Kindness Taken for a Ride: The Elderly Scam

I used to buy my fruit from the same little stand on the corner.
I did it because the owners were an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, with no one to look after them, just struggling to get by. So, I never haggled, never even asked the price or checked the weight.
That is, until I noticed the dates he sold me were two dollars a pound more expensive than what he charged the person right before me.
Mr. Peterson, I asked, why did you sell those dates to her for eight dollars a pound, but charge me ten?
He just smiled, his eyes crinkling. Because youre a teacher, Miss Chloe. You have a beautiful, kind heart. Youre just storing up good karma for yourself.
So thats what it was. They were ripping off a regular.

1
I made a point of stopping by their stand every Monday and Friday to help them out. They were trying to make a living, but their sons were worthless, and their life was pitifully hard. When Mrs. Peterson was in the hospital a while back, I couldnt help myself and slipped him $800 in cash.
Make sure your wife gets the best care, Mr. Peterson, Id told him.
His hand trembled as he took the money, his eyes welling up with tears. His voice cracked, thick with emotion. Thank you, Miss Chloe. Thank you. He then scooped a huge bag of dates and handed them to me.
I quickly pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. These look fantastic today. Ill take them.
I never questioned the price with him, never asked how much things weighed. I always just gave him extra; it had become a habit over the last two years. To me, it was just pocket change.
Just as he was about to take the bill, a hurried customer cut in.
Hey, how much for the dates?
Mr. Petersons eyes darted toward me, a flash of guilt in them. He suddenly seemed anxious to get rid of me. Why dont you head on home, Miss Chloe? Ill hold these for you. You can pick them up after work.
I didn't think anything of it. But as I turned to leave, I heard Mr. Petersons quiet voice behind me. Eight dollars a pound. How many do you want?
Eight dollars a pound?
My feet felt like they were glued to the pavement. Id been buying dates from him every day for a while now. Hed told me just the other day they were ten dollars a pound. Thats what hed been charging me all along. Why was it suddenly eight for someone else?
A bitter feeling started to creep in. I didn't mind giving them money to help; I like being charitable. But I couldn't stand being deceived. To see if I was imagining things, I waited in my car for an hour before walking back to the stand.
Mr. Peterson, I asked, trying to keep my voice even, how many pounds were in that bag you set aside for me? Whats the total?
He held up a hand, showing all five fingers. Five pounds even. Thatll be fifty dollars. He grinned, revealing a set of decaying teeth. He looked so honest, so simple, as if charging me fifty bucks was doing me some huge favor.
Had he been doing this for the past two years?
Fine, I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. Five pounds it is. I tried to reason with myself. Hes an old man, his kids dont support him, whats a little extra money? I always gave him more anyway. I was used to it. It didnt matter.
But this time, it did. I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to him.
Mr. Petersons smile vanished. He clutched the bill, his face twisting. Miss Chloe, you never ask the price you never ask about the weight. Why are you why are you doing this now?
Is there a problem? My voice was colder than I intended.
Well, you were going to give me a hundred before, werent you? Why only fifty now? Are you shorting me? he pressed, his voice rising. Come on, Miss Chloe, give me the hundred. Times are tough, you know? This fruit stand, it doesn't make much. He started to look pathetic again, his brow furrowed. Were regulars, arent we?
An hour ago, I was perfectly willing to give him that hundred dollars. Now, I wasnt. And he had the nerve to act wronged.
A wave of revulsion washed over me. I slapped the fifty onto the counter, grabbed the bag of dates, and turned to leave.
I hadnt gotten ten steps before I heard a voice call out from behind me.
Miss Chloe! You didnt pay enough! Its supposed to be a hundred!
It was Mrs. Peterson, his wife. Shed appeared from nowhere and was now hurrying after me. A hundred? They were really doubling down on this.
I held up the bag. Five pounds, I stated firmly. Your husband said ten dollars a pound. Thats fifty dollars, right?
Oh, you misunderstood! Mrs. Peterson cried, her voice shrill. These are the large dates, the good ones, shipped all the way from California! Theyre twenty dollars a pound! You have five pounds there, so its one hundred dollars. What youre holding, Miss Chloe, thats the premium stuff.
