybe if I just threw a chair through a window, or sat in a corner and cried a little, the bank rep would wake up and realize there was a human being sitting across from him.
(Fun fact: Actors, in particular, are prone to these sort of dramatic reactions every once in a while. Years of accumulated heavy emotional work tends to bleed through into real life here and there; it comes along with the gig. Perhaps we even search for opportunities to come alive emotionally in our day-to-day lives. It’s a therapeutic release that we long for. This is analogous to a bodybuilder who spends years pumping up his muscles in the gym—who gets to a point where he eventually craves the feeling of a pump—and starts to feel strange and empty if he goes too long without it.)
But alas, I get it—what I needed was not going to happen within the walls of this rigid, corporate metal structure. So, I tried my best to let it go. I sat there in silence for a little while, waiting as patiently as I could, and listened to the bustling sounds of nearby bank reps chatting and typing away on their computers. I thought about how they were sitting stiffly upright behind their desks, staring at groups of numbers on their computer screens, within their geometrically aligned cubicles, as the minutes slowly creeped by until they could eventually be released from their 9-5 weekday work shift. If only I could shake things up by suddenly shouting for the all of the bank employees and customers to hear: “WE ARE IN DANGER! THESE HACKERS ARE EVIL! HIDE YOUR WALLETS! HELLO? IS ANYONE COMPREHENDING WHAT I’M SAYING?”, that’d be ideal, and afterward I’d feel much better. In here I felt like Neo, trapped in The Matrix. Not exactly my cup of tea, I thought.
Just then, a second bank rep popped his head into the office and announced that he’d be the one to help me with the next step of fraud assistance. I couldn’t resist jumping at the opportunity—I once again brought up my serious concern for this bank-account-hacker issue—this time in front of both of them. And with this, the initial rep assisting me let out a sigh, and finally started to open up. He told me of one occurrence, a few years prior, when his personal debit account was also hacked into. In his experience, he had just finished making an online oversees purchase when a scammer called. The scammer stated that there was an issue with the transaction and that the bank rep must verbally confirm his account and routing numbers for the purchase to successfully process. In that moment, the bank rep didn’t think anything of it. He recited the numbers over the phone, only to realize a few hours later that the scammer had hacked into his checking account then and there, attempting to drain it of its funds. Damn, they got him too? And this guy literally does this for a living, I thought. Afterward the two reps shrugged, and sadly mentioned that this unfortunately happens millions of times per year in the United States alone. Upon hearing this news, the wind was knocked out of me. Up until this point, I had no idea how prevalent this issue was. Yikes. What a cesspool of a world we’re living in.
On the bright side of things, the robot-men at the bank were very quick at getting the job done, which I appreciated. They opened up my new account, transferred the funds, and put my hacked account on an alert to monitor it for future fraudulent activity. They even printed out paperwork with outlined steps for me to contact the credit bureaus and be placed on a “fraud watch” in case of attempted identity theft (which I did right away). I was in and out of the bank in a grand total of fifteen minutes and left feeling free as a bird.
(Note: It’s a good idea to stay with a big bank in case, god forbid, you ever get hacked. As you may have noticed, Bank of America did an incredible job at handling this fraud attempt from start to finish.)
(Additional Note: I never bothered filing a police report about this incident. I figured that “John” would’ve been ten steps ahead of that and it’d be a waste of time to try tracking him down. However, I did report the incident to Uber the next day. And, in the weeks that followed, Uber sent out several warning emails & in-app prompts, urging drivers to keep their account info safe from targeted attacks such as this. And then, shortly after, they stopped sending warnings all together. Thanks for the great effort, Uber.)
VI. Afterward: Retrospective Analysis & Vishing Call Prevention
Early last year, just a couple months before this phone call incident took place, I was in a hit-and-run car accident with a drunk driver. (I’m fine, came out without a scratch!) I was cruising along on a late, quiet weeknight when I suddenly noticed a random, black SUV that was speeding directly toward me on a narrow, one-way road. With a construction-zone concrete median on my right side, and the shoulder of the road to my left, there was virtually nowhere for me to go to avoid a crash. In an effort to signal him to stop, I flashed my lights and slammed on my horn, neither of which causing him to stop, slow down, or react in any way. All I could do was helplessly watch as he kept coming straight for me, like a bat out of hell, at about 50 mph. At the last second, I swerved out of the way to narrowly evade the head-on collision. And then, boom. He crashed into the rear side of my tiny, subcompact vehicle, spinning it off toward the sidewalk, and totaling my car. Then, without slowing down, he continued forward and proceeded to get away in a flash. And believe it or not, he came back. This whacko drove right back through the scene of the accident (this time driving in the correct direction on the one-way road) about five minutes later. When I saw him for the second time, I tried my best, but wasn’t able to memorize all seven digits of his license plate in the dream-like state of shock I was in. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone again. The random, kamikaze-esque driver got away and the police never found him.
