Of course, he doesn’t use that word. “It’s an opportunity,” he clarifies
virtually every time I see him. The “opportunity” works like this: first,
purchase a mattress from one of those online mattress companies,
the kind that comes with a 90-day, no-questions-asked returns
policy. Then, on day 90, ask for your refund, having purchased a
rival company’s mattress a few days prior. Rinse and repeat every
three months until you run out of mattress companies to “engage”,
at which point convince your housemate to put their name on the
order, or move house and start the whole process over again.
The plan is not without its hassles. For one, endlessly liaising between
mattress companies requires a fair bit of planning: miss your 90-day
period and you’ll be out of pocket. And even when you’ve scheduled
everything down to the wire, there’s always the chance your replacement
mattress will arrive late, and you’ll be without a place to sleep for a
night or two. Add to this the social tax that comes with hassling your
friends and housemates to put their names on the paperwork, and taking
advantage of opportunity can start to look like more work than it’s worth.
In weaker moments I have tried pointing out the plan’s major flaw: that
my friend will only be able to cash out his “bedding bond” when he no
longer needs a mattress, which will presumably be the day he departs this
mortal, memory foam-covered coil. He remains steadfastly unmoved.
It takes brains and commitment to pull o a good “opportunity”,
and I can’t help but think that my friend might do well to take a
leaf out of Count Victor Lustig’s book – or at least out of the article
we’ve written about him in this issue of Smith. As an urchin on the
streets of Europe, Lustig challenged the wealthy to games of cards
and won every round. (Having literal aces up his sleeve worked in
his favour.) The unremarkable life of a card sharp seemed in the oing
until a more experienced scammer oered some advice: go for the big
target. And Lustig certainly did. (Flip to page 96 for the full story.)
Now, am I saying my friend should follow in Lustig’s footsteps and
sell the Eiel Tower o as scrap metal, or swindle Mafiosi out of
their ill-gotten gains? Of course not. (I certainly wouldn’t commit
such words to paper, at any rate.) But I do think there’s something
to be said for taking the big swings rather than the small ones:
to tallying up the time, eort and goodwill spent on achieving
a task and working out if it’s truly worth the eort. Because if
you’re not going to use your powers for good, you may as well use
them for something more impressive than a mattress loan.
CH
A FRIEND OF MINE
RECKONS HE’S ON TO
THE PERFECT SCAM.