Day 59: Sometimes What Doesn't Happen Tells the Bigger Story

It's Thursday, and I noticed three things that didn't happen today.

Jacob Chavis didn't email me.

Nextdoor Communications didn't publish another feel-good story.

And Nirav Tolia didn't post another version of Nextdoor's history that, from my perspective, leaves out some inconvenient realities.

Maybe it's a quiet Thursday.

But after 59 days, I've started thinking less about individual posts, emails, or studies and more about something bigger:

What happens when an organization becomes comfortable with the status quo?

No response becomes normal.

No acknowledgment becomes normal.

Questions about moderation go unanswered.

Verification questions remain questions.

Small businesses question new costs.

Corporate messaging highlights the success stories while difficult conversations happen somewhere else.

Eventually, the absence of action becomes part of the culture.

That's the new perspective I've been thinking about.

Organizations don't always make one enormous decision that changes their trajectory.

Sometimes it's hundreds of smaller decisions:

Don't respond today.

We'll deal with that later.

Keep publishing the positive stories.

Don't engage with that feedback.

The current process is good enough.

One day becomes a week.

A week becomes a month.

And apparently, a simple request can become 59 days.

That's why I've repeatedly used two phrases throughout this journey:

We tolerate what we allow.

And...

We inspect what we expect.

If leadership expects Nextdoor to be about community, connection, trust, and local relationships, then leadership should inspect whether the experience reflects those words.

Not just the success stories.

Not just the earnings presentation.

Not just the podcast appearances.

The uncomfortable parts, too.

Maybe nothing happening today isn't noteworthy by itself.

But after 59 days, I'm beginning to think the things that don't happen may tell us as much about an organization as the things that do.

Tomorrow is Friday.

Or, based on my experience with Nextdoor communication...

the weekend may have already started.

Join the discussion at NielFlamm.com/blog.

Leave some feedback—I'd love to hear what you think.

Congratulations! I’ve Apparently Bought Bitcoin, Paid a Mystery Subscription, AND Been Invited to a Scam

I have exciting financial news.

Apparently, while minding my own business, I purchased hundreds of dollars in Bitcoin.

Twice.

I also paid $398.99 for a subscription I don’t recognize.

I had no idea I was this financially active.

Even more impressive: all of these transactions were announced to me through Facebook event invitations.

Because when I think PayPal fraud department, naturally I think:

“Going” — “Maybe” — “Can’t Go.”

Nothing says urgent financial security alert quite like being asked whether I can attend my own fraudulent Bitcoin purchase.

The Scam That Keeps Inviting Me Places

Over the past couple of days, I've received several emails that look like Facebook event invitations.

The first one came from “Karen White.”

Karen apparently invited me to:

“PayPal BTC Auto Debit Card Alert | $689.99 has been debited for your Bitcoin purchase!”

Well, Karen, thank you for thinking of me.

The invitation then gave me the traditional Facebook choices:

Going
Maybe
Can’t Go

I'm going with Can't Go.

I have plans that evening.

Also, I DIDN'T BUY ANY BITCOIN.

Then another invitation arrived.

This time, my host was “Taiba Tauba,” inviting me to essentially the same $689.99 Bitcoin extravaganza.

Same general story. My bank account had supposedly been used fraudulently, and I needed to call a phone number to straighten everything out.

At this point, I'm beginning to feel bad.

Karen invited me.

Taiba invited me.

I'm turning down everybody.

This is going to destroy my social life.

Then the Scam Learned Spanish

Later, I received another invitation from “Callie Cardona.”

For reasons unknown to me, Facebook presented much of this invitation in Spanish.

“Callie Cardona te invitó al evento…”

Apparently, my scam has gone international.

This time, it wasn't Bitcoin.

The subject announced:

“Notice: Your Subscription Payment of $398.99 was Paid.”

What subscription?

No clue.

Perhaps it's the premium membership to the People Who Keep Calling Random Phone Numbers From Scam Emails Club.

I was provided a phone number to call if I didn't recognize the transaction.

And that's the whole point.

They Don't Really Want the $689.99

The scammer isn't necessarily trying to convince you that you've already lost $689.99.

They're trying to make you panic about losing $689.99.

You see “PayPal.”
You see “Bitcoin.”
You see “$689.99.”
You see “fraudulent transaction.”

