Steve Apple

Scammers have always been part of modern life. Like pigeons in the park, they’re not going anywhere, you just learn to shoo them off. But lately? They’re evolving. They’ve gone from “annoying background noise” to “full-blown improv comedians.” And I have proof. The other day, I didn’t just get a scam call. I got the scam call. A call from… Steve Apple.

Now, for the uninitiated, scam calls used to be simple. Classic hits. The robovoice IRS guy telling me I owed $6,000 payable in iTunes gift cards. The foreign prince (from a kingdom that only exists on clip art) promising me $14 million if I shared my bank info. Those were the golden oldies. Scam Motown. Timeless. Honestly, a little comforting, like a bad song on the radio you can’t help but hum along to.

But Steve Apple? That was new.

The phone buzzed, and there it was on the caller ID: “Apple Support.” Already suspicious, since the only time Apple calls you is to tell you your storage is full, and even then it’s via passive aggressive notification. I pick up anyway.

“Hello, this is Steve Apple, calling from Apple Support.”

I choked on my coffee. Steve Apple. Not Tim Cook. Not some genius bar rep with a lanyard. Steve. Apple. It sounded less like a tech executive and more like the world’s most disappointing superhero. “By day, he’s Steve. By night… still Steve, but with a refurbished iPad.”

Steve wasted no time. He told me my iCloud had been compromised by someone “in Texas or Russia.” Bold choices. As if the entire cybercrime industry is run out of Dallas and Moscow. I pictured a cowboy and a hacker, dueling over my photo backups like it was the OK Corral.

Then came the big ask: “Can you confirm