Day 87: Is Anybody Driving the Nextdoor Bus? 🚌

It's 10:45 AM EDT on Day 87, and I'm picturing the Nextdoor corporate bus.

The engine is running.

The shareholders are sitting in the back.

The businesses are wondering why there's suddenly a toll booth.

The neighbors are arguing over who parked the bus incorrectly.

And I'm standing in the aisle asking:

“Ummm...who's driving?”

NXDR is down to approximately $2.17 as of this writing.

Meanwhile, I've seen no new posts or updates today from Nextdoor or CEO Nirav Tolia.

No answers on my two outstanding studies either.

Maybe everyone is working feverishly behind the scenes.

Maybe Communications is preparing something spectacular.

Maybe Nirav is recording another podcast.

Or maybe the bus is just rolling downhill while everyone debates the seating arrangement.

It's still early.

I'll give Day 87 a chance to unfold.

I may be back later today.

Hopefully someone grabs the wheel before then.

👉 Follow the continuing ride at NielFlamm.com/blog

50 Days Until Paradise. Travel Companion Position Still Open.

My cruise app tells me I set sail in 50 days, 9 hours, 34 minutes, and 44 seconds.

I appreciate the precision. Apparently, Royal Caribbean knows exactly when my vacation begins, while I’m still trying to figure out how to get to Tampa without needing a vacation from getting to Tampa.

I’m booked on Radiance of the Seas for a four-night Western Caribbean cruise, October 29 through November 2. Four nights of ocean views, someone else making dinner, and pretending that walking to the buffet counts as a fitness program.

First, however, there’s the transportation situation.

My flight leaves Charleston at 5 a.m. and goes to Tampa through Miami. Because apparently, to get to the vacation, I must first fly past the vacation and circle back after the airline has had time to think about it.

To make that flight, I figure I’d leave home at 3:30 a.m., arrive at the airport around 4, and give myself an hour before departure.

That’s my current calculation, anyway. It assumes security cooperates and I can operate pants at 3 in the morning.

A 5 a.m. flight isn’t an early flight. It’s an overnight emergency you paid for.

Meanwhile, driving to Tampa takes about seven hours. By the time I add the airport trip, security, boarding, flying south, sitting in Miami questioning my choices, and flying back north, I could practically be there in my own car.

In the car, I control the temperature. My luggage travels with me. And if there’s a delay, I can usually identify the cause: I stopped for snacks and accidentally bought lunch, fudge, and a decorative item.

Yes, driving involves traffic. But flying involves traffic too—only someone announces it over a speaker while I sit strapped to furniture.

So I’m leaning toward driving, preferably heading down the day before. Give me a reasonable buffer, a hotel bed, and a departure time that doesn’t require negotiating with the undead.

Then there’s the ship.

Radiance is an older ship, which is fine. I’m not exactly a fresh delivery from the shipyard myself. At this stage, I respect anything that still travels well and has functioning air-conditioning.

I’ve also learned Tampa has limits on the size of cruise ships it can accommodate. Relatable. I can no longer accommodate certain things either, including drama and dinner reservations after 8:30.

Besides, I have an MSC cruise in January and Utopia of the Seas out of Port Canaveral in April. My vacation calendar is developing nicely.

My romantic calendar remains a blank document with excellent formatting.

The reservation currently says “1 Adult.”

A little judgmental, Royal Caribbean. You could have written “Independent Traveler.” “Man of Mystery.” “Still Accepting Applications.”

But no. 1 Adult.

And even that feels like an optimistic assessment of someone considering seven hours behind the wheel to avoid waking up early for a flight.

There is, as yet, no future ex-wife joining me. The position remains open. Ideal qualifications include a sense of humor, enthusiasm for cruising, and the ability to say, “Let’s just drive,” before I spend three evenings comparing transportation options.

Until then, I have a cabin, a countdown, and several vacations booked.

Love may be unpredictable, but at least my next relationship with a buffet has a confirmed start date.

Pharmacy Office? Sure. Let Me Open These Mystery Attachments…

Another day, another email apparently hoping curiosity will overpower common sense.

This one arrived with the wonderfully official-sounding subject line:

“Pharmacy Office”

Oh, good. The Pharmacy Office!

Which pharmacy?
What office?
Why are they contacting me?

Apparently, those are minor details.

The sender identifies herself as “Jessie Smalley,” but the email address displayed with the name is a random-looking Gmail account:

hoangthai96tp@gmail.com

Nothing screams official pharmacy correspondence quite like that.

But the best part?

There is essentially no message.

No:

“Hello Niel.”

No:

“We're contacting you regarding your prescription.”

No explanation of who they are, why they're contacting me, or what I'm supposed to do.

Instead, I get two attachments:

ATT00001.txt
ATT00002.txt

Each is only 244 bytes.

And there they sit, practically whispering:

Come on, Niel. Open us.

We're probably important.

Maybe one of us contains information about your extended car warranty.

Nice try.

The Attachment Is the Bait

This is one of the simplest tricks in the scammer toolbox.

They don't necessarily need to write an elaborate story if they can get you curious enough to interact with an attachment.

The vague subject creates just enough uncertainty.

Pharmacy Office?

Did my pharmacy send something?

Is there a prescription problem?

Is this about insurance?

Do I owe money?

And that's precisely why I didn't open the attachments.

I don't know the sender. I wasn't expecting the email. The sender's address doesn't connect to a pharmacy, and the email provides no context for the attachments.

That's not a reason to investigate the files.

That's a reason to investigate the email.