Why I bring up this experience, is that even though this motherfucker in the SUV nearly killed me, for some reason, it was much easier to let it go and forgive him than the John Maloney caller. This I find very fascinating. I don’t know what happened to the SUV driver that night. I imagine it to be a random, impulsive act of stupidity on his part. The cops and I later speculated about what could’ve been the reason for this seemingly suicidal moment for him. But to this day, I have no idea. Nor do I really care. He could’ve been high on meds while believing that he was in first place on Rainbow Road (it’d make my day if you knew this reference) in that moment for all I know.
As time passed, I realized that the John Maloney call, on the other hand, was a much more traumatizing event for me, personally, because of his deceptive and malicious intent. He had planned it out meticulously for a long time and had done it before. This phone call was a psychological game that he was a strategic, well-rehearsed expert at. I’d even go as far as saying he had talent for this sort of thing. He did such a good job that there are very few, if any, major red flags (in terms of human behavior) that come up when I replay the conversation over in my mind. “John” clearly worked for Uber at some point—he had a ton of my personal information at the ready and was very familiar with the driver experience. But beyond that he was, quite simply, a good actor. That was acting—albeit in the most sad, ugly demonstration of the entire art form. After mentioning that he would’ve made a great conman himself, the great Marlon Brando once stated, “A good con man can fool anybody. And the first person that you fool, as a con man, is yourself.” Perhaps in many of those moments on the call, “John” truly believed that he was John Maloney, the greatest regional manager that Uber’s ever seen. In any case, I believe the main, key element that allowed for his manipulative tactics to influence me throughout the call was his confidence in who he was, which was paired with a deep, powerful tone of voice. He was like the kingpin bully in middle school gym class that nobody ever dared to question. Maybe he was even too confident, and this is what should’ve alerted me.
From my end, since the onset of the call, I felt that I was in hot water. I was in a defensive mental place and wanted to say the right things so I wouldn’t be in trouble. This he used to his advantage, especially in the beginning, by drilling me with questions while not leaving much space for critical thinking. I subconsciously wanted to please him throughout the call, and whenever I did, I felt a little dopamine hit in return. Sure, he did happen to catch me at the worst time and in the most vulnerable state of mind. I feel like if he had called any other day, while I was feeling more balanced and level-headed, something strange would’ve caught my attention and the call would have not gone the way it did. But then again, maybe not. He basically had complete control over me while we were linked via call and text message. By the end of the conversation, if he had asked for a nude photo of me, while saying, “We Just Need to Verify”, I probably would’ve sent that too. Hey, he’s the manager at my job, right? What could go wrong?
When it was all said and done, “John” didn’t get what he was after. By the next day, I was able to secure all of my sensitive personal info, change my passwords, and start over with a new bank account. However, in my mind, he still won—because he tricked me. That’s the thing that gets me to this day, the thing that has been the hardest for me to personally come to terms with. After some introspection, I realized that I didn’t even care that much about the actual money—it’s not the most important thing in the world. If I lost it all, I would’ve figured it out. But over the course of our lengthy Tuesday-evening phone call, I was under the impression that I really connected with this stranger. I started to like him, let my guard down, and gave him my trust. And then, he tricked me.
I write with a tear in my eye that it’s experiences like this that have caused me to lose faith in people. I’ve truly become more cynical over the years. It’s funny how naive I was about things like scam callers when I was younger; I thought I was invincible and they could never touch me. Whenever I heard the cliché-sounding warning “Watch out for identity theft!”, I’d laugh it off and wouldn’t pay much attention. But as I get older, I’m learning to have a better understanding of threats like this, the totality of what people are capable of, of human nature on the whole.
