The Scam That Taught Me More Than a Classroom Ever Did

I was in 12th grade when I first decided to order something online. Back then, online shopping wasn’t common in my family. In fact, it was strongly discouraged. My parents believed it was risky, and every time I mentioned it, they’d look concerned. They thought everything online was a scam waiting to happen.

They would often consult my uncle—he was the go-to for tech advice. And like everyone else in my family, he always said the same thing: “Don’t trust online offers. You might lose everything.” I used to get frustrated. I thought they were just too afraid to keep up with the times. Deep down, I believed I could be the one to prove them wrong.

Then, one day, while browsing online, I came across a deal that looked too good to pass up—a DSLR camera, with more than 60% off. The price was just over 5,000 taka, and it even came with bonus items like memory cards and a camera bag. For someone like me, who had always dreamed of owning a camera, it felt like fate.

I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to surprise them after the camera arrived. I wanted to say, “See? Not everything online is fake. Sometimes, you just have to trust.” So I placed the order on my own.

A few days later, I got a phone call. The man claimed he was delivering the camera and asked me to pay in advance. I was a little hesitant, but he sounded polite and professional. I sent the money. Then, later, he called again, saying he urgently needed an extra 1,000 taka for transport, but would refund it when he arrived. I believed him and sent that too.

And then—nothing.

No delivery. No call.

At first, I waited patiently, thinking maybe he was delayed. But hours passed. I tried calling him back. The phone was off. I tried again. Still off. That’s when it hit me: I had been scammed.

The sinking feeling in my chest was something I’ll never forget. I had lost more than money. I had lost trust. My trust in people. In my own judgment. I didn’t know how to tell my parents. I had acted out of pride, and now I was left with regret.

That money wasn’t just pocket change. I had saved it over months. Bit by bit. I had plans for it. Dreams. And just like that, it was gone.

The worst part? My family had warned me. Again and again. But I was so sure I knew better. I thought being modern meant taking risks. I thought they were just afraid. But they weren’t afraid—they were experienced. And I didn’t listen.

After that day, something changed in me. I became more cautious. More aware. I started checking every link twice, questioning every offer, verifying every seller. I learned to ask questions instead of jumping into decisions. And most importantly, I learned to listen to people who care about me, even when I don’t agree with them at first.

That scam taught me more than any textbook ever could. It taught me the cost of pride. The value of advice. And how dangerous blind trust can be in a world full of shortcuts and too-good-to-be-true deals.

I still think about that camera sometimes. Not because I regret not owning it, but because that scam, in a strange way, gave me something more valuable than a gadget. It gave me wisdom. And that’s something I’ll carry for life.

Be yourself and tjink about your family, teachers, supervisor and superior. Never trust anything that dose not deserve the worth.