Holinger: Is it real, Memorex or a scam?

Baby boomers like me will remember the TV ad featuring a superlative singer – Ella Fitzgerald – belting out a high C, shattering a glass. The viewer, when next seeing a reel-to-reel tape recorder and a Memorex box, was asked, “Was it Ella or Memorex?”

This suggested, of course, the recording tape so faithfully reproduced the original that it could fool you into thinking you were hearing Ella. Live.

Now the “Memorex” ad, no longer Memorex, has turned nefarious. I can’t tell the difference between an internet advertisement for something real and an ad that looks real but instead lays a trap for you and your money.

One night, around 9:30, instead of sleeping, I was scrolling Facebook. Weak of mind and eyes almost closing, I found what I believed a terrific sale: “$4.99 Brооks Brоthеrs Store Closing Clearance. This Week Only. All Stock Must Go! Check Out Now and Receive 80% OFF. Action Soon Before Out of Stock!”

What a sale! Button-down shirts with the hanging lamb (sheep? extra hairy English sheepdog?) logo, something like $7. An XXL black belt like $5. Briefs (TMI?) for, well, a good price. Naturally, I plugged in my credit card number and other information with which the recipient could use to steal money and nest-egg retirement savings from me and pushed send.

Only when I left my desk and turned on my white noise sound machine did I feel a pang of buyer’s remorse. Then, of course, I couldn’t sleep, and later dreamed my IRAs were canoes racing down a white-water river, each one turning over and spilling their contents, swallowed up by kayaking hackers.

Days later, I received a notice that my things were being shipped. Yay! I hadn’t been taken advantage of! Soon after, a heads-up the package would be delivered that day sent me into paroxysms of joy and relief.

When I came home after doing errands, there it was, a large box in the driveway with a tiny package big enough to fit a thimble on top. I grabbed the large one and found my wife’s name on it, one of many Amazon packages arriving like Baltimore orioles flocking to our grape jelly feeder.

There was still the tiny package. But how could Brooks Brothers fit a shirt, belt and who remembers what else into something a little larger than a six-sided die?

Sliding the crush-proof box open, I found … wait for it … a ring? Yup, a multi-banded gold ring with tiny “diamonds” inlaid in one band. What the …?

This was catastrophic! I’m opening what might be construed as an engagement ring my wife of more than 40 years knows nothing about. I envision the worst-case scenario.

“Hi, sweetie. How ya doing?” “Fine. Hey, what’s that?” “What?” “That. That blue box?” “That? A blue box.” “Anything in it?” “Um, I don’t remember. Maybe.” “Maybe what?” “Maybe some clothes that were on sale at Brooks Brothers.” “What, like for a hummingbird?” “Ha. Ha.” “Seriously, what’s in it?” “A ring.” “Oh. For who?” “For whom.” “For who or whom, it better be for me.” “Actually, um, it was a mistake. But it’s yours if you like it. Want it?”

I’ll leave you to imagine the rest.

All I can say is, with Chat GPT and other AI “improvements,” the difference between real and fake only will get more confusing, the lines more blurred.

But this, here, now, what you’re reading isn’t fake, isn’t AI, isn’t an ad.

Problem is, there’s no way to prove it. Except by hitting a high C to see if it shatters.

• Rick Holinger earned a Ph.D. in creative writing from UIC. His work has been accepted for publication in Chicago Quarterly Review, Chautauqua and elsewhere. His poetry book, “North of Crivitz,” and essay collection, “Kangaroo Rabbits and Galvanized Fences,” are available at local bookstores, Amazon or richardholinger.net. Contact him at [email protected].