What I’ve come to understand over time is this: there’s all kinds of people out there—good, bad, saints and sinners, and everything in between. The actions people take, the behavior they choose to convey, is good or bad in varying degrees of strength toward one polarity or the other. Moral behavior, and moral character of individuals are a broad spectrum and I believe most people fall somewhere in the middle. However, on the far extreme end of the spectrum, there are evil people.
These individuals are caught so deeply in their own greed, pain, or nihilistic beliefs that they take the qualities of selfishness, self-absorption, and narcissism to a whole new level. In doing so, they lose site of, or simply stop caring for, the livelihood and well-being of others. Other people become like objects to them, only having value to the extent that they can help them satisfy their own desires or be exploited. Warning: These people really are out to get you. They will take everything they can get from you without a moment’s concern if you let them.
Criminals like “John” are out there, right now, on the hunt for new victims. Unfortunately, not everyone will be able to cancel their cards/accounts in time and some people are more at risk at becoming a victim of fraud than others. Still, it can happen to anyone. Heads up: It can happen to you too. Easily. One day, poof, all your hard-earned money is gone. A one-hour and thirty-five minute phone call, that’s how long it took.
Because of incidents like this, we should all be a little more cautious when we’re in touch with a stranger who needs something from us—especially over the phone. Vishing, a term that I recently learned (aka voice phishing), is the use of fraudulent phone calls to trick people into giving money or revealing personal information. It frequently involves a criminal pretending to represent a trusted institution, company, or government agency. In this case, I was targeted through my place of work, where many people are most vulnerable. Moving forward, it is my hope that this, or any other kind of cyber attack, doesn’t happen to you, dear reader. When a stranger calls, please don’t make the same mistakes I did. Here are a few tips to keep in mind to ensure that you won’t:
Scam-Attempt Call (And Text) Prevention Tips
First off, to reduce the threat of vishing attacks in the future, I don’t answer unsolicited calls from unrecognized numbers anymore (nor do I open emails from unknown senders) and I urge you to do the same. If it’s important enough, they’ll leave a message.
However, if you must take an unsolicited call with a stranger, the first thing to keep in mind is that if they request any kind of personal information from you, it is suspicious. This should set off a mental alarm, alerting you to proceed carefully, right off the bat. If you’re unwilling to give up specific information, and the unknown caller responds with threats of consequences, such as fines or penalties, as well as unprofessional, hostile, or even obscene language—take note that these are all typical signs of a vishing call.
Next, there’s hardly ever a time when you need to give out sensitive information or make any decision right now over the phone. If you happen to be caught in a situation where a stranger’s pestering you with questions or making demands, take your time. Take all day if you want. Here’s an idea: Maybe take a few hours to finish submitting your auditions, make dinner, and enjoy some self-care time, and then call them back afterward. There’s no rush. If you feel pressured, or in any way bullied by an unknown caller (or by anyone else, like an ex lover, for that matter), simply disconnect and hang up immediately. (“Whoops! Phone died!”)
Furthermore, be sure to verify the identity of an unknown caller before you share any personal information with them. For this, it’s crucial that you verify who they are in ways that are not connected to the current, incoming phone call. Do not dial numbers and follow prompts that they direct you to. Instead, search for their company’s official public phone number, hop on a new call, and get in touch with the organization in question to speak with the caller who is making the request. This is not you being rude, by the way—it’s being responsible, by taking a few extra minutes to protect your personal information. If you find out there isn’t someone named John Maloney, for example, that’s currently present at the company, you’ve found a criminal.
At the end of the day, the bottom line to keep in mind will always be this: Do not give out passwords, debit card/account numbers, or any other personal information, to an unknown caller without first verifying their identity, no matter what.
Also worth noting: Lately, I’ve been receiving many phishing (or scam-attempt messages) via text message. They often claim to come from massive online companies such as Amazon or PayPal and say something along the lines of, “We’ve locked your account due to unusual activity. If this wasn’t you, please verify with link below.” (Have you noticed that scammers love saying Verify? Verify Verify Verify. It’s their favorite word ever!) These larger-scale, less sophisticated attacks are typically much more obvious to spot than the John Maloney call, but can be equally threatening if we’re not consistently protective of our personal information. Most phishing text messages (or emails) have significant spelling errors and format changes that differentiate them from legitimate sources. They’ll show up unsolicited, attempt to engage your emotions with evocative language, and will almost always appear to be “off” in some way. If your intuition alerts you that something’s “off” and/or appears to be in any way fishy, chances are, you’re correct. Ultimately, we should scrutinize virtually every email and text we receive.
