[stylist] {Spam?} RE: {Spam?} Long Article: I'll Call HerSandy(some profanity)
Miss Thea
thearamsay at rogers.com
Thu Mar 13 08:05:02 UTC 2014
I'd like to write you off list, but can't find your address.
When I click on the applications or the right mouse button at the contact
name button, I don't get anywhere.
Thea
-----Original Message-----
From: Atty Rose
Sent: Wednesday, March 12, 2014 11:54 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] {Spam?} RE: {Spam?} Long Article: I'll Call
HerSandy(some profanity)
That was a powerful article and am so sorry you went through that. I looked
at Pink cupid but I never actually joined it.
That stinks about not being able to get out of the house. I guess I don't
understand the restrictions on your transportation stuff. You can not use
public transportation?
I did love it when you said you would mail him your plastic eyes. You don't
sound like a shrinking violet, that is for sure!
Drop me a line if you like and we can chat.
Atty
----- Original Message -----
From: "Miss Thea" <thearamsay at rogers.com>
To: "Erica Turner" <ericaturner203012 at gmail.com>; "Writer's Division Mailing
List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Wednesday, March 12, 2014 5:57 AM
Subject: Re: [stylist] {Spam?} RE: {Spam?} Long Article: I'll Call Her
Sandy(some profanity)
> Hi, Erica.
> I thank you for your empathy.
> I'm getting there.
> That's why I wrote this article. I wanted to put a face and a name to the
> nameless victims of romance scams, whether they lose money or not.
> I figure if I'm going to feel like crap for weeks and weeks, someone might
> as well benefit.
> I want my readers to feel each emotion, each circumstance.
> I'm thinking it'll be harder for them to smugly say, "Well you shouldn't
> have fallen for her in the first place".
> It's too easy for people to pass judgment, while refusing to wear the
> shoes of the person they're judging.
> I'm glad you didn't do that, and I pray others won't as well.
> I hope someone who has the power to do something will read the article and
> laws will be toughened on these heartless criminals.
> Thea
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Erica Turner
> Sent: Tuesday, March 11, 2014 7:43 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: [stylist] {Spam?} RE: {Spam?} Long Article: I'll Call Her Sandy
> (some profanity)
>
> Hi Thea! My name is Erica and I live in Jacksonville, Florida. I am so
> sorry to hear about your scam...your article had me on the edge of my
> seat. Wow...how are you doing now?
>
>
> Sent via the Samsung GALAXY S®4 Active™, an AT&T 4G LTE smartphone
>
> I still have joy because I believe that it is well with my soul.
> Erica Turner
> (904) 881-1168 (cell)
> (904) 586-2528 (home)
> ericaturner203012 at gmail.com
>
> -------- Original message --------
> From: Miss Thea <thearamsay at rogers.com>
> Date: 03/11/2014 4:16 PM (GMT-05:00)
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: [stylist] {Spam?} Long Article: I'll Call Her Sandy (some
> profanity)
>
> Description: Even if you’re smart enough to avoid the devastating money
> losses associated with romance scams, the price is still too high.
>
>
> I met her on Pink Cupid, a lesbian dating site. She was different from
> anyone else I’d met. From her first message in late January, to the day it
> all went to hell just after Valentine’s Day, she was a class act. I’ll
> call her “Sandy”.
>
> I am a person with disabilities, born totally blind, live with depression
> and anxiety disorders, and have picked up several pain conditions along
> the way. In addition, I’m a virtual shut-in, due to an enforced escort
> requirement slapped on my file by my city’s paratransit. I can find
> someone for medical appointments, but not much more. People aren’t
> volunteering to sit on a paratransit vehicle so I can get to a party, get
> a job, or take a course. They just don’t want to commit that kind of time,
> nor can they. Plus, how’d you like a 3rd party while you’re on a date,
> getting to know someone? Even if I could find such people, it would be
> awkward for all concerned. Plus, not everyone wants to help a lesbian meet
> other women. I have had to end a volunteer relationship with one person
> who felt that because the paratransit demanded I have an escort, I was
> obviously intellectually handicapped, needed to be told how to live, and
> that I was certainly a moral degenerate who needed to hear that old saw:
> “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve”.
>
> Thus, my quality of life is vastly undermined, since the ability to get
> from A to B, so important to anyone over the age of sixteen, is denied me.
>
> What’s next? An online dating site: Pink Cupid.
>
> That’s where I met her. I’ll call her “Sandy”.
>
> Age-appropriate, friendly, not casting me aside because of my disabilities
> or my shut-in status, we began communicating daily.
