Scammers Who Prey on the Elderly

Every morning I telephone my elderly parents to make sure they’re okay.  At some point in the conversation I invariably ask, ‘What are you both up to today?’ Usually I’m told there is either a hospital appointment, a doctor’s appointment, a chiropodist appointment, or a visit to an osteopath (appointments are now a full-time occupation!).  You get the picture. However, on this particular day my parents weren’t going anywhere ... because somebody was coming to them.
          ‘That’s nice,’ I said, expecting them to say another golden-oldie pal was swinging by for coffee.  ‘Who is visiting?’
          ‘An audiologist,’ said my father.
          I was puzzled.  My father has had hearing aids for a few years, and always visits a specialist in Bromley. As far as I was aware, his audiologist didn’t do home visits.
          ‘Oh no,’ my father explained, ‘it’s a completely different person doing the hearing test.  He’s offering the latest hearing aid.’
          ‘But you have the latest hearing aid,’ I said, confused.
          ‘Ah, but this is the latest latest hearing aid.’
          ‘Right,’ I said, mind whirring, ‘and how did you hear (no pun intended) about this chap, Dad?’
          ‘He telephoned me.  Such a nice man.  It’s all above board.  He said he’d show me his business card.’
          I'll bet he did, I thought, my mouth pressing into a thin line.
          ‘So let me get this straight, Dad.  You were cold-called?’
          ‘Yes.’
          ‘And what’s the man’s name?’
          ‘I don't know.’
          Marvellous!
          ‘Can you remember his company name?’
          ‘Um ... no.’
          ‘So, basically, Dad, you’re allowing a total stranger into your home?’
          Whereupon my father laughed and laughed and laughed, and said, ‘Debs, why are you getting so worked up? It’s fine!’
          But it’s not fine.  My parents are from a generation where trust was, and still is, paramount.  Their word is their bond.  Shake on it, and it’s a deal.  I don’t know about you, but nowadays I don’t see much honouring of that.  Mostly, it’s every man for himself and exactly what he can get out of an opportunity.  It’s not that long ago my father was telephoned by a ‘nice chap’ claiming to work from BT who told him his computer wasn’t working properly (by coincidence, it wasn’t), and talked him through remote control. Next thing my father was locked out of his computer and having to change all his bank cards.
          ‘What time is this man coming over, Dad?’
          ‘In an hour.’
          Thank God I work from home and can drop everything.
          Twenty minutes later, I pulled up on my parents’ drive.  My father told me I was over-reacting.  Meanwhile he’d remembered the visiting audiologist’s name.  I Googled it and within seconds found the company.  A company search revealed its net worth was zero, and it wasn’t trading.
          ‘Well I’m not concerned.  The gentleman sounded very educated.  Lovely speaking voice.  And he’s going to show me his business card,’ was all my father kept saying.
          A few months ago, my parents were nearly duped by a man selling necklaces that contained a panic button, supposedly linked to an emergency helpline that called an ambulance if you, for example, had a nasty fall and couldn’t get up.  I checked that company out too, and discovered they’d gone bankrupt.  There were also many negative reviews on their website – which hadn’t been taken down – about customers who’d spent hundreds of pounds on necklaces that didn’t work because nobody had come in their hour of need.  After that, I’d made my dad promise he wouldn’t fall for cold callers’ sales spiel again.  When I pointed this reminder out, he had no recollection at all about the necklace fiasco, which worried me.  He’s not senile, but he is clearly forgetful.
          Sighing, we settled down to await Mister Nice-Guy, the audiologist.
          ‘What's the betting this guy turns up in a flash motor and smart suit? I said.
          ‘Surely that would mean he’s genuine,’ said my dad, baffled.
          I mentally slapped my forehead, and inwardly groaned.
          ‘No, Dad. It means nothing.’
          ‘And the business card? Surely that counts for something!’
          ‘Sadly not. Listen, Dad. I can print off business cards saying I’m the Prime Minister.  If I gave you a card, would you believe I’m Theresa May?’
          My father paused, digesting this.  For the first time, I saw a glimmer of realisation dawning.  He’d been had.  Well, almost.  Fortunately, he had an absolutely livid daughter on the warpath.  We were distracted by the sound of a car pulling up.  I erupted out of my parents’ house like Dame Kelly Holmes off the starting block.
          The man was everything I’d expected. Ultra-smart, his suit was so sharp I could have cut my fingers on it, and his vehicle was a top-of-the-range Land Rover (hired for the day?).  His big smarmy smile wavered when I whipped out my mobile phone and took a picture of, first, his registration plate and, second, him.  Looking anxious, he buzzed the window down half an inch.
          ‘Um, I have an appointment with–’
          ‘It’s cancelled,’ I interrupted.
          ‘Not a problem,’ he squeaked, one hand already putting the car into reverse.
          ‘How dare you target the elderly,’ I snarled, doing my best impression of an aggravated Rottweiler, ‘and wangle your way into their homes.’
          But I was talking to myself.  All that remained of the visitor was the dissipating exhaust fumes from his car.  It’s about time scammers were named, shamed and punished.  You can’t trust anyone.  Which reminds me.  (Stop reading now if you are a very refined type, super religious or easily take offence!)
          A man is driving down a deserted stretch of road when he notices a sign.  It says Sisters of Mercy House of Sin 10 Miles. He thinks he must have misread it and drives on without a second thought. Soon he sees another sign which says Sisters of Mercy House of Sin 5 Miles and realises he read the first sign correctly. When he drives past a third sign saying Sisters of Mercy House of Sin Next Right, his curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls into the drive.  In front of him is a sombre building with a small sign next to the doorbell.  It says Sisters of Mercy. He rings the bell. The door is answered by a nun who says, ‘What can I do for you, my son?’  He says, ‘I saw your signs on the motorway, and wondered if you’d like to do business.’  The nun inclines her head and says, ‘Follow me.’  The man is led along a passage to a closed door which bears the sign Please knock.  He knocks, and the door is answered by another nun holding a plate.  She says, ‘Please place £50 on the plate, then go through the large wooden door over there.’ The man opens his wallet, puts £50 on the plate, and trots eagerly to the large wooden door, pulling it shut behind him. He finds himself in a small courtyard, adjacent to the car park, where another sign reads: Go in Peace. You Have Just Been Scr*wed by the Sisters of Mercy.