Congratulations, You Have Failed the Trust Test

If my actual pharmacy needs me, they presumably have several better ways to communicate than:

PHARMACY OFFICE

Two mystery files attached.

Good luck.

Even if an unexpected attachment looks harmless—whether it's a TXT, PDF, Word document, ZIP file, or something else—I won’t open it just because somebody successfully delivered it to my inbox.

And scammers don't always need the attachment itself to infect a computer immediately. An attachment or document can also be part of a larger social-engineering chain intended to send someone to a malicious website, request credentials, provide instructions for contacting someone, or move the conversation somewhere else.

The objective is simple:

Get you to take the next step.

Curiosity Isn't a Security Strategy

These particular files may contain nothing malicious.

I'm not going to open them to find out.

That's an important distinction.

I don't need to prove something is malicious before deciding I shouldn't interact with it. An unsolicited email with no meaningful message, an unknown sender, and two mystery attachments give me absolutely no reason to trust it.

If something supposedly comes from your pharmacy, bank, employer, insurance company, delivery service, or another organization you actually use, don't rely on the contact information conveniently supplied by the suspicious message.

Please visit the organization's website or app, or contact them through a number you already know is legitimate.

Scammers, You Can Do Better

We've had fake recruiters.

Fake job opportunities.

Career-service pitches disguised as recruiting.

And now apparently I've reached the mystery pharmacy attachment chapter of the adventure.

At least put some effort into it.

Please let me know when my prescription for unicorn medication is ready.

Tell me Walgreens accidentally filled 700 gallons of cough syrup in my name.

Give me something.

Instead, I received two tiny text files and the expectation that curiosity would do the rest.

It didn't.

Delete. Report. Move on.

And, most importantly:

Don't open mystery attachments just because somebody was clever enough to put “Pharmacy Office” in the subject line.

Follow along at NielFlamm.com/blog for more scams, suspicious recruiting adventures, and other examples of people on the internet desperately trying to get me to click things I shouldn't.

The Dink: Fake Tennis, Real Laughs and a Formula That Works

Thanks to Rebecca for recommending The Dink. I had a free seven-day Apple TV trial, so why not?

It's a comedy about pickleball—you know, fake tennis for people with limited mobility. People like me.

Jake Johnson, Mary Steenburgen, Ed Harris, Christine Taylor, and Ben Stiller lead a cast that also manages to work John McEnroe and Andy Roddick into the insanity.

Some critics complain that it's predictable.

My response?

Remember New Coke?

Sometimes you have a recipe that works. Leave it alone.

The Dink gave me laughs, moved the story along, and even slipped in a reminder to make mistakes, learn from them, and find your way again.

Not bad for a movie about fake tennis.

🎬 Watch my full review at NielFlamm.com/videos/moviereviews

Recovery Update: No Dots, More Crust & Where’s My Hello Kitty Bandage?

Today’s medical status report involves three different body parts, three different stages of recovery, and one serious complaint about the hospital’s lack of premium bandage options.

Let’s start with the good news.

👁️ The Eye: The Dot Is GONE

No dot.

No mysterious air bubble.

No little object floating around my field of vision.

No floaters.

After watching that little dot shrink from something noticeable to about the size of a Euro 1-cent coin, to a pinhole, it has finally disappeared.

My left eye still looks a little bruised and red, and every once in a while it hurts. I’m continuing with the prescribed eye drops and letting the healing process do its thing.

But considering that not long ago I was describing my vision as vinaigrette, then an airplane horizon indicator, then an eclipse...

I'll happily accept boring vision.

Boring is underrated.

💪 The Other Arm: Welcome to Crust City

Meanwhile, the arm I scraped during my disagreement with my prosthetic, gravity, and the carpet continues its transformation.

At this point:

It's crusty.

Very crusty.

We're now waiting for the scabs to do what scabs eventually do—dry up, peel off and reveal whatever exciting new layer of me is underneath.

I'm resisting the temptation to help them.

No picking.

At least that's what I'm telling myself.

🩺 And Then There's the Fistula Arm...

Today was also Fistulagram #4, so my dialysis-access arm has joined the recovery party.

It's a little sore tonight, which isn't particularly surprising considering somebody was inside there earlier today inflating a balloon.

The procedure site has a stitch that is supposed to dissolve on its own.

Very sophisticated.

Very medical.

Very boring.

Because I have one complaint:

Where is my Hello Kitty Band-Aid?

Seriously.

I've had four fistulagrams.

I've had dialysis.

I've had eye surgery.

I've been poked, prodded, scanned, stitched, and ballooned.

At some point I believe I've earned an upgrade from Hospital Beige.

Give me Hello Kitty.

And before someone corrects me...

Apparently, Hello Kitty isn't actually a girl.

At least that's what I've read.

Sanrio has famously described Hello Kitty as a little girl character rather than a cat, which somehow raises approximately 37 additional questions that I'm not emotionally prepared to address tonight.

She looks like a cat.

Her name is Kitty.

She has whiskers.

But apparently we're supposed to accept that she's a little girl.

Fine.

Whatever.

Just put her on my Band-Aid.

So That's Tonight's Recovery Scorecard

👁️ Eye: No dots. No floaters. Still a little red and occasionally sore. Drops continue.

💪 Scraped arm: Crusty. Scabby. Waiting for nature to handle demolition.

🩺 Fistula arm: A little sore after today's fistulagram, complete with a dissolvable stitch.

🎀 Hello Kitty Band-Aid: DENIED.

Of everything happening with my body right now, that last one may be the greatest medical injustice of all.

I expected better.