Offers from the Ether and the Lesson It Taught

On a personal note, I ain’t what you’d call a man of many suspicions—not by nature, anyhow. I like to believe folks are decent and upright, and an honest day’s work still counts for something in this strange little carnival we call life. But yesterday, the universe—perhaps out of boredom or spite—tried a trick on me.

It started with what appeared to be a message sent from Satan himself, or at least one of his better-dressed agents. There it was, plain as you please, blinking in my inbox like a firefly in a mason jar: “Job Offer.”

The kind of words that’ll make a fella sit up straighter and suck in his gut.

Well, I opened it. Who wouldn’t?

The company? Reputable. I’d heard the name before—big enough to have a logo with curves and a slogan that makes you feel warm inside like somebody just made you cocoa and told you your résumé was beautiful.

The role? Tailor-made. Why, it was like they’d read my thoughts—or at least stolen them from a résumé I hadn’t touched since the Obama administration.

For a spell, I was airborne and I started imagining myself in one of those offices with glass walls and espresso machines that hum like Buddhist monks. My dear mother would’ve been proud, and my cousin Ralph, who works part-time at the bait shop, would’ve eaten his liver with envy.

But then, the spell cracked. First, the email address. It wasn’t quite right. Like, a dog that’s got one eye always lookin’ sideways.

Second, no interview, just a straight-up, out-of-the-blue offer. Like someone proposing marriage before the first date. Odd, I thought. But flattery will make a man overlook even the oddest proposals.

Then came the kicker—they wanted my details. Fast. Details you don’t hand over unless there’s a wedding cake involved. Banking information, birthdate, and a couple of other things that made the hairs on the back of my neck sit up like soldiers in formation.

My gut—old, cantankerous, and seasoned with chili—spoke up. “Friend,” it said, “this here is horsefeathers.”

So I started diggin’, searching for the sender’s name. Nothing. Googled the job post. Nada. I reached out to the company’s official website. Silence as thick as molasses.

The whole thing fell apart faster than my uncle Jed’s third marriage.

Turns out, it was a scam. A painted-up, shiny-looking scam meant to fool the hopeful and the weary—two things I happened to be in plentiful supply of. They almost had me. Lord knows they did. And I ain’t ashamed to admit it.

So I tell this tale not for sympathy but for salvation—yours.

Because if you’re out there, tossing résumés into the digital wind like confetti, you need to know–you’re not alone. Hope makes a fine companion, but it also makes a man susceptible to flattery and fraud.

Here’s what I learned, written plain so even my cousin Ralph can understand: An offer doesn’t skip the dance; if there isn’t an interview, there isn’t a job. It’s essential to verify before you rejoice, because if something smells fishy, it’s best not to bite, no matter how shiny the lure may appear.

You aren’t foolish; you’re just human, and being human means you’re bound to trip sometimes. Just remember, don’t let a fall break your spirit.

Stay sharp. Stay steady. And when the real opportunity comes—because it will—you’ll recognize it. It’ll knock properly, tip its hat, and say, “Pardon me, but would you care for an interview?”

And that’s the one worth answering.