Re: Beware - two italian guys in SUV - scam artists (emporio a collezione)
Posted by:
oilut
()
Date: April 07, 2014 11:52PM
Message from Palo Alto, CA:
Today I was walking out of a Wells Fargo, tucking my wallet away, when a man in a parked red Cadillac called out to me.
He asked in a heavy Italian accent, "Italiano o españole?"
And, wanting to help out somebody who was possibly lost or unable to understand something that had been written in our confusing language, I said, "Sí, español," and approached his car, which was parked right next to mine in a very open area.
He quickly slid out a business card and began telling me in his Italian Spanish that he was a designer for Giorgio Armani from Milano, Italy. I looked at the card. It was legit. Looked at his get-up. He was a well-built man, husky, with a decent tan and fading blue eyes. The man was wearing an expensive-looking leather jacket, an elegant shirt with a brown lines creating an ivy pattern, wore a large watch and, already looking at his wrist, noticed his recently-manicured fingernails.
The Italian told me his name was Guiseppe, just as it said on his business card, and I must embarassingly confess that for a brief moment I pondered the possibility that I had just been scouted off the street by a modeling agent. This notion was exaggerated after the man had asked where I came from, because of the European features of my face.
I told him I was half-German and half-Colombian.
"Ah! Colombino," he replied, as if it had all made sense to him. And asked if I was Catholic. I told him no. He sighed, without judgement, and told me he was Evangelic.
Now here, my dear correspondents of this thread, is where Guiseppe's somewhat obscured intentions appeared, if only a little.
He told me he was an Italian designer for Giorgio Armani, come to San Francisco for a fashion exhibition, and was currently on his way to the airport for a return flight to Milano. Unfortunately, he expressed to me, he had either not succeeded in selling everything at this exhibition, or he had purchased too many of the leather jackets that were inside the tote bag, now perched on the passenger seat of his car--I was unable to understand due to difficulties in communication, Italian and Spanish being only sufficiently similar for basic conversations.
Before anything else, I assessed the scene before me. Here was a true Italian, seemingly well-off, or at least dressed smartly enough that it would be difficult to suggest otherwise--and not just well-dressed by throwing a few scattered articles of clothing together, but sincerely assorted in good taste--sitting in a rented car with a Hertz GPS device bolted above the radio, an Italian passport in his lap with a few Euros peering out, and an over-stuffed tote bag staring at me from across the car.
Guiseppe then proceeded to ask me if I could do him a favor and I, always skeptical of such requests, prepared for whatever it might be that I would say the kurt no to, since I believe, as a writer, that any story that is too elaborate is, unfortunately, too good to be true.
He attempted to explain something about how at the airport, customs will impose such a large tax on the jackets, considered consumer goods, that it would be a great pain. Therefore, he wanted to sell me the jackets, all four for the price of one, "as a gift between brothers. You do me the favor and I will gift you the three jackets for free."
Somehow, this Guiseppe had managed to make himself seem like he was in quite a dire situation. I understood that this man was a designer who had somehow not succeeded in the transaction between money and Armani jackets and did not want to return home empty handed. Thus, he was politely willing to offer such a charitable price for the goods.
Suddenly, the adventurist in me was interested, more in how this strange interaction would proceed than in purchasing silly, overpriced jackets. After walking around his car and obstinately refusing to get into the passenger seat, I stood by the door as he pulled out a brown suede jacket. I verified that it was suede, looked at the stitching, examined the inner lining of the jacket--as everybody should when handling overpriced clothing--and was satisfied to conclude that it was indeed a real Armani jacket.
Seeing my favorable disposition, the man named the price for the four jackets: $600.
Well, only endowed with my bi-weekly job as a means of earning spending money, I honestly did not have that much in my possession and refused the offer. My expectation was that poor Guiseppe would thank me very much and be on his way, yet, to my surprise he began lowering the price. First to $400, then to $200, then, after asking how much I had, to $150. Well my dear readers, I must confess that I did not even have $150 to my name. I kindly refused and, again, the price was lowered, this time to $100.
A quick thought suddenly jumped upon me. I considered at that moment that, even if the story were too good to be true, and even if the jackets were not real leather or suede or even fake plastic, metal, stone, what-have-you, I would undoubtedly be able to sell the jackets for a considerable price more than I had purchased them at. I asked Guiseppe for an inventory of prices of each jacket in the bag and he obliged. They were $700, $800, $380 (for the suede), and $900.
It was then that I decided to withdraw the remaining $100 from my funds and noticed the small camera perched above the bank's entrance, facing our interaction. I quickly thought back to the many crime-catcher shows on television, how some perverted old man would arrive at the house of an underaged teenager and then was apprehended in a flash. How satisfying it was to watch justice served, a phenomenon that sadly occurs too little in this world. And, seeing the image of police rushing in to shackle a man to his demise on television, I very much was dissuaded from participating in such a sting operation and thought I should suggest to my friend, Guiseppe, that we move locations so as to avoid the cameras.
Upon returning to the parked car, I found the man smoking a newly-lit cigarette in the car. I must confess, upon retrospection, this one act should have been the incident that I most scrutinized, for, it is one thing to view a person as healthy and robust--and therefore certainly well-intentioned since the respect for oneself tends to flood over into the regard of others, and then to spin around once and see the same person inhaling the smoke, into their car, no less! It should also have crossed my mind, from personal experience, that a cigarette is most desired when one is most anxious, since tobacco is a temporary relaxant and calms the nerves. None of these thoughts crossed my mind, however, as I have the tendency to dash away prejudices and embrace people as they are. If this gentlemanly Italian wished to smoke, as they so often do in Europe, then, by God, he can have a smoke.
I suggested the movement of location, to which the man scoffed, but conceded.
300 feet later, I had given Guiseppe, by now regarded as somewhat of a close acquaintance to me, the five twenty dollar bills, and I was in possession of what I thought may or may not be four authentic Armani jackets. Holding out his firm hand, my friend thanked me, asked God to bless my family, nearly kissed me on the cheek, while I wished him a safe trip back to Italy--that sun-stained country that has always permeated the paradises of my imagination.
I placed the bag into the trunk of my car and entered the driver's seat, buckled my seatbelt, ignited the car, and, when checking the rearview mirrors for any obstructions, was shocked to see Guiseppe had altogether vanished! In an instant, like alcohol set ablaze. All the way home, a nasty feeling was settling itself into my stomach, which I suppressed with deep breaths and reminders that, even if fake, the jackets could be sold at a higher price than I had spent on them.
And that was the interaction I had with kind Guiseppe. Later, as I opened the trunk to examine my won treasures, I found that the Italian had given me only three of the promised four jackets, but the sinking feeling of betrayal was quickly buoyed by a feeling that I had, in fact, been the one to scam this Italian-in-a-pinch with my measly $100.
Eventually, searching for evidence of a fashion exhibition in San Francisco, I came upon this thread and spent nearly an hour reading over the various remarks. Some were quite disheartening, making me feel the fool for such an act, while others gave me hope that there may be some profit to come of this. Altogether, however, I saw how throughout the nation, from city to city, and even crossing borders into that frigid country to the north, humans like myself were succumbing to something. Be it the fragility in our uncontrollable lives that blinds us with the hope of stumbling across something truly fortuitous, or the hope of helping our kin out of the good of our hearts, we are connected, in our thoughts, in our hopes, and in our gullibility. Therefore, good people, tarry not; for something of this story shines bright above our downcast heads and brings our humanity to light. We are the proudly the strong-hearted and the weak-minded! Were it otherwise, God knows how dismal of an existence our dim lives would be. But the soul, the soul remains lighthearted, and so should you.