My Neighbor Scammed Me Out of $500

And I feel like an idiot for trusting him

“I got a job!” my neighbor yelled, walking toward my yard.

“That’s awesome!” I responded, then asked where.

Dalton told me he was working at a local restaurant. He’d been job hunting for a while and was getting discouraged, but this place decided to give him a chance.

“I just hope I can get there. We’re all sharing a car,” Dalton explained, referencing his father and brother.

“Well, mine is for sale. I’ve been out of work for months with this stupid concussion, and rent is due soon. Besides, I’m tired of fixing stuff on this old thing.”

My Chevy Blazer had recently hit 200,000 miles, and it was falling apart. Over the last few months, I had replaced all the tires, the alternator, the water pump, and numerous other costly parts. I suspected the transmission was next, and I told Dalton that.

“My job is right down the road, so I won’t be driving too far. How much do you want for it?”

I wanted $750, but Dalton asked if I’d take $600. I shrugged and said, “Sure. That’s almost enough for rent.”

Dalton said he had some money coming on Friday, just two days away. He asked if he could give me $100 now, then pay off the rest.

“You better not scam me!” I jokingly replied, then told him I was okay with his offer. I trusted Dalton, but I still had him sign a contract promising to pay. He signed it without any complaints, and I handed him the keys.

That was my first mistake.

Dalton happily backed the Chevy into his driveway and began cleaning out the interior. After he finished, he opened the doors and took several selfies for Facebook. I liked them all, of course.

“So proud of you!” his family wrote.

“You totally deserve this!” his friends said.

Dalton was thrilled to own my beat-up Blazer, and I felt good knowing it would help him get to work. I’d be without a car for a bit, but I had plans to buy a new vehicle at tax time. I wasn’t driving much anyway due to the concussion.

The next morning, Dalton drove to work in the Blazer, smiling and waving as he passed my trailer. I waved back, then waited for my friend to arrive. My brain injury had left me exhausted for months, so I didn’t socialize much anymore. I was excited to have the energy for a quick visit.

“Where’s the Blazer?” my friend asked, pulling into my driveway.

“Oh, I sold it to Dalton,” I told her.

“How much did you get?”

“I sold it to him for $600. He gave me $100 yesterday, and he’s giving me the other $500 tomorrow. Perfect timing since rent is due and I’m broke.”

My friend sighed. “Missy, I don’t know about this. Are you sure you trust him?”

“Yeah, I’ve known him for years. Plus he signed a contract,” I replied.

“Don’t give him the title until he pays you in full,” she warned.

I promised I wouldn’t, but I didn’t realize it was already in the glovebox. I had filled it out in advance because I expected the Blazer to sell quickly.

That was my second mistake.

Friday morning arrived, and Dalton’s driveway was empty. I wasn’t worried — he had mentioned that he was going to work the morning shift. I figured he’d stop by with the $500 he owed me after work.

The afternoon rolled around, and the driveway remained empty.

“Have you seen Dalton today?” I asked my neighbor when I saw her at the mailbox. She shook her head and said, “No, but maybe he’s visiting his family. He mentioned something about doing that soon.”

His family was an hour away, so I figured Dalton would bring the money that evening. I was wrong. He never came home, and the few texts I sent were ignored. I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail.

I was starting to get a bad feeling about my $500, but I didn’t want to give up hope just yet. Maybe Dalton had lost track of time or was in an area without service. That was common where we lived, actually.

I continued making excuses for Dalton, even as the sky turned dark and my calls went unanswered. Why would he scam me? He lived across the street, so it’s not like I didn’t know where to find him. If he didn’t pay me, I’d just go take my Blazer back.

That was the plan, at least. Dalton was a step ahead of me and had already titled the Blazer in his name, though I wouldn’t learn this for a while.

The next day, Dalton returned home and waved like nothing had happened. I was annoyed, but I held back my anger and asked if he had my $500.

Dalton was apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I feel like such an ass! I thought I was getting money yesterday for an odd job I did, but I don’t have it yet. I get paid on Wednesday from my new job, so I’ll give you that money if I don’t have the $500 by then.”

“Alright. That’s fine,” I replied. As a freelancer, I understood what it was like to wait on clients. I sympathized with Dalton.

“Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver, Missy,” Dalton gushed.

“You’re welcome. Just make sure you have my money on Wednesday. I need that for rent.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t screw you of all people over. We have that contract, remember?”

I nodded. “Yep. See you Wednesday.”