>
> Through the magic of a screenreader and a Braille display, plus VoiceOver,
> iPhone’s built-in screen reader, I had connected with another human soul.
>
> I awoke to messages from her, got iPhone texts from her throughout the
> day, and a beautiful song on Valentine’s Day. I sent her a song on
> Valentine’s Day as well, not to mention throughout-the-day messages: I’m
> doing this or that, I’m thinking of you. You’re in my prayers.
>
> She told me all about her life, and her work as a structural engineer in
> South Africa.
>
> She always treated me like a lady, never tried to use me for cyber sex.
> She never cheapened me in any way. I was her baby girl, and she, my
> princess. I could feel it in the air, as Valentine’s Day drew nearer.
>
> I phoned her using my Skype credits, and asked her outright.
>
> “Sandy, we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, but it feels like
> we’re in love. What do you think?”
>
> She gave me a hearty laugh, as warm as fur. “Of course. You’re my baby
> girl!”
>
> I’ll skip the part where I rolled on the floor, purring.
>
> I read her letters on my Braille display to my two other blind friends.
> The sincerity, beauty and eloquence of her missives, which now included
> that beautiful “l” word, impressed them. My sighted friends said she had
> an open, honest face, and praised the transparency and vulnerability she
> displayed in her letters. Everyone wished me well, even those who do not
> approve of “the gay lifestyle”.
>
> My usual depression lifted. I wrote with passion and fervor, knowing my
> Lady was also working hard on her project. I borrowed that old Chuck Berry
> tune as I washed and dried the dishes, fed and picked up my sleek-furred
> cat for the petting of his life, and my fingers danced on the keyboard
> writing, even when they weren’t writing. They poised over the keys while
> my Muse stood beside me, giving me unaccustomed energy. I sang, “It was a
> lesbian wedding, and the straight folks wished them well.”
>
> I dreamed of her at night, and called her in South Africa, too excited to
> sleep. I sang to her; she told me of her plans to visit Canada.
>
> “When? Like April or May?” I asked.
>
> “March. As soon as this contract job is over. I love you.”
>
> “I love you, too.”
>
> I was euphoric, counting days, planning all the things she might like to
> see in bustling Toronto. Or maybe she’d just like to cuddle up, pet the
> cat, and relax.
>
> Then, on the 18th of February, I called her number in South Africa. A man
> answered, which astonished me as “Sandy” had always answered the phone.
> Every time I called or Skyped her I got the same woman with the same
> voice.
>
> “May I speak to Sandy?” I asked.
>
> “She’s not here,” said a man with a thick African accent. “Before I can
> tell you anything, what was your relationship to Miss (I’ll call her
> Woods)?”
>
> “I’m her girlfriend,” I said.
>
> “Oh yes, and you are …”
>
> “Thea.”
>
> “That’s right. She said you were her lover or something. You see, there’s
> been an accident at the building site.”
>
> My Sandy was a 43-year-old self-employed structural engineer, working on a
> multi-million-dollar bridge.
>
> “Somebody died at the site as a result of the accident,” he said.
>
> I started to cry. “Oh, God. Not Sandy.”
>
> “No, no,” he quickly reassured me. “She is quite safe, but the police
> arrested her on suspicion of negligence.”
>
> “Who are you?”
>
> “I’m her lawyer. Don’t worry, I’ll have her out of jail in the morning,
> and you will continue as you did before.”
>
> I could only imagine what she must be feeling, knowing that someone had
> died on her watch, and relieved that it wasn’t her.
>
> “Sandy wants you to know that she loves you, and asks you to pray for
> her.” In fact, she’d been crying and calling my name, and had given her
> phone to this “lawyer”, who was a stranger to us both, because she had no
> friends or family in South Africa. He was to call me back the next day. I
> told him only that I loved her, and would stand by her, and asked him to
> please pass along my love.
>
> The next day, he did not call back. I held off as long as I could, then
> called South Africa. I got him again. This time, I was told that Sandy had
> not become a client. He could do nothing for her, as she hadn’t the fee.
>
> “Can you help her?” he asked.
>
> “No,” I said. “I’m totally blind, and am unemployed. Can you help? I mean,
> you’re a lawyer and you’re right there.”
>
> “Well, since you’ve been honest enough to tell me you are blind, I must
> tell you I have a wife and two kids. I can’t work for free.”
>
> It went downhill from there. Emotionally exhausted, worried about my
> girlfriend, I demanded to know if this man was just going to let her rot
> because she didn’t have the fee? I assured him that she would get paid for
> her work. He never mentioned Legal Aid. At the time, neither did I. But I
> was the emotional wreck, not him. He continued to tell me that Sandy cried
> my name and wanted me to know everything that was going on.