Her face was etched with a greed Id never seen before, and it made her a stranger. And Mr. Peterson he just stood there, watching, silent. The so-called premium dates in my bag were the exact same size as the ones the other customer had bought. There was no way mine were worth twenty dollars while hers were eight.
They were trying to shake me down. The hundred dollars they thought they had in the bag had turned into fifty, and they werent about to let it go.
A nauseating feeling shot through me, leaving me dizzy in the cold wind. I had been buying fruit from their stand, helping them, for two years straight. And this is how they repaid me? By ripping me off?
So youre sure, I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, that youre selling these to me for twenty dollars a pound? My heart felt like a block of ice. In that case, Id like the eight-dollar ones. Do you have any of those?
As a teacher, I was used to maintaining my composure in public, so I kept my voice steady, even as my blood boiled.
Mrs. Peterson shook her head frantically. No, no, were all out of those! We only have the twenty-dollar ones left. Theyre the sweetest, the freshest. She was insistent. I had to pay the hundred.
They had just taken $800 from me this morning, and now they were trying to bleed me dry over a bag of fruit? Did I have sucker written on my forehead? Or had their dependence on my charity morphed into some twisted sense of entitlement? I could be generous, but I would not be played for a fool.
Fine, I said, my voice rising. Then I dont want them. Take your dates back, and you can give me my fifty dollars. I slammed the bag back down on the fruit stand and held out my hand to Mr. Peterson.
He plastered on a smile, his tone shifting into that of a preachy old man. Now, Miss Chloe, I know youre a good person. You love doing good deeds. Youve been helping us for two years, and were very grateful. But in return, Ive always sold you the best seasonal fruit, always saved the first pick for you.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Besides, doing good deeds builds up good karma. Think of all the blessings youve stored up! Youll find a wonderful husband, have beautiful children you see? Youre not losing anything at all, are you?
Before I could even react, his wife chimed in with the same sanctimonious tone.
We appreciate your business these past two years, Miss Chloe, we really do. But business is business, and gratitude is gratitude. Lets not mix the two.
Many times, she continued, we wanted to repay you. But youre a teacher, you drive a nice car we knew you didnt need anything from people like us, right? She finished with a series of hacking coughs, bending over as if she were about to be sick.
Watching her pathetic display, a hot spike of irritation shot through me. This was blatant guilt-tripping. Moral blackmail. The whole atmosphere felt toxic, and I needed to get away.
But as I turned to my car, Mrs. Peterson lunged in front of me. One hundred dollars for the dates, Miss Chloe. You pay, take the fruit, and then you can go.
I finally snapped. I dont want them! Im not buying them! Im not even hungry! All thoughts of maintaining a professional image were gone, incinerated by their blatant manipulation.
But you already had us bag them up! You cant just decide not to buy them now. You cant bully us poor, honest old folks, can you?
I almost laughed. Me, bullying them? They had been working together to fleece me, and if not for that one little slip-up today, I would have been none the wiser. Helping them had become so ingrained in my routine.
Im bullying you? I shot back, my voice dripping with disbelief. Ive bought fruit here nearly every day, never asked the price, and always paid extra. Was I bullying you then? You sell dates to someone else for eight dollars and charge me ten, then try to jack the price up to twenty to squeeze a hundred out of me, and now you have the gall to say Im the bully? Why dont you calculate how much youve scammed out of me over the years?
I have to get to school, I finished, my voice shaking with rage. Dont waste any more of my time. I swore to myself I would never set foot near this place again. Con artists didn't deserve an ounce of my sympathy.
Just then, Mrs. Peterson threw herself in front of my car, wailing. Miss Chloe, you cant just leave the fruit you picked out! These are the ones you wanted! You cant waste our time like this!
Seeing that she wasn't going to move, my frustration boiled over.
Mrs. Peterson, I need to get to school. And if you really want to talk about money, I gave you eight hundred dollars this morning. Ive changed my mind. I dont want to help you anymore. I regret it. So how about you give me my $800 back? My whole body was trembling with a fury I hadnt felt in years. My entire worldview, my belief in helping others, was being shattered on this dirty sidewalk.
She started sobbing, a pathetic stream of tears and snot running down her chapped face. In the cold air, her weathered, gaunt features made her the very picture of a victim. Anyone watching would have thought I was the monster.