And then you see a phone number.

The hope is that your brain skips right over:

“Wait a minute…why is PayPal notifying me about financial fraud through a FACEBOOK EVENT INVITATION?”

…and goes directly to:

OH CRAP! CALL THE NUMBER!

Once you call, the scammer has you engaged. That's when they can try to obtain personal information, financial information, account credentials, remote access to your computer, or convince you to move money.

The fake transaction is the bait.

Your panic is the hook.

Facebook Even Warned Me

One of the funniest parts is that the emails themselves contain a warning:

“Meta did not send this event invitation. Please be cautious when clicking on links or providing personal information.”

That's a fairly significant clue.

It's basically Facebook standing in the background waving its arms:

“WE DIDN'T SEND THIS! DON'T BLAME US!”

The scammers appear to be exploiting legitimate event/invitation functionality to get their message delivered. That can make the email look more convincing because portions of the message may actually come through Facebook's notification system.

But a legitimate-looking messenger doesn't make the message legitimate.

If somebody tapes a fake IRS notice to a Domino's pizza box, it doesn't mean Domino's is collecting your taxes.

The Biggest Red Flag? The Phone Number

All three messages are designed to get me to do essentially the same thing:

Call a phone number.

No thanks.

If I receive an unexpected notice about a PayPal transaction, I won't call the number provided by the person saying my money is disappearing.

I'll open PayPal myself.

If it's supposedly my bank, I'll use my bank's official app, website, or the number printed on the back of my card.

If there's a $689 Bitcoin purchase, I'll handle it through the financial institution.

And if there isn't?

Congratulations.

I just saved myself from attending Karen's Bitcoin party.

Scam Rule of the Day

Unexpected messages involving money deserve skepticism—especially when they create urgency and immediately tell you whom to call.

Don't use the phone number in the suspicious message.

Don't click its links.

Don't give anyone a verification code.

Don't install software because the friendly “fraud department” representative tells you to.

And please don't give someone remote access to your computer so they can “process your refund.”

Verify the alleged transaction independently.

As for my three invitations?

Karen: Can't Go.
Taiba: Can't Go.
Callie: No asistiré.

Finally, I'm multilingual.

Devastating Diva in the McDonald’s Drive-Thru

The other day, I was at McDonald’s in Mount Pleasant doing what any responsible adult does when presented with a deal: getting a $1.50 McChicken, fries, and a large Coke Zero.

Fine dining? No.

Efficient dining? Absolutely.

I pulled into the drive-thru, placed my order, and began the traditional McDonald’s ritual of slowly moving forward six feet at a time while wondering whether I really needed the fries.

Of course I needed the fries.

Then I noticed the car in front of me.

Nothing particularly unusual about the car. It was a Honda with a South Carolina license plate. But then I looked at the license plate frame.

It read:

“DEVASTATING DIVA.”

Well.

That is certainly a statement.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have a license plate frame myself. Mine is a Tau Epsilon Phi fraternity frame. It basically tells the world, “Yes, I joined a fraternity, and apparently I’m still talking about it decades later.”

But “Devastating Diva”?

That raises questions.

If I were a woman, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to advertise that to every person sitting behind me at a red light.

Because there's confidence, and then there's issuing a public challenge.

You aren't merely a diva.

You're not even an exceptional diva.

You are DEVASTATING.

That is a lot to live up to when somebody finally pulls alongside you.

I hope she’s married or has a partner, because otherwise that license plate frame is doing some serious pre-screening on the dating pool.

Imagine meeting someone:

“So, tell me a little about yourself.”

“Well, I enjoy traveling, trying new restaurants, spending time with friends…”

“And?”

“I’m devastating.”

“Excuse me?”

“Check the Honda.”

At least she's giving everyone fair warning.

Meanwhile, my license plate frame basically identifies my fraternity affiliation. Hers sounds like it should come with terms and conditions, a liability waiver, and possibly a hurricane warning.

And really, I respect the commitment.

If you're going to declare yourself a Devastating Diva, don't hide it in an Instagram bio where only your friends will see it.

Put it on the back of the Honda.

Take it through McDonald's.

Make the guy behind you eating a $1.50 McChicken contemplate your entire life story.

Mission accomplished, Diva.

Mission accomplished.

