Abbey's Road: A cautionary tale of text scams

Several weeks before Christmas, a scam was circulating that involved a text message from a sender purporting to be FedEx. The message informed the recipient that their package couldn’t be delivered, but for a small fee they could arrange to have it re-delivered if they’d simply click a link to a very official-looking website and put in their credit card information.

Now if, hypothetically, a person were trained in the art of scam recognition — or even took two seconds to do a Google search — they should easily be able to identify the whole thing as a hoax, hit “delete” and move on with their day.

But if, hypothetically, that person were expecting the urgent delivery of a very specific package — like a one-of-a-kind, gently used Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer outfit to be used as a costume in a figure skating show the following week — that person, however bright by normal human standards, might not be capable of making rational decisions upon receiving said scam text message.

And, despite having exuberantly participated in semi-annual corporate cybersecurity trainings and passing with flying colors, that person, in her weakened and desperate state, might click the link and EVEN (oooh, I shudder to think of it) put in her credit card info.

It’s fine, Sir, you can remove your palm from your forehead now.

Now, if that person did make such a misstep, she surely would recognize the message for the sham it is when, upon inputting her card information, the site suddenly failed to respond, disappearing into a black hole and taking her information with it.

She might wallow in the depths of despair at having been taken in by such an obvious farce, and then she might screw up her courage and tell her husband what she had done and advise him to monitor credit card transactions for fishy activity.

Should she have told him to go ahead and cancel the card at that moment? Yes, but she might also still have had Christmas shopping to do, and maybe the scam didn’t work and the scammer had a change of heart and it would all just go away.

Hypothetically, a random DoorDash charge for $46 in a faraway state could alert the victim that the credit card information had, in fact, fallen into the wrong sticky cyber-hands and it might be a good time to cancel.

At which point this imaginary person’s credit card would certainly be canceled, relegating her to the use of a backup debit card whose passcode she can never remember, shopping at That One Department Store Where She Goes Twice a Year or — gasp! — using cash.

Can you imagine?

But it gets worse, because what if that person tries to use the backup debit card to purchase laundry detergent, trash bags and a bag of Granny Smith apples at the store, only to have the card fail and the cashier be clueless about how to help her when the scan fails for the seventh time?

What happens is that she will have to leave her basket full of items, walk out in humiliation, and use the $25 home supply gift card that her best friend bought her for Christmas to purchase trash bags.

I can practically see her, hypothetically, right now — standing there in the empty aisle under fluorescent lights, surrounded by commercial cleaning supplies and discounted Christmas trees and utility shelving, trying to figure out which box of trash bags will give her the most bang for her gift card buck.

All because of a stupid text message scam.

Listen — I don’t know who needs to hear this (clearly not me, I’m just making this up as I go along), but never click on a link in a text message.

FedEx won’t charge you to deliver a package if you’re not there.

If someone steals your credit card information, call the company as soon as you realize it — don’t wait.

And for pity’s sake, don’t be like this fictional character who had to use her Christmas gift card to buy trash bags.

(At least they were the scented kind.)

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at amroy@nncogannett.com, but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.

This article originally appeared on Newark Advocate: Abbey's Road: A cautionary tale of text scams