A Brief Encounter With a Con Man

On my way back from auditioning actors for Diary of A Superfluous Man (and a fine collection of actors they were), I pulled into the left turn lane and stopped at the light. As I watched cars rumble through the crowded intersection, I heard someone shouting to my right. It was the guy in a huge black SUV next to me, calling for me to roll my window down. I did, and he told me a tale about some extra speakers he had for an expensive home theater system that he wanted to give me cheap because he "couldn't take them back to the shop." I said no. He pressed on with his pitch, his voice rising with almost-convincing urgency. I said no again. The light turned green, and I was gone.

I figured he was a con man, and that whatever speakers I'd have gotten would have fallen apart upon contact with Earth's atmosphere. What I didn't know was that this con has a specific name: The White-Van Speakers con. Fat Tony was right. Crime boasts a rich lexicon.

There's only one part I think the grifters flubbed. The con calls for them to prowl a high-traffic area for someone who looks flush with cash. I don't know what it was about me--the Costco clothing, the filthy ten-year old Nissan Sentra with a missing right turn signal--that screamed money to these guys, but I think they need to work out a better system for identifying their mark.