Unless you live under the proverbial rock, you have no doubt by now learned of the ubiquitous “you owe money for tolls” text scam making its way across the country.
It’s the most basic of phishing scams that uses your mobile phone. They send you a text message indicating you will suffer a penalty if you do not pay your outstanding tolls for whatever system is nearest to you (Easy Pass, Peach Pass, etc.) There’s a link that when you click it, looks like a website for said toll company showing you owe some random amount (say, $6.99, hypothetically.) The site has a form for you to enter your credit card information to clear up the toll, and if you make it that far, the scammers have what they want.
Simple. Direct. Should be completely and utterly recognizable. It’s what’s known in the cyber security business as a “phishing attack.” This phish is not a jam band from Vermont founded in 1983. This is what the techies call a scam that “fishes” for your information.
Because I care about my readers, I engage in service journalism from time-to-time and write posts that gives you information to help you live a better life, such as how to entertain your family in group texts, what to do in Washington or New York, where to find good, clean comedy with a Southern flair, and when Christmas is. (Seriously, where else can you get such information?)
In that spirit I humble myself and confess that I fell victim to a Peach Pass phishing scam. Addled by distraction, misguided by hubris and, I hate to admit, blind to the ravages of age, I went to great lengths to give away information that could end up costing me money and causing me problems.
While I have thus far not suffered any financial harm, it’s been enough of an ordeal that I feel, dear readers, it is my duty to share my story so that you can avoid my humiliation.
This is how it went down (cue dramatic spy movie music):
At 11:24 a.m. Eastern Standard Time on Wednesday, March 5, 2025, I received the following text message from “rzvyfaq_1971@outlook.com:”
Everything about this message screams “scam.” How did I, a sophisticated technology user and communications professional who as recently as October received in-person training on cyber security with a specific emphasis on phishing scams fall into this trap that could not have been more obvious if the originating address had been “scammer@scams.rus”?
Did I mention that I once worked at an organization with a laboratory designed to combat cyber crime and who conducted frequent testing of its employees with simulated phishing attacks that if you clicked the link you had to take remedial training?
Did I mention that we have similar training at my current job and that I recently failed when I was enticed to learn about a new reimbursement policy for faculty even though I’m not even a faculty and would have heard about such a policy from one of the myriad meetings I find myself in each day?
Did I mention that in my last job at the USG, for two of my three years there, my team was responsible for producing the system-wide cyber training and literally worked with designers and web people to concoct scams to use as examples, including phishes?
Did I mention that I had that very morning been on the Peach Pass website updating my credit card information because my credit card number was stolen in December, and we had to change it when someone started buying stuff with it in far flung places I had not visited like Houston or Los Angeles?
Did I mention that when I was on the Peach Pass website I noticed at the top of the page a little alert warning people that a scam was going around and reminding users that Peach Pass wouldn’t text you?
Did I mention that I checked on my Peach Pass balance and not only did I not have any outstanding tolls, I had $16.89 in credits on my account?
No? I didn’t mention any of that? Well, let me tell you all the ways in which I had no excuse… (just kidding, I’m not repeating all that. This isn’t Groundhog Day.)
I fell victim because I wasn’t paying attention. It’s as simple as that. I was scurrying to lunch with my colleagues before rushing to a meeting in Midtown. While sitting at Newk’s waiting on my delicious shrimp and avocado salad (with a zesty lemon basil vinaigrette dressing – see, more service journalism!)I received the text and immediately and unquestionably began trying to resolve it as quickly as possible.
When I entered my credit card information, which I do not have committed to memory like my super genius rememberer wife who clearly does a lot of online shopping, and received an error message that asked for me to use a different card, I haplessly and hopelessly complied.
Yes, adoring New South Essays fans, your favorite Southern lifestyle blogger whom you respect and trust, double dipped in the stupid well. Only when I made a goofy, PG-rated frustrated utterance and my colleague Valeri (our youngest team member who runs our social media accounts and is, therefore, pretty tech savvy) suggested this exercise I was so heatedly and hurriedly engaging in was potentially my own digital demise did all of the warning signs come into focus.
The epiphany slowly washed over me bringing with it a cascade of emotions: anger, shame, regret, hunger… (where was my shrimp and avocado salad?)
Rather than remember all the “Did I mentions?” listed above, the thought I had was, “Oh, now that I’ve updated my credit card information on the website, a new toll must have showed up from previous uses of our Peach Pass, such as my middle son who has a transponder for quickly getting into traffic jams on I-75 between Lilburn and Macon where he is currently matriculating at Mercer University.
If only I had paused to remember that my account balance was $16.89. It doesn’t take a math genius to recognize that $16.89 is more than $6.99 therefore rendering this text message at best weird and at worst completely inaccurate.
If only I had paused to text Harris and ask him if he had used the Peach Pass lanes on his recent trip back to or from Macon.
If only I had recognized that rzvyfaq_1971@outlook.com is probably not an official email account from which Peach Pass would contact me, especially not sending a SMS or text message.
When I notified my family group text about what I had done, they helpfully pointed out all of these things and have been mocking me endlessly since. But I deserve it. I was – to use a bad word in our household when my boys were little – stupid.
I was also in a hurry, and that’s how they get you.
But don’t cry for me, Argentina, as I stated up top, we have so far suffered no financial consequences. We have canceled cards before any charges could be added, and are now dealing with the inconvenience of changing the credit card number associated with all of our online accounts, such as Peach Pass, again.
Since my near tragic ordeal, I have seen so many helpful pieces of service journalism that my family has so gladly pointed out to me from Peach Pass, Lifehacker, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and CNBC. I know they do it out of love and concern for my well-being.
To wring some tiny amount of satisfaction from this life lesson, I did report the scam to the FBI through its super easy, and legitimate, website. I may be a dummy, but I will “say something” when I “see something.” I remember that much of my training.
I can’t help but feel embarrassed about all of this. I want to think I’m smarter than to fall for such an obvious scam. And that’s why I’m telling you, dear readers, and anyone else I come into contact with.
If it helps, I’ll haunt you like Jacob Marley did Ebenezer Scrooge to warn him to change his ways.
I also can’t resist making people laugh, even if it’s at my own expense.
Stay safe out there, and don’t be like me.
Have you fallen for an internet scam? Leave a comment below confessing your shortcomings so I don’t feel so bad. I promise you will feel better… oh, and share this blog with everyone you know. Friends don’t let friends not read New South Essays.
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