Thats not how it works, she whimpered. Your donation was a donation. The dates are business. You cant mix them up. Youre a respectable person, Miss Chloe, you cant act like this.
I was done. I couldnt argue anymore. I yanked my car door open, threw it in reverse, and sped away.
But I had only just pulled up to the school when I saw her again. I don't know how she got there so fast, but there she was, hauling a huge basket of dates, tears streaming down her face.
Miss Chloe, dont be angry! she cried out, loud enough for everyone to hear. The dates arent expensive! Well sell them to you for eight dollars a pound, but you insisted on three! There are ten pounds here fine, fine, just give me thirty dollars for the whole basket!
Wait. A minute ago, she was demanding a hundred. Now, she was claiming I had more dates, and she was asking for less money?
I looked around. Students and fellow teachers were walking by, many of them slowing down to stare. I knew exactly what she was doing. She was here to humiliate me, to make me look like a cheap, petty bully in front of my colleagues and students. This wasnt just about money anymore; it was malicious. I felt a suffocating wave of disgust and regret. Why had I ever tried to help these people?
Just then, a smug voice cut through the air. Miss Chloe, you shouldnt be treating an elderly person like this. Look how old she is, and youre giving her such a hard time? I got it all on video. I can report you, you know. Get you fired.
It was Kyles mother. Kyle was the biggest troublemaker in my class, a bully Id had to discipline countless times. I had called his parents, made him write apology lettersand his mother had hated me for it ever since. Of course she would show up now.
Mrs. Peterson, though old, was sharp. Seeing she had an ally, her eyes lit up. She leaned in close to me, her voice a venomous whisper. This can all go away very easily. Just give me twenty thousand dollars, and Ill tell everyone you did nothing wrong. Ill clear your name. What do you say?
Twenty thousand dollars. Blackmail. Kyles mom had a video of me "bullying" an old woman, and Mrs. Peterson was ready to cash in. I was trapped at the gates of my own school.
If I paid her off, I would be rewarding her cruelty, and I would hate myself for it.
If I refused, my career as a teacher could be over. My reputation would be destroyed.
To think, all of this happened because I decided I didnt want to be overcharged for a bag of dates.
Fine, I said, my voice hollow. Give me the dates.
She eagerly handed over the heavy basket. She said I wanted them for three dollars a pound, right? Then thats what Id give her, right here in front of everyone. If they wanted to make me miserable, Id make damn sure they didnt have a good day either. I took out thirty dollars and gave it to her.
I turned to walk into the school, the basket feeling like a block of lead in my hand.
Behind me, Mrs. Peterson let out a heart-wrenching sob.
Can you believe the nerve of some teachers? I bring her ten pounds of my best dates, and she only gives me thirty dollars! I was just being polite, and she takes advantage! The cheapest dates anywhere are eight dollars a pound! Shes cheating me out of fifty dollars! We work so hard, and for what? Pennies! Is she trying to kill us?
She was a master, twisting the truth, painting herself as the victim. To the onlookers, she was just a frail, poor old woman. A sympathetic figure.
Kyles mom let out a triumphant laugh. Hahaha, I got it all! Youre finished, Miss Chloe! Bullying the elderly! Youre toast! Nobodys going to let you get away with this. How could you be so cruel?
Looking at their vicious, gloating faces, I didnt even bother to argue. My heart felt bruised and numb.
I walked woodenly into the staff room, set the dates down, and pulled out my phone.
I dialed a number. Mr. Davison? That fruit stand on East Gate tear it down. I want them gone. Now.
The land that fruit stand sat on? It was my familys property.
When the area was redeveloped, all the old buildings were demolished. All except for that one little plot. I had specifically requested it be left for the Petersons. I charged them only $300 a month in rent. They sold fruit out of the small storefront during the day, and at night, theyd lock up and live in the spacious eighty-square-foot room in the back.
Of course, Miss Chloe. Youve finally seen the light, Mr. Davison said, a clear note of relief in his voice. I never trusted that couple, but I didnt want to say anything. He had always followed my instructions without question, but I remembered now hed been unusually quiet, almost disapproving, when Id first told him my plans for the stand. Hed seen something in them I hadnt.
After the call, a small measure of relief settled over me. I had to focus on preparing for my classes tomorrow.

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