From: Lacy McDowell
Subject: I’ve already contacted you concerning the online job. Please respond.
I’m not sure what part of me felt compelled to open it up. Probably the unemployed part of me. Or the part of me that was worried I’d done something wrong. (The subject line made it seem like Lacy might be pissed.) Here is what the email said:
Good day, elizabeth cole.
me is Mary.
I’m looking for a business colleague .
The writer went on to pitch some crazy Ebay-based money-making scheme to me. She signed it thusly:
feel free for questions: claudinehowarth@——-.com
Regards
Mary W
I know you may find this hard to believe, but right off the bat I could tell it was spam. Yeah, I’m pretty good. When your name’s not capitalized in a business email, it’s a good sign this person is cutting and pasting. Another clue was the line “me is Mary.” Maybe your work acquaintances talk like cave people, but mine tend to use proper grammar.
However, the biggest, most glaring indicator that this wasn’t a legit email was that it came from Lacy, was signed by Mary, and all replies were to go through Claudine. Spam People, seriously, get it together. Pick one fake lady and stick with her.
Personally, I prefer spam that is actually addressed to someone other than me. Something like, Dear Fran, I want to tell you about the pill that saved my marriage. Especially since all those emails come to an address that has my actual name in it.
You should e-mail Lacy/Mary/Claudine and tell “her” that though you are not interested in the e-bay proposition, would it be all right if you just send “her” $100 as a gift because you appreciate the offer. See how long it takes to get a reply and then enjoy the subsequent song-and-dance that’s sure to follow when you ignore any further correspondence from this person.
This may be one of those three-headed women I’ve read about in the circus publications I subscribe to. Well, do let her down gently.
Saw your “fornicate like a macho” subject line too. Too hilarious. I had an enhancement/Viagra subject line recently that was pure poetry. It read thusly: “Energy to tear her ham wallet.” Somewhere, Yeats is smiling.