VII. Conclusion
Scam callers that target individuals for sensitive personal information to commit fraud is a modern-day nightmare of an issue that I’ve become quite passionate about since this vishing incident happened to me. I truly believe that this particular kind of criminal is among the lowest of the low in today's society. They are hiding behind their phones and computer screens, secretly plotting their attacks like malicious little hermit crabs, without the strength of character to get a real job, pay taxes, and contribute to their communities like the rest of us. When their scam attempts are successful, they destroy the lives of individuals, create chaos in society, and pathologize the world we live in. They are the epitome of the term loser—the real pond scum of the world.
And the harsh reality is that they’re here to stay, folks. Unfortunately, scam callers like “John” make up a just a tiny part of the larger issue (cyber crime) that will only get worse as society continues moving forward into an increasingly metaverse-dependent world. Today’s hackers/scammers/conmen are found wherever there’s technology, in every virtual environment we’re interacting with, attacking any vulnerability they can find. And all the while, technology is growing and increasing at an incredible rate. (Have you also noticed it seems like one day we are chatting on our new flip phone for the first time, and the next, it’s standard practice for us to be at work via Zoom calls?) The important thing to keep in mind here is that as technology changes over time, so do the technological methods of those who seek to do harm.
But in spite of it all, that’s fine by me. Even after this experience I went through (which truly sucked on multiple personal levels), I stubbornly choose to remain optimistic about humanity and what’s to come in future. There will always be good and bad people. It is what it is. The hackers are here and will always be, fine, so be it. We’re here to stay as well. And it’s time for us to take our power back. I know for certain that this or any other similar kind of scam attempt will never happen to me again, nor will it happen to readers of this blog post, because we’re now aware of and informed on the issue.
As we move forward, I believe our best bet in preventing more of these cyber attacks is, first and foremost, to continue telling each other about them. Increased awareness is the key. It seems to me that, in general, most people I come across aren’t very alert to the possibility and danger of this issue—until the day it happens to them personally (I’m a prime example of this) or to a close friend or relative. So, let’s change this by spreading the word about scammers and staying ahead of the curve. The more people know about it, the less of a chance scammers have for successful attacks in the future.
Secondly, we should do our best to remain informed by consistently keeping ourselves up to date with communications technology and current hacker trends as they both evolve and change over time. Staying informed doesn’t take much effort—just a quick google search, followed by ten to fifteen minutes of reading about current hacker trends once every six months or so, can make all the difference. Also, when your bank sends you warning emails, such as a recent one I received that was titled: “Important Information about a trending payment scam”, it’s worth looking into for a few minutes of your time. Keep in mind that you can always check out the security center tab on your banking app for additional tips on things like: Red flags for common scams, details about trending scams, and ways to avoid being scammed.
Only when we’re aware and informed do we have the best chance of preventing vishing attacks (and cyber attacks in general) both now and in the future. To spread the awareness and stay informed about cyber attacks to keep ourselves and those around us safe and protected in the virtual world as much as possible. That is a worthy mission and meaningful way of moving forward for all of us in this crazy, ever-changing digital age of technology. Onward we go, together.
A Farewell Note to “John”
I’ve never been the biggest believer in karma. Though, as the years pass and I continue to witness defining moments (in both myself and others), many times I find myself thinking about it. Is this karma? Or, is this the universe acting in random?, I often wonder. Will you, “John Maloney”, eventually get what you deserve, in a brutal, intense, all-at-once fashion? Maybe. Or, maybe not. I do imagine that you, most likely, have a very large sum of money to your name. If that’s true, congrats. But in spite of that, you do not have any class. And no amount of money you steal will ever be able to afford you class. You are a man without character, utterly void of any qualities worth admiration. One thing I do know for certain is that your mother, or kids for that matter, would be ashamed of you. As for me, I have no desire for revenge. Though, if I could ever see you in-person, one time, just to look you in the eye and give you a subtle head-nod, that’s all I’d need. You taught me a valuable lesson, and in doing so, you sold your soul. Good luck in this life, brother.