Ephreli’s Fools

Narren

Watching him walk up the street—a young lad with stringy hair and unfocused eyes—I begin tearing the newspaper into strips about two to three inches wide and around six inches long. As I do this, I reconfirm my reasons for choosing this boy out of the crowd; the posture that describes the boy’s lack of confidence and the expression that screams inexperience, as well as the clothing that reveals his socioeconomic status. This one was even more of a sure thing than the one from the other day.

I know where he’s going of course; he took this same route yesterday. It’s right now 4:55pm. I circle around the block. I fold the shredded paper into a blue and green handkerchief and stuff it in my jacket pocket. I pull out my other wad. As I turn the corner I see him coming towards me. “Excuse me young sir,” I say to him in my most accented manner, “could you please help me?” I have a very trustworthy voice.

He begins to perform an avoidance posture; head down, a slight step off to the side without slowing. When his lowered eyes land on the poorly concealed cash in my left hand by my left thigh though, he stops and what started to come out as a mumbled “Sorry,” turns into a “S-shure!”

He isn’t thinking he’ll take the money or any such thing, he just realizes that I’m not a beggar and perhaps am only in need of direction. It’s the accent of course, it gets them every time. And, unconsciously, the money. Even if he doesn’t yet intend to take it, money makes everyone stop.

“You are very kind, no one has wanted to help me, thank you sir!” I’m wearing a look, in bearing and expression, of a very tired immigrant, down-on-my-luck. It’s very believable that no one wants to help me. “You see, I have been working for this man in the city who pays me in cash, you understand? I need to send it home to my family, but I, ah, have no means of doing so. Do you think that you might take my cash and put it in your bank, and give me a check that I may send home? I would give you twenty dollars if you would do this for me.”

This is the trickiest moment of course. My story’s absurd, but a young moron such as this will usually ignore the details and choose to believe me once he realizes I might hand him a big stack of money. “Uh, sure I suppose so,” he stammers.

“Wonderful! There is a bank near here, we can go and put the money in and you can have them write a cashier’s check for me, yes?”

The young man checks his watch. “Ah I’m sorry, the banks are closing now, I’m afraid we’re too late.”

“No, no!” I say, a little panic in my oh-so-trustworthy voice as though I’m just now realizing the time. “Come, come, there is a bank right over here, quick, maybe we can catch them open.” I lead him across the street to a bank which has an ATM that I know very well doesn’t accept cash deposits. The doors of course are locked. “Ah no!” I slump for a moment.

Then, a light in my eye, I pretend to notice the ATM. “Oh look, can you put the money into that machine?”

“Uh, maybe,” he says. “But not all ATMs let you do that.”

“Please, please sir, can you try? My family…” We go to the machine, I give him the money and stand just slightly to the side. “Here is the five hundred dollars I have saved. Put it in, then we will go to your building. I will wait outside for you to bring me a check. I am not worried, you have a good face, you seem very honest to me.”

He pulls out his wallet, and a bank card. I’m very good at pretending to look somewhere that I’m not really looking. His PIN number is a year, 2001. I try very hard not to roll my eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, apparently this is one that won’t accept cash deposits.”

“Oh no, that is not good, not good.” I sound a little desperate. He’s holding the money out to me in one hand, his bank card down in the other. “Look, look, you seem very kind. If I give you this money, do you promise that you will come back with a check for me?” I take both of his hands and bring them together, pleading. He stammers that of course he would do that. I smile warmly and pull a blue and green handkerchief out of my back pocket and take the money and his bank card from him as I maintain eye contact. He lets me.

“See, young sir, I will put these in here and wrap it up, please be very careful, I do not want some thief to steal them from you, they are very important to both of us. Come, we will go to your building and I will wait there for you.” As we walk, I wrap the money in the cloth, and his card I leave tucked just under the knot. I see him watching. I hand him a blue and green handkerchief wrapped around a wad. He lives very close, in a tall apartment building.

“Don’t worry sir, I’ll be right back,” he says.

“Please young sir, and thank you, I am trusting you!” I watch him run inside the lobby. I wait until the elevator doors close, then I turn and walk fast. I laugh as I imagine him getting inside his apartment and opening the handkerchief full of wadded up newspaper shreds. I chuckle, and feel the bank card sticking out of the tied end of the handkerchief in my pocket. I slip it out, heading back the way we came. By the time he gets back downstairs, I’ll have already emptied his bank account. Well, up to the daily limit, anyway. But five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks, and really, I’m doing him a favor. This’ll teach the young idiot something something about life or something.

Ephreli

As I get in the elevator and ascend, I am trying not to laugh. A guy on the street just tried to scam me and that always makes my day. I have been doing this for, well, a very long time. Rip-off artists love picking me out of a crowd; I just have that kind of face.

When the door opens on the third floor, I hustle out and hit the stairwell. I run downstairs and out the back, heading in the opposite direction we had come from. I savor the consternation he will feel when he puts the expired bank card I keep around for just such an opportunity into the ATM, and it fails to work. The delicious shock he will feel when he opens his handkerchief and finds the wadded up newspaper shreds he thought were his key to someone else’s petty cash. It is almost enough to make me try to follow him, but I have done this sort of thing many times and my imagination is generally accurate.

I am not worried about him finding me though. By the time he gets over his disbelief, I will be gone. It always takes them a few beats, because they absolutely will not fathom that they themselves could ever be taken that way, especially by someone with a face like mine.

Petty con artists are my bread and butter. A humanitarian mission, even. Every once in a while you need to fool the fools who prey on fools, although they never really learn the lesson. Regardless, it is always fun to teach it. I look fondly at the currency in this piece of cloth. Just one more joke to play…

Scherz



I enter my shitty apartment, defeated. I am so fucked. I really needed that money. I pour a drink of Philly’s worst. I’ve been out of work for two months and that was all I had, rent is due in a week. I’ve been footing it all over town dressed in my least shitty clothes, looking for work every day. Nobody will hire me. Somehow, people just seem to know I’m a fuck-up. I must have a tattoo on my forehead or some shit.

When that guy handed me a wad of cash last week, I’d thought I had it made for another month at least. Sure, sure, I told him. I’ll write you a check, no problem. I even meant it. Of course, my checkbook was from an old, closed bank account. I pour another drink.

I’d felt bad about wanting to screw over that guy, but not as bad as I needed that extra five hundred bucks. Turns out, the guy was just giving me another opportunity to fuck up. I should feel stupid for falling for that trick, but honestly I’m just angry; angry at that asshole for conning me, angry at myself for not seeing it coming and turning the tables on him. I’m smarter than that! Maybe it’s something about the way I walk?

I hear a knock on my door. I open it, no one’s there. I look down, there’s a blue and green handkerchief folded around something, and a note. Written in red pen it says, “For the idiot who might actually learn something.” Feeling a little insulted, I open it. It’s five hundred bucks, exactly what that creep took out of my account. My first thought is, ha! Then I think, shit, but I’m really no better off than before. Fuck my life. I go to pour another drink, but the bottle’s empty. I pull a bill out of the envelope and head out to the store.