Wednesday, January 31, 2007

The Best Grifts Come From the Heart

I was just watching The Sting today (good movie, by the way; I highly recommend it [also, it seems to me like Robert Redford was the Brad Pitt of the 70s, at least as far as his face goes]). I swear, every time I see a movie about grifting, it makes me want to become a grifter.

If I've learned anything from movies like The Sting, Oceans Eleven, and the like, it's that the most important part of a grift is acting. In fact, the whole business is just one giant act. How perfect is that for me?

Many of the people reading this blog are probably new to the person that is Andrew Schnorr, so I'll give you a little tidbit. I...am an actor. (Please pretend I said the preceding sentence theatrically.) I'd also go so far as to say I'm a pretty damn good actor. In addition to doing Shakespeare and the like, I've been involved in a multitude of plays (I was in every production my high school put on), a couple dramatic readings, and have lent my voice to a bunch of different projects. I can perform, off the top of my head, the following dialects: English (5 varieties), Irish (3 varieties), German (2 varieties), Scottish, Italian (2 varieties), Russian (that is, all the Slavic nations) , Swedish, French (2 varieties), Spanish (I sound a lot like Antonio Banderas), and the American South (4 varieties), some Great White North, and most likely some others I haven't thought of.

So I got that working for me. I can be anyone I want. Here's the problem: I don't have a plan. Yeah, you can't be a great grifter without a plan, I hear. And you probably need some support. And a fall guy. And a lot of money to start out with...you know, maybe the full-on heist idea isn't for me. I do have one plan that I think would work great, and I'm using it in a screenplay I'm writing called The Bomber Boys. Here's how it goes:

I walk into a small store, beaming all the while. Maybe a small coin/jewelry place; nothing fancy. I go up to the cashier.
Cashier: "What'll it be, friend?"
Me: "I don't know. What can I get for a...$50 bill?"
I pull out a brand-spanking new $50 bill.
Cashier: "*Gasp* Is that really $50? I've never seen a bill that big before?"
Me: "Oh, yes, it's real, and it's hot off the presses. Here, you can still smell the fresh ink."
I hand the bill to the cashier, who takes in a deep whiff of the bill. He suddenly falls down, unconscious. He didn't realize that the bill was covered in chloroform. While he's out, I take some, but not all, of his products and cash.

Clever, huh? The only catch is that this ploy can only be used betwixt 1929 and 1937, back when seeing a $50 bill was a big deal. I guess you could also try it on a kid - $50 is a big deal to them - but what are you robbing? A lemonade stand? Personally, I'd rather make my own lemonade than drink the Country Time they serve in prison.

In the end, I don't need to be a con artist. There are other ways to get rich. In fact, I just received an email from a nice banker who's letting me keep half of a $86 million inheritance if I give him my bank account information to transfer the money into the US with. What an age of kindhearted souls we live in!

1 comment:

Alexander said...

WELL FINE! if you don't want half of that $86 million that my dear dead uncle ed left me than I guess I'll have to keep all to myself. All I needed was your bank account. why you lazy son of a...