>
> The conversation with the “lawyer” ended in a shouting match. He hung up
> on me.
>
> I wrote my darling a text, saying I did not like this man who had her
> phone, that I could not understand him because of his thick accent, and
> that I was angry with him for not helping her. I also asked her his name.
>
> She was a woman alone, in South Africa, and I, her girlfriend, was alone
> and disabled in Canada, worried sick, my mental health deteriorating,
> unable to eat or sleep. I withdrew. I lay on my bed, worrying. The only
> time I got news about Sandy was when I picked up the phone.
>
> The next afternoon, my iPhone announced that she had written me. I grabbed
> the phone, exultant, till I read the text. Then my spirits plummeted.
> “Thanks for all d insults. I think I should know who I can give my phone
> to. Aren’t you ashamed that you can help who you say you love? (I’ll call
> the signature “Smith”) Furious, I thought of all the tears shed, the
> prayers said, the worry, the anger on her behalf. This “lawyer” hadn’t
> even been decent enough to give me his name, nor had he answered my
> tearful pleas to tell me where she was being held, and all my research on
> the Internet which is about 1 percent accessible to the blind, netted me
> nothing.
>
> My last call was the worst. I found out that he, not Sandy, had sent that
> insulting message. He was jumping up and down demanding respect, that I
> had no right to say anything about his accent, and I was screaming at him
> for ruining my life. If Sandy ever read all the messages I’d sent to her
> mobile, recriminating her for the insults she’d sent me–which were, in
> fact sent by this “Smith”, she would never forgive me. Worst of all, the
> empathetic lawyer had died and left this snake in his place.
>
> “How do I know you’re blind?” he demanded.
>
> “I’ll mail you my plastic eyes, you son of a bitch!” I shouted at an
> equally high decibel. The call ended badly, to say the least–him demanding
> respect he hadn’t merited, and me screaming for blood.
>
> When he hung up on me, I continued screaming–at God, at life, at whoever
> was unable to do anything but listen.
>
> “I’m blind! I’m stuck! I can’t get her out of there, and that scum bag won’t
> help!” I melted down. I suffered a 24-hour headache after that sobbing,
> screaming session. During this, I got one of my regularly scheduled calls
> from the Distress Center, which my shut-in status vouchsafes me so I know
> I’m not alone.
>
> I sobbed through the whole story.
>
> I was a lioness, chained, powerless, while her just-born cub had its belly
> ripped open by a stronger animal. I roared with impotent rage, sadness,
> confusion.
>
> I wrote Sandy one final text. I loved her, but could not take the stress.
> This “lawyer” was daily shaking me down for money I did not have. I was
> snapping and snarling at my best friend, when I wasn’t staring at the
> ceiling, feeling nothing but an all-consuming rage. I didn’t leave her
> because she was in jail. I left her because no one would help us keep
> connected and this odious man had her phone, and was shaking me down,
> shaming me for not “helping”, essentially calling me a liar in the matter
> of my blindness. Apparently, he hadn’t looked at the picture I tried to
> take of myself that I’d sent Sandy before the trouble started: when we
> were in Lesbian Sweetheart Land. We’d both had a good laugh at that
> attempt.
>
> Then I wondered. Was she in jail at all? Why wasn’t this odious man at
> least telling me where they were holding her so I could get out of his
> hair, and contact her in jail, if that’s where she really was? I googled
> “bridge disaster kills one in Cape Town”, and came up empty. An
> acquaintance who lives in South Africa hadn’t heard anything either. I got
> to thinking. This was supposedly a multi-million-dollar bridge, there was
> a fatality, and the supervisor, my new girlfriend, was in police custody
> for negligence? Why was there nothing about it on the net? Why had my
> acquaintance not heard of it? If it was only questioning, how long could
> South African police actually hold her, anyway? My bottom lip became raw
> from chewing. Hmm. What was really going on here?
>
> I began to give serious consideration to the possibility that my “little
> lion cub” might be playing a part in this. Why, if he was a stranger, did
> she give him her phone? Why not to a member of her staff? Why hadn’t she
> called me? OK, in the excitement, she could have remembered me much later.
> Still, I was being played like a violin. The lawyer said he went up to the
> prison, that it was about an hour’s drive, that it was a real
> inconvenience, that he was doing us a kindness. But in all that time,
> Sandy never called me once, or texted me to tell me she was being treated
> all right, that the food sucked, that she still loved me, or anything. The
> “lawyer” kept pushing my buttons: My lamb was in trouble, and why wasn’t I
> getting her out? Yeah, sure you’re blind! Tell me another one.
