Life can be tough. I had been jobless for several months, and my landlord was growing increasingly impatient—he demanded rent, but I had no income. If I didn't secure something soon, I risked losing my home.

Two months ago, my girlfriend left me, and it was evident in my demeanor. I once took pride in my appearance, but I became disheveled and lacked the motivation to care. Life is undeniably challenging.

I yearn to work. My parents are decent people. My father spent his life as a mechanic. Though he never climbed the career ladder, he provided well for our family. Back then, a single income was sufficient; we never felt poor, though by today’s standards, we would be considered so—with just one old car, a modest home, and no extravagant vacations or fancy gadgets.

I enjoyed school, but my mother always insisted I was more of a creative type, and traditional education wasn't my strong suit. I graduated with decent grades and quickly found a job at a storage facility, where my task was loading trucks at night.

My boss appreciated my work, and I was promoted to manager, overseeing a team of six. Those years were filled with camaraderie despite the demanding nature of the job.

Then, on a Thursday afternoon, disaster struck—the company declared bankruptcy and shut down operations within hours. My team and I arrived to find the doors locked and a note explaining our fate.

That was the end of that.

Afterward, job opportunities seemed scarce, and many of us who worked diligently found ourselves with nothing. My parents, now retired and secure in their home, could only assist me so much as my savings dwindled. I had to take action.

I sought employment further afield and found a similar position. I accepted immediately, even though it required relocating.

Initially, it was exciting. I spent my first few months' salary on settling in, securing a small apartment, and repaying my parents. I met a wonderful girl, and after just a few weeks, she moved in with me. We had aspirations and were headed toward a brighter future.

However, misfortune struck again. This new company also went under, and I found myself unemployed once more. The larger city promised more opportunities, so I felt confident about finding a new job.

Yet, despite my experience, I couldn't catch a break and remained jobless. Finances tightened, and my girlfriend expressed her dissatisfaction, ultimately leaving to find happiness elsewhere—presumably with someone new.

Last year, I took my first vacation. A friend and I traveled to Las Vegas, where we had a blast. Although I’m not a gambler, I enjoyed sitting at the blackjack table, making minimal bets and pretending to be a high roller.

One night at a bar, a man approached me, lamenting his financial misfortune, and offered to sell me a pricey watch—a Rolex he claimed to own.

Initially, I declined. I didn’t have much cash, but he insisted he could give me a fantastic deal—just $100 to help him get back to gambling.

The price raised my suspicions about its authenticity, but for fun, I offered him $80. He accepted, and I ended up with a watch that might be worth half of what I paid, but it sparkled with the Rolex name.

Back in my reality of unemployment, I thought about pawning the watch, hoping to get at least $20 for some groceries.

I put it on and headed out.

On my way to the only pawn shop I knew, I passed the city's biggest tourist attraction, The Floating Whale—a massive statue of a whale riding a wave, crafted from solid stone.

The area was bustling with restaurants, street vendors, and tourists. I enjoyed watching the crowds and had done so many times.

That day, three large buses parked nearby meant the place was exceptionally crowded. I settled on a step leading to the statue, listening to a mixture of English, German, Spanish, and other unfamiliar languages.

A man sat down beside me, lifting his feet and grinning, “Aging is tough.”

“Must be challenging being herded around like cattle on those buses,” I replied, smiling back.

“True, but I find it convenient. Planning everything ourselves is too much for us now,” he said, searching for his wife.

“I get that. Well, I’m glad you’re getting to see new places,” I responded.

“Do you live here?” he inquired, and I confirmed it. “You look like one skipping work today,” he remarked, nodding in my direction.

“Just between jobs at the moment. It's been tough finding work,” I admitted candidly.

“I noticed that watch on your wrist. You don’t seem too worried about cash,” he observed, eyeing my watch.

I took it off and showed it to him. “Oh, this? It’s just a family heirloom. I don’t think it’s worth much.”

He examined the watch, and I could see dollar signs in his eyes. I nearly stopped him right then; I should have revealed it was merely a cheap imitation when he leaned in closer.

“I’ll give you $1,000 for it. Right now, just between us—no one else needs to know,” he whispered.

I hesitated, explaining it was fake and not worth that much: “Are you sure it’s worth that much?” I asked, omitting the fact it was a counterfeit.

“I know it is. It’s worth more, but that’s my offer. No questions asked. I’m being honest; I’ll profit a bit, but $1,000 could help you out,” he said discreetly.

“It belonged to my father; it’s the only memento I have of him,” I said, attempting to sound as sorrowful as possible.

“$1,400. Final offer. Yes or no. Let’s make this a win-win,” he urged.

“That would be a significant help—enough for rent and to pay back what I owe my… mother,” I said, neglecting to mention it was a genuine Rolex, but unsure how to clarify it was a fake.

He pulled out his wallet, and I was taken aback. I had never seen so much cash in my life—his wallet was thick, filled with high denominations. He handed me $1,500, adding an extra $100 for a new watch.

We shook hands, and I made sure to remind him it was my last connection to my father, hoping he would cherish it.

I hurried away before he could change his mind.

Today, I returned from my second trip to Las Vegas.

I visited the same bar, and predictably, the same man approached me, recounting his gambling woes and offering to sell me another watch.

I offered him a beer. As we drank, I mentioned that I had bought one of his fake watches on my last visit. He began to rise, but I stopped him, “No worries; I'm not here to get you in trouble. I just want to know where I can buy more, say a hundred of them.”

We sipped our beers as he studied me.

“Are you law enforcement?” he asked.

“Why should I be trusted?” he replied.

We continued talking, and by the end of the night, we struck a deal. He agreed to get me 30 of those Rolex watches, with the option for more later. I would pay $45 per watch—though I hoped for a better price, but what did I know?

Back home, I laid all 30 watches on my kitchen table and scrutinized them. They looked quite good from the outside.

I wore one while doing some gardening. It acquired a nicely worn appearance, complete with a tiny scratch on the back.

The next day, I returned to the steps as more buses arrived, unloading a throng of tourists.

The key to reeling someone in is patience. I sit and wait. When someone bites, I never disclose the brand or its authenticity—I let them draw their own conclusions.

Occasionally, someone engages me in conversation and then walks away. But now and then, someone spots my watch and seems to believe it’s the real deal.

I wait for them to mention it first, and they always do.

I’m often astonished by how greedy people can be. Some offer me $80 for it, while others go much higher. The highest offer I accepted was $2,600.

Sometimes, potential buyers suggest having it appraised, but I quickly decline, insisting I’d never part with my father's watch, regardless of the price offered.

I don’t feel like I’m deceiving anyone; I’m merely making a living. I don’t lie, and I never pressure anyone into discussing my watch. I might not be entirely truthful, but I’m not responsible for their offers or their belief in its value. In fact, I think they’re the real deceivers, thinking they can outsmart a country boy.

My parents are pleased that I finally secured a stable job with a steady income. They might be unaware of the details, though.

This is yet another tale from my search for scammers. Is this man a genuine scammer? Does he become one eventually? Do you think he’s a bad person?

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I welcome your feedback—good or bad.

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May your day be scam-free.