Pumpkin Spice in August? Krispy Kreme, We Need to Talk.

I live in the Low Country, where today’s high was 95 degrees with approximately 99% humidity.

Did it actually feel like 120 degrees? Maybe not according to science. According to the amount I was sweating? Absolutely.

Tomorrow, we get to do it all over again. The forecast calls for 94°F — about 34.4°C — with a heat advisory.

So naturally, this is the perfect time for...

PUMPKIN SPICE.

Wait. What?!?!??!

I received an email today from Krispy Kreme. And before anyone starts judging me, I don't go there that often. I apparently maintain enough of a relationship with Krispy Kreme that they know how to find me when they have important doughnut-related news.

The email announced some limited-time flavors.

Café Mocha. Okay. Chocolate icing, coffee-flavored buttercream swirl. I'm listening.

Maple Cheesecake. I like maple. I like cheesecake. This relationship has potential.

Biscoff Cookie Butter. Yum. No further questions.

And then...

Pumpkin Spice Cake.

Excuse me?

IT IS AUGUST 11.

Can we please slow down?

What's the rush?

Is pumpkin spice really that addictive? Are there people sitting around in July checking their calendars and whispering, "Just a few more weeks..."?

I don't understand the draw.

We've spent years complaining that teenagers are growing up too quickly.

Then retailers decided that apparently Christmas needs a three-month warmup, so the moment the last trick-or-treater leaves your driveway on Halloween, somebody starts playing Mariah Carey and putting inflatable reindeer on the lawn.

Now apparently fall doesn't even have to wait for summer to end.

We're skipping right over Labor Day.

We're ignoring the swimming pools.

We're pretending the beach isn't approximately the temperature of the surface of Mercury.

PUMPKIN. SPICE. IS. HERE.

Meanwhile, much of the country is dealing with heat advisories, and here in the Low Country I'm trying to determine whether I actually need to shower or whether standing outside for five minutes already counts.

I don't want a pumpkin patch.

I don't want a sweater.

I don't want to hear about crisp autumn air.

I WANT THE AIR CONDITIONER TO KEEP WORKING.

At this rate, the seasonal calendar is going to collapse completely. Pumpkin spice will arrive in June, Halloween candy will hit the shelves around Easter, and we'll be buying Christmas trees while we're still setting off Fourth of July fireworks.

Krispy Kreme, the Café Mocha looks good.

The Maple Cheesecake looks really good.

The Cookie Butter might actually get me through the door.

But Pumpkin Spice Cake?

It's 95 degrees outside.

Let the pumpkin sleep.

Its time will come.

Call Me a “Keith”: Why I Called 911 on Highway 17

I was on my way to Costco to pick up the essentials: medication, toilet paper, and Tide Pods. This was after watching Ice Cream Man—video review coming soon.

I was heading north on Highway 17 in Mount Pleasant when I noticed a motorcyclist splitting lanes. I believed lane splitting was only legal in California, but I thought nothing more of it at first.

Then things started getting dangerous.

The rider was weaving in and out of traffic without holding on to the handlebars. He appeared to be playing around with the drivers of a black Toyota Tundra and then a silver Nissan Frontier. Traffic was being disrupted, and the situation looked like it could easily cause an accident.

I’d had enough, so I called 911.

I gave the dispatcher my name, location, and a description of what I could see: a white male riding a black motorcycle, wearing a black helmet and a black backpack. I also described the other vehicles involved. I couldn’t see the motorcycle’s license plate, so I said so.

When asked, I provided my full name and phone number. As everyone continued moving, I kept the dispatcher updated on our location.

The dispatcher asked about the motorcycle’s make. I wasn’t going to speed or put anyone else at risk just to get a closer look. Eventually, traffic slowed—and so did the rider—allowing me to see that the motorcycle was a Kawasaki.

The group eventually pulled into Oakland Market, near Walmart.

To be clear, I didn’t call because somebody annoyed me or because I wanted to police every questionable decision on the road. If the rider hadn’t been creating a possible accident and jamming up traffic, I wouldn’t have called.

Maybe nothing would have happened. Maybe everyone would have made it home safely without my involvement. But when someone’s behavior puts an entire road full of people at risk, I would rather make the call than later wish I had.

So go ahead. Call me a “Keith.”