Talk to Strangers VI: Scammed

It was brilliant, genius, and I was not only witness to it, but I was the principle player.

I had a wonderful day in the heart of Paris. Took in a bit of the Louvre. (You need an entire day and more to see this brilliant collection that the French worked very hard to acquire.) Took in every bit of the Musee Orangerie loving every minute of this small overlooked gallery. By the time I was done I was feeling very comfortable. Well, as comfortable as an English-only speaker can get in France. I took the #72 toward the Hotel de Ville and disembarked perfectly. Now I was immersed. The Seine was to my right and all along the walk there were artists. Artists of all kinds.

I am always on the lookout for a good candid shot and I spotted one. Turns out they spotted me first. A young woman and an older man were betting on a shell game using matchboxes and a marble. Perfect! As soon as I walked up the woman won handily. (I think back on that and wonder at the timing.) All I wanted was a photo, but I was sucked (suckered) right in. She played again, so I watched where he placed the cat’s eye, following the matchbox, noticing when he slipped it under another. I knew exactly where it was, darn it. After all, I was an expert at the Hat Game when I went to see the Mariners play. She pointed to a box. “No,” I found myself saying aloud in English, “Not that one.” Done. Fait. I was toast.

The good-looking man running the game was on me immediately. “Dutch?” he asked, like he hadn't heard me speak. “US” I replied.

“You guess right?” and handed me a 50 euro note, just to prime me. My! I knew exactly where that marble was. I had no doubt. “You place a bet. You double,” he said and slipped the note from my fingers. Ok. €20 only. I didn’t have anything smaller. But out slipped another 20 cause I was that sure. “You have more?” he asked, like a good coach.

I know you’re yelling at me right now, saying “Stop. Back away from the scam artist!” I want you to hear me when I say sincerely, I tried. At the instant those bills were passed I said, “No. Wait. You moved it!”  I tried. Really.

“No. It is not moved.” (You have to read that with a lovely French accent.) Plus I had my foot placed on the matchbox the whole time, like I was told by my wonderful coach.

You know what happened. I moved my foot. They lifted the box. There as nothing underneath. They (all three of them) quickly grabbed the boxes, the carpet, the marble I suppose, and walked away, fast. Poof.

You can shake your head if you want. It’s ok. I thought it was a marvelous Paris experience. Fuck the money.