Bamboozled

Bamboozle is one of my favorite words. It has this old-timey charm, like "bootlegger," "crook," or "shyster." It makes you think of dimly lit speakeasies and a world of whispered deals and shadowy figures. But this story isn’t from the1880s, it’s from 2023. And instead of a back-alley poker game, it starts on a dating app.

Some people might call what happened “catfishing,” but I like bamboozled better because when you’re over 50, it’s just some shyster shit. For a moment, I bought into it. I wanted to believe.

He had all the right credentials. A Duke graduate with Southern roots, just like my family. He cared for his ailing grandmother and the family farm that had been passed down for generations, probably since the original 40 acres and a mule. He attended elegant events, dressed well, and had a real job. Our conversations flowed effortlessly.

After swiping left on hundreds of pictures of toothless men holding up a fish they caught, standing in front of a trailer park or walls with peeling paint, or snapping what might have been prison selfies, I thought I’d finally found someone.

I was ready to say yes to the dress after one week.

But here’s the thing about gut feelings: they are rarely wrong. And my gut was saying, “Sis, something ain’t right.”

So I started doing some more digging. You see, my earlier search for anything about a tragic boating accident in the 1970s that took the lives of his parents had already come up empty. And the emergency flight he needed to take at 9:30 p.m. to care for his ailing grandmother? It wasn’t on the flight manifest. Finally, I put his information into a reverse phone number app because, of course, I have an annual membership.

And that’s when the truth started to unravel.

His name wasn’t Theopolis. It was Willie. (Not his real name, to protect the guilty.)

With his real name in hand, I did a deeper dive. I zoomed in on his house using Google Maps and saw the cars parked in the driveway, the neatly trimmed lawn, and the life he shared with his wife. A quick search on LinkedIn told me where he worked. And just to confirm my suspicions, I called a girlfriend who happened to be one of his colleagues.

“Oh yeah,” she said with a chuckle. “I know him.”

It was an attempted bamboozle.

Looking back, it was almost funny. But, here’s the thing, I could have driven to Willie’s house, knocked on his door, and sat down for a conversation with his wife. Lucky for him, I’m not that kind of person.

But life has a way of wrapping things up for you. A month later, I read that Willie had retired early—just before the charges came down for embezzlement.

Here’s what I know. Trust your gut, do your digging, and always have a sense of humor. Sometimes, being bamboozled is just a good story waiting to be told.

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