>
> My sight was clearing–not my optic nerves, my head. If she really was in
> jail, and this guy was taking her phone to her so she could read her
> messages, why hadn’t I heard even as much as a short text before visiting
> hours were over? It was as if she no longer existed, except as a button he
> could push. They were very subtle. She never said a word about money or
> anything, and he never asked me directly for money–just stomped on that
> “protective love” button, while my Dorothy was supposedly locked up in the
> witch’s castle. Hmm. I smelled not one, but two, rats, and made a
> decision.
>
> I reported her to Pink Cupid, and received an email from a 3rd party
> stating that her profile had been removed from the site.
>
> The romance, or love scam, according to one internet source I read, thanks
> to my screenreader and Braille display, is the twelfth highest on the list
> of fraudulent activities.
>
> According to the FBI, women who are lonely, disabled, over 40, widowed or
> divorced, (that’s all me), are the most likely targets, but every person
> and age group is at risk.
>
> The story goes like this: Someone from a Western country claims to be
> living or working overseas. They woo you. In my case, Sandy power-wooed me
> with iTexts and emails that built my trust, emails in which she told me
> all about herself, emails in which she was interested in everything I did.
> Her texts were sweet, told me how much she missed me.
>
> True, we hadn’t actually met, but we had talked on the phone several
> times, and on Skype–my dime. I bought Skype credits so I could call her in
> South Africa. Our conversations were always uplifting, fun, and made me
> love her more. She had said that her computer “had a fault” and that now
> we were together, she would learn to use Skype.
>
> Then, the “tragedy” happened. These were slick people. From the 18 of
> February, I never heard Sandy’s voice, so she certainly didn’t ask for
> money, and while the “lawyer” was too clever to use the word “money”, he
> shamed me for not “helping” someone I say I love. He couldn’t have meant
> anything else! He had already mentioned the fee which Sandy could not
> afford, and asked if I could “help” or if I had family or friends who
> could.
>
> In truth, I was one of the “lucky” ones. I had made it my business to read
> every Dating Safety Tip Pink Cupid had to offer, and I read other tips not
> on the site.
>
> I also read testimonies of women and men who had lost devastating amounts
> of money, in addition to the emotional anguish..
>
> Still, even if you’re smart enough NEVER to send anyone you meet online
> money for any reason, the emotional cost is too high.
>
> These heartless criminals net billions of dollars every year, and cause
> emotional as well as financial devastation to their victims.
>
> If you’ve been scammed in this way, you can contact the FBI’s crime
> complaint center at http://www.ic3.gov). They may be able to help you
> recover the funds, but unfortunately, there’s no law enforcement agency
> that can help you recover from the emotional damage done by these crooks.
>
> I’d like to see the day when laws are passed with high fines or prison
> sentences for 419, or romance scammers. This is not a “bad” relationship
> that didn’t work out. These people carefully groom you, build you up, woo
> or power-woo you, for the sole purpose of getting their hands on your
> money. I was lucky enough not to have it, as unemployed, disabled people
> don’t make much.
>
> Still, I was set up for a sting that has nothing to do with the honeybee.
> If tough laws made such scams unappealing for these criminals, imagine how
> much safer this world would be! With these people behind bars or working
> in hard labor camps, they wouldn’t have time to think of new ways to hurt
> people.
>
> True love is hard to find, at the best of times. I’m praying for the day
> when the “Sandys” and “Smiths” of this world will be unable to add one
> more anguish to people already often targeted by others: people who seem
> weak or vulnerable, the disabled, the lonely, the elderly. Instead of
> blaming the vic for being “gullible”, the law should concentrate its
> efforts on rounding up the wolves.
>
> Then, I could do what the dating site hopes I will do: Have a fun, safe
> dating experience. I’m not only speaking as a lesbian, but as a mom, whose
> teenager is a lesbian. Her father and I have split. She doesn’t wish
> contact with me as of now, and I only wish I was there to help her avoid
> the pitfalls these criminals present. These people know that even if you’ve
> read the Safety tips, when emotions are strong, you’d do anything to get
> your Dorothy out of the witch’s castle. To find out that your Dorothy IS
> the witch, and is scamming you together with a partner … Well, it’s
> something I’d spare my daughter, if I could. In light of the fact that
> people who are scammed over and over again have a harder time recovering
> next time, have a harder time forgiving and forgetting, that each scam
> attempt, plus the ordinary “bad” relationships, makes it that much more
> likely that the target will turn into someone bitter and fed up, isn’t it
> time we got really tough on the love scammers? For our sakes, for our
> children’s.
>
> _______________________________________________
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