Wednesday arrived, and Dalton still didn’t have the $500. “My check was shorter than I expected,” he griped, “And I had to buy my dad his meds.”

“Okay. Well, these things happen. Just give me what you have and we’ll sort the rest out with your next paycheck.”

“My whole paycheck is gone,” Dalton responded.

Upset, I asked, “All of it? You don’t even have $10 or $20 left?”

“Nope,” Dalton said. “I’ll let you know when I get my next check.”

Then he pulled out a brand new pack of cigarettes.

Next Wednesday rolled around, and I waited anxiously for my $500. Rent was late, and I needed that money. I would have sold the car to someone else if I had known Dalton would take forever to pay.

It was a gorgeous day, so I sat outside until almost 10 p.m. Dalton never came home.

At this point, I was furious. I sent Dalton a text saying I wanted my Blazer back. “I’ll refund the $100 you gave me and then take back my vehicle. We can void our contract,” I wrote, typing angrily.

“That won’t work. The Blazer is in pieces,” he finally replied, days later. I thought that meant he totaled the vehicle, but a neighbor told me what actually happened. He explained that Dalton had taken the car out to his mom’s house in the country, where they broke it into pieces and sold the parts for quick cash.

“Are you kidding me?! He sold parts off a car that wasn’t even his knowing that I have 3 kids to provide for and rent that’s due? Who does that?!” I yelled as tears filled my eyes.

“I know, I can’t believe he did this. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” my neighbor promised.

I was livid and couldn’t wait for Dalton to get home so I could give him a piece of my mind. I kept an eye on his trailer, but I didn’t see anyone except his father. Dalton’s brother had moved out after a family argument that week.

I didn’t want to bring Dalton’s dad into our drama, but I was tired of waiting for my $500. When his dad headed toward our shared mailbox, I stepped out on my porch.

“Good morning!” I yelled. “Dalton has something of mine. Do you know when he’ll be home?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Dalton’s dad asked.

“No, I have no idea when he’ll be back.”

His dad stared at me in confusion, then responded, “Dalton doesn’t live here anymore. He moved to Florida.”

I was too shocked to say anything at first. “Thank you,” I finally stammered, shocked that I had been scammed by his son.

I couldn’t believe someone I trusted would do this to me knowing that I was a single mom who needed the money badly. I know what it’s like to struggle and hate for anyone to feel that way. That’s why I said yes when Dalton asked for a payment plan. I wanted to help him get his life back on track.

And I did, but I jeopardized my own financial security in the process. I was an idiot. I should have never let someone take an unpaid vehicle home, especially when I needed the money ASAP. I shouldn’t have trusted Dalton, but I felt safe making an agreement since he lived across the street.

Well, until he took the profits from my Blazer and fled to Florida with his mom. I thought about taking him to small claims court, but my lawyer said it would be pointless.

“You’ll have to serve him, and that’ll be hard with him down there. And even if you win in court, I doubt he’ll ever pay you that money. You said he’s working under the table now, so they can’t even garnish his wages.”

My lawyer was right, so I decided to let the money go. I secretly hoped Dalton would feel guilty for scamming me and send a surprise payment, but it’s been 7 years. The $500 isn’t coming.

I’ve tried to let the situation go, but sometimes I’m still angry with myself. My friends say I should blame my brain injury, but honestly, I don’t think it was the culprit. I was just naive and wanted to see the best in Dalton, so I let him take advantage of me. I’ve had similar experiences since then, but I’m getting better at spotting the red flags.

I hate that I have to look for red flags, though. A former coworker told me I should never loan money to a friend again — I should only give it as a gift. That way, there are no hard feelings if the friend never repays the money. It’s solid advice, and I plan to follow it next time someone is in a bind.

Recently, I decided to creep Dalton’s Facebook since we were still connected. His profile was filled with photos of him, tanned and smiling, on the beach. He was fishing, riding jet skis, and having a lovely time down south. That asshole.

Dalton also had several heartfelt Facebook statuses where he detailed the kindness that friends and family had shown him over the years. I wasn’t mentioned in any of them, not even the one where he tagged nearly 50 people.

I blocked Dalton that day. It’s not healthy for me to look at his social media accounts, so I’m not going to anymore. His posts make me hate him, but they also make me hate myself for the stupid choices I’ve made. It’s time to move forward and focus on evolving into a better person. I’ll still help others whenever I can, but I won’t sacrifice my own stability to do it.

And I’ll never sell a car to a friend again.