Another Day, Another LinkedIn "Recruiting" Scam
At this point, I'm starting to wonder...
Do I have a mark on my forehead?
This time it was Eman Saber, who claimed to be a Hiring Manager | Corporate Recruiting | Kleiner Perkins.
A quick look at the profile raised questions. The experience listed was extremely limited, and the employment timeline appeared to overlap with another role. Despite claiming to represent Kleiner Perkins, the profile also referenced TABSEER COMPANY, which didn't align with the recruiting message.
Then came the familiar script:
- An unsolicited executive opportunity.
- Generic praise about my "extensive experience."
- A request to move the conversation off LinkedIn to WhatsApp or Microsoft Teams Users Group.
I've seen this pattern too many times.
The scammers need to do better.
Has anyone else noticed an increase in these fake recruiter accounts? I don't even have the #OpenToWork banner enabled, yet they keep finding me.
Stay skeptical. Ask for a job description. Verify who they represent. And don't leave LinkedIn until you've confirmed you're dealing with a legitimate recruiter.
Follow along on NielFlamm.com/blog.
This Was Not the Blog Post I Planned to Write
I had other things to write about.
I had just gone to see The End of Oak Street—vlog review coming soon—and then stopped at Boxcar Betty’s in MTP, where I discovered bacon jam.
I did not know I needed bacon jam in my life. Now I’m wondering how I survived this long without it. Was I even living, or was I merely existing in a tragically bacon-jam-free state?
After lunch, I wanted to go to the nearest Starbucks, sit down, and get some writing done before a recovery meeting. I had topics. I had thoughts. I may have even had a plan.
None of those topics involved the back of a Honda CR-V.
And yet, here we are.
This particular Starbucks is next to a National Tire & Battery. Because it is next to a tire shop, there are sometimes vehicles parked outside the service bays. It happens. Cars need tires. Tires need cars. The circle of automotive life continues.
The resulting passageway is narrow, but it works—as long as everybody participates in that increasingly experimental social practice known as courtesy.
Usually, drivers go around the vehicles near the service bays and move as far left as possible without sacrificing a wheel rim to the curb. It is not a perfect system, but civilization has survived on less.
Not this vehicle.
This vehicle appeared committed to occupying exactly enough of the available space to make passing somewhere between “deeply uncomfortable” and “please have your insurance information ready.”
There wasn’t much room between the building, the sidewalk, and the car. So I waited.
And waited.
At least ten minutes.
I did not honk. Remember, no horn. Read back if you don’t know that story.
I did consider flashing my high beams, but that seemed like the automotive equivalent of sending a strongly worded email while the recipient is sitting directly in front of you.
Eventually, the car moved forward.
Victory?
Not exactly.
It moved just enough to acknowledge that movement was technically possible, while still declining to leave what experts call “a reasonable amount of space.”
As I finally worked my way around, the people inside appeared to be waiting for the early-bird special to begin while conducting important business on a portable device. Perhaps they were negotiating a treaty. Perhaps they were solving the national debt. Perhaps they were watching a video explaining how driveways work.
I may never know.
Here is the semi-serious part: parking lots are small communities with bad signage. We all have somewhere to be. We are all distracted. We are all occasionally the person who doesn’t realize we are blocking someone else.
But when you are sitting in a narrow lane, and another car has been waiting behind you long enough to reconsider every decision that led them there, moving over a few feet is a lovely gesture.
It costs nothing. It requires no app. There is no subscription fee.
Just look around, notice the other humans, and share the pavement.
Anyway, I eventually made it to Starbucks. I had bacon jam in my recent past, a recovery meeting in my near future, and several completely different topics waiting to be written.
Instead, I wrote about this car.
Ugh.
Why I’m Still Single: An Investigation Nobody Requested
I’ve noticed that stories about the horrors of my dating-app experience get a bunch of views. Apparently, my romantic suffering is your entertainment.
You’re welcome.
I know what some of you are thinking because I have X-Men-like abilities:
“Niel, not only are your unique looks incredibly handsome, but you’re also smart, innovative, and funny! You CAN’T be single.”
It’s all true. Every descriptor. Thank you very much.
And yet, I am single.
Let me explain.
I’m not much for “game.” I don’t approach women in the grocery store and say, “Oh my, look at that sweet potato! Can you believe the amazing fries we could make with that?”
I know. Shocking. That line is basically irresistible.
I also meet women at recovery meetings who are smart, funny, and inspirational—and who have great heads of hair. But I’m not the kind of guy who will just roll up—we said that in the ’90s—to a shorty—also a ’90s reference—and say, “Let me holla at ya!”
Guess which era that one came from.
It’s simply not my style. In the interest of transparency, most of my real-life dates—the ones that didn’t begin with an app asking me to select my preferred radius—have been initiated by the woman.
So, ladies, the historical data is clear. Draw your own conclusions.
Anyway, I’m still trudging along. Apparently, “trudging” means moving forward with purpose, although it also sounds like walking through wet cement while carrying emotional baggage.
Either way, I’ll keep moving forward and see what Cupid has in store for the rest of 2026.
Hopefully, Cupid has improved his aim. And updated his profile pictures.
Day 62: What Do Nextdoor’s Partners Think?
It's Day 62.
I'm not surprised.
And somehow, I'm still surprised.
Sixty-two days since I requested a study from Jacob Chavis without receiving the study—or a response.
62 days. Unbelievable.
Yesterday I wrote about Nextdoor reposting content from Groundworks Commercial. Since Jacob seems to have vanished from the Insights landscape—perhaps abducted by aliens 👽—I've started watching what Nextdoor is publishing.
