I’m a Pensioner – While Selling Bagels at My Corner Stall, Two Smartly Dressed Conmen Tried to Scam …

I am a pensionerwhile selling my bagels, someone tried to trick me.

There I stood at my little stall, on the same street corner I visit every day, my bagels piled high and steaming in the foggy morning. Thats when two gentlemen ambled over, all pressed suits, shiny shoes, and a briefcase glinting like it might actually eat you if you looked too long. They had that starepolished, but hollow, a bit like wax figures melted under the chandelier at the town council.

Good morning, madam, said one, flashing that grin one sees in soap adverts. It was the sort of smile that tries to butter you up before it nicks your toast. Are you the proprietor of this bakery stand?

Thats me, love. Would you like a warm bagel? Theyre fresh this morning, still soft enough to hug.

No, thats not why were here. Your pitch happens to be in a high-value trading zone, so youll need to tidy up your paperwork.

Well, that set off a little bell in my mind. But I decided to play the harmless old dear.

Oh, darling, the only thing Im tidying up is my sugar levels. Got the diabetes, blood pressure rattling round the rafters, and the doctor told me last week my cholesterol wants to leap off the charts. Do you get cholesterol, lad? Because if you do, wait till you see the tablets they foist on me

Madam, he tried to butt in, paper rustling between his fingers, its just a form

Interrupting an elder isnt polite, pet. As I was saying, these tablets have me puffed up like a fairground balloon. My daughter, poor soul, is divorcing her layabout husbandutter waste of space, much like my late Reginald, bless him although he was like that when alive, too

The second fellow, face pinkening like someone sat on a hedgehog, flourished some official sheets.

Madam, were talking about a fine. Five thousand pounds, and

Five thousand? Oh, sweetheart, I barely scrap together enough for the gas. Did you see what British Gas charge these days? And my little grandson, the one who dreams of being a vet (though hes still at school), nagged me: Gran, dont leave the immersion on. But honestly, at my age warm waters non-negotiablethe bones seize up if you blink at a breeze

If youll just they pleaded, sweat tracing their necks.

No, you listen to me. Do you know what its like, flogging bagels at 68? My pension wouldnt cover teabags, let alone prescriptions. Arthritis gnawing away at my knees and hands Some nights, pain keeps me awake till the milkmans whistling. But Im here every dayrain, frost, or sunshineif not, then its no supper for me. And you expect me to drop five grand on some imaginary tickets? Honestly, might as well faint here and keep you well and truly tied up in paperwork.

They exchanged tired, sideways glances, as if theyd been glued together.

Well perhaps we could agree to monthly payments

Monthly payments? Darling, Im paying off the bank, the pharmacy, Bills butchers, even my neighbour for the tooth she lent me. Know what one tooth costs? Three thousandwith an NHS dentist, too, not one of your posh Harley Street ones!

Feeling the conversation slip like soap, one of them started snapping his briefcase shut.

Wait, dont rush, I carried on. My sisters on dialysis. Know what that entails? Three times a week, four hours strapped to a machineghastly business. Insurance doesnt cover it all, so the family scrape together what we can. Even a hundred pounds from these bagels makes a dent. But nowyoure fining me? For what? Im all proper, entirely ticked and stapled. Ive got council permission, Im registered, taxmans well aware, and even my NHS numbers up to date. Would you like to see it?

I brandished my purse, bursting with wrinkled slips and cards.

Here. All sorted till next year. Signed, stamped. By the way, which department did you gentlemen say youre from again?

At that, they began edging backwards, like cats avoiding puddles.

Didnt say so? Odd, that. Maybe a pensioner, but Im nobodys fool. Before this, I spent 35 years at the councilspecifically in licensing. I know exactly whos supposed to come knocking and I know a proper inspector wouldnt be caught dead in a polyester suit or ask for cash without a receipt.

And another thingtheres a camera above this corner, and my son-in-laws a copper. He sorted me this pitch for its reputation as the safest in the borough. Shall I ring him? Hes only three streets away.

Id never seen two men move so quickly outside the 4:30 from Paddington.

Terribly sorry, madam, must be a misunderstanding

Take a bagel for the journey! I called after them. Shows I dont bear grudges, you know!

My favourite regular, Mrs Barnes, was nearly crying with laughter.

You held them captive for half an hour, you clever thing!

Half of it was twaddle, I grinned. No diabetes, daughters fine, sister fit as a fiddle. But these chancers think old and penniless means daft as a brush.

And the police son-in-law?

Oh, hes real. Ditto the camera, and more importantly, the paperwork. You see, being poors a pain. Being daft is optional. I sell bagels because the pensions a joke, not because I cant count to ten.

I set out the usual bagels, this time with a hearty dusting of sugar, and let my strange day roll on.

And tell medo you reckon poverty makes us vulnerable, or is a lifetime of canny tricks worth more than any paper qualification?