Phishing for Friends
No jam bands are invited or referenced in this post.
A week or so ago I was glamorously scrolling from bed when I noticed I’d received an email from someone whose name I’d recognized, but had yet to meet in person.
Because of the title of this piece, I know I’ve ruined the surprise, but perhaps you could imagine yourself in my shoes:
This email-er is a writer and illustrator that you know tangentially. Maybe you’d taken a class with her either as a fellow student or she was a teacher. You can’t quite remember because you take a lot of classes. You’re class-obsessed—you crave structure, feedback, and friendship. But you know this person just about enough to have their email. No better. You also admire this writer/illustrator. She’s been published in places that you hope to be published someday. She’s written several books. She has a social media presence that is pleasant, but not aggressively curated to make you feel like everything in your life sucks in comparison. She seems eminently approachable, like if you were to shoot her an email for some reason, she’d be kind, affable, and maybe even responsive!
The email she sent is an e-vite to a brunch on Sunday with her family and friends. It’s not from an e-vite service you’re familiar with, but the name seems just dumb enough to be plausible. The bleary-eyed curiosity that motivates your morning scroll moves your finger to tap the link. Once tapped, you’re prompted to enter your email again and maybe create an account? It’s a lazy Sunday morning! You’re not thinking thoughts! Admirable Writer is hosting some fun thing this weekend from which you likely live a thousand miles, but you love to be informed! It’s so cool that she thought of you, even if she just invited everyone on some list. Just check out what it is. You won’t RSVP, you just want to be in the loop with the other cool writers she knows.
The link is busted. You scroll around to see if you can find any other information to no avail. Your weakened attention span is stolen to another app and you forget about it.
The End.
…is what I wish this was!
A few days later I checked my email and was greeted with some bounce back notices. Someone I’d not spoken to in years was no longer at that email address. An auto reply from a submission website. And then a text from a friend asking me if I’d been hacked.
To clarify: I was not hacked. We’re going to get picky with words because this is Substack and what is it for if not being kind of a dick about words. Phishing is a social engineering tactic that coerces you into giving away information willingly because you think someone you admire wants to hang out with you. Hacking is a forceable breach of a system made by people who are all so androgynously hot that they’re responsible for 25% of a generations’ bisexuality.
Maybe you’ve seen this particular scam going around. Punchbowl, which is an actual e-vite service (a name just stupid enough to be plausible was, indeed, plausible!), is being mimicked to trick people into handing over their gmail information. This was perfectly believable to groggy-eyed Sarah when it’s from Admirable Writer. But when I saw this email go out to every email address I’ve ever emailed I was mortified. People were going to think I want to host a brunch? This was going to damage the brand.
I spent my morning changing passwords and freezing my credit. I texted my parents immediately and told them not to open my email. I fielded texts, emails, and instagram messages full of people who said they’d love to come to my brunch but can’t open my invite. I bathed in my shame stew.
It’s officially time for me to hand over my Millennial card. The generation known for their tech savvy. The generation who rolls their eyes at each boomer who hurriedly gives their bank account number to a stranger who called them? On the phone? And they answered?! Willingly?!? I hereby rescind my membership to the beloved Millennial generation, despite my unshakable love of avocado toast, my shameless references to “Al Gore’s Internet,” and greatest efforts to be a manager who coaches my staff into working as little as possible.
Getting tricked by strangers on the Internet, (MY Internet! The one I coded my first GeoCities website on. The one I LiveJournaled to! The one I illicitly downloaded Donnie Darko from in my parents’ basement!) is especially shameful because it shows you who you are and how it tricked you. I was tricked because my fragile, approval-seeking ego was so excited that Admirable Writer might want to hang out? With me?! Omg so cool! And to find out it was some robot trying to steal my information from a Windows desktop in an undisclosed location felt like the hot Emo boy asking me to prom on a dare. So maybe I haven’t matured at all in 25 years?
Because I actually have (barely) matured in the last 25 years, I did the responsible thing and replied to every message with apologies and pleas to send me to a home because I’m too old to handle my technology. I begged my friends to pass along whatever literature they give their boomer parents to protect them from the wiles of the world wide websters (that’s what the “web” is short for, yes?). Because I contain multitudes, I also got mad at people when they offered me advice like I should change my email password, use dual factor authentication, and never trust an invite from a person you don’t know personally. I am not an easy mark! I know what I’m doing! Okay?! I know The Internet! I just didn’t for a tiny second because BRUNCH!
After apologizing to my cat for endangering her assets, I made a post to instagram letting folks know if they got an email from me to delete it. Citing that I would never host a brunch—not that I don’t love a benedict—but it’s not witchy enough for me to put effort into. I guess the e-vite service couldn’t muster a solstice party.
Then I had to put on my big girl pants and post to the place I have not posted in years. My Facebook account has been shoved into the depths of my Chrome browser reserved only for internet stalking prospective employers, accessing facebook marketplace, and horrifyingly, figuring out how people I loved died (OMG SARAH! BLEAK! That’s not how you do a third thing!). I posted a picture for visibility and then made my PSA. Hit and run. Hoping I never had to go back again.
What I loved about this incredibly embarrassing, shameful, and humiliating moment of weakness (what’s not to love?) was the friends who told me they knew there was no way the invite was real. One friend told me, “The second I saw brunch I said, ‘She would never.’” My mother told me, “You don’t really seem like the brunch hosting type, hun.” and, “I knew it wasn’t real because why would you invite me somewhere with family AND friends?” Knowing I would not subject either group to the other.
So here’s to being susceptible to scams that appease my fragile, human ego. If you send me an e-vite in the next ten years, please know I will delete it immediately and walk into the sea unless you call me with a two factor identification that ensures me it’s really you and that you really want to invite somewhere. Like prom.
Hey I’m having a brunch this Sunday. would you come?
I think a revenge brunch is in order ...