Something is interesting about reposts.
When Nextdoor publishes its own LinkedIn content, comments are typically disabled.
When Nextdoor reposts someone else's content, the original post's comments may remain available.
And, well...
I do what I do.
I commented on the Groundworks Commercial post about my experience with Nextdoor.
Then last night, I noticed Josh Jones from Groundworks Commercial viewed my LinkedIn profile.
Hello, Josh. 👋
I'm genuinely curious:
What do you think about all of this?
Not just Josh, either.
That has me thinking about Nextdoor's broader network of partners.
Nextdoor works with businesses, advertisers, local organizations, news outlets, government agencies, and other companies.
Those organizations lend something besides money or content.
They lend their names.
So what are decision-makers at these organizations seeing?
Do they look only at Nextdoor's WAU, advertising opportunities and neighborhood reach?
Do they examine the moderation controversies?
Do they look at how critical feedback is handled?
Do they notice comments are disabled on corporate posts?
Do they examine how small businesses experience the platform?
Do they care how shareholders are treated?
And does corporate culture factor into deciding whether another organization wants its brand associated with Nextdoor?
I'm not suggesting Groundworks Commercial—or any Nextdoor partner—agrees with my views.
I have no idea what Josh thinks.
That's why I'm asking.
But partnerships work both ways.
When two brands associate publicly, each company's reputation becomes part of the other's equation.
I've spent 62 days asking questions on Nextdoor.
Maybe there's another group worth asking:
What do Nextdoor's partners think?
Local news organizations.
Small businesses.
Advertisers.
Corporate partners.
Public agencies.
What are their experiences behind the scenes?
After 62 days, I'm increasingly interested not only in what Nextdoor says about itself...
but what organizations doing business with Nextdoor say about Nextdoor.
Josh, since you stopped by my profile, I'd welcome your perspective.
And if anyone from another Nextdoor partner is reading this, yours too.
Day 62. The conversation keeps getting bigger, even if Nextdoor isn't participating.
Join the discussion at NielFlamm.com/blog.
Leave some feedback—I'd love to hear your perspective.
I Thought I Was Supposed to Be My True Self? Another Adventure on The Tinder
After approximately 2 billion swipes left (nope) and right (why not?), I finally got another match on the Tinder.
Her profile name?
"Hopeful."
Well, that's already one more hopeful person than I expected to find on the Tinder.
Hopeful is a straight, 5'8" woman who describes herself as:
"Down to earth, laid back woman that is looking for something real..."
Excellent.
She also wants:
"Someone that can be just there true self, no lies, no games no drama just your true self no matter what and I will be the same!"
First, I believe we're looking for their true self.
But this is the Tinder, not the SATs. I'm not grading anyone.
More importantly:
Great! Imma be my true self.
Because I don't know how to be Matt Damon.
Her profile also provides some important intelligence. She doesn't like receiving nude selfies—which seems like an extremely reasonable policy—works out sometimes, smokes, which I don't, and drinks on special occasions.
Fine.
So I start the conversation:
"Good evening, Hopeful!"
I had a sneaking suspicion her parents didn't look at their newborn daughter and say, "She's beautiful. Let's name her Hopeful."
Turns out I was correct.
Her name is Chrissy.
We start chatting. I throw in some humor. She seems to like it.
Excellent.
I tell her that I think I'm actually funnier in person.
Also excellent.
We're talking about what we're doing Thursday. I mention some completely innocuous stuff about my day. Nobody has attempted to sell cryptocurrency to anyone. Nobody claims to be conducting "market research" in Augusta.
We're making progress!
Then I mention my sobriety.
Record scratch.
The conversation takes a turn.
She asks:
"So is that you drink now or no"
I explain that no, I don't drink. I've been sober for a little over 17 years.
But I also explain that I don't care if other people drink—as long as they're responsible about it.
I'm sober.
I'm not the Soup Nazi.
NO CHARDONNAY FOR YOU!
Drink your wine. Have your cocktail. Order a beer.
I'm not going to leap across the table and slap a margarita out of your hand.
This conversation happened Thursday at around 4:30 p.m.
I sent a few more messages afterward.
I even asked if she'd like to talk on the phone, since her profile said that's her preferred method of communication.
And then...
Crickets.
Not even Tinder crickets.
Those crickets have probably unmatched me too.
Which leaves me slightly confused.
Wait a minute, Chrissy.
I thought you wanted someone who could be:
"Just their true self."
That's exactly what I did!
I didn't lie.
I didn't play games.
I didn't create drama.
I didn't pretend to drink.
I didn't pretend to be Matt Damon.
I showed up as my true self, just like the advertisement requested.
Apparently there were terms and conditions.
And here's what really makes me laugh:
Her profile says she drinks "on special occasions."
Is having someone who drinks booze really that important when you only drink sometimes yourself?
Maybe there's an annual Cabernet Festival I don't know about.
Maybe Valentine's Day requires tequila.
Maybe I'm supposed to hold the wine glass while she drinks it.
I have questions.
Of course, maybe she just got busy. Maybe she'll respond eventually. Maybe she met somebody else. That's dating.
But if the sobriety conversation is what killed it, that's pretty funny.
Because after dealing with fake profiles, scammers, crypto investors, mysterious 6'6" women named Hamit, and everything else I've encountered on the Tinder, I finally did exactly what a profile asked:
I was my true self.
And apparently my true self got left on read.
Maybe next time I'll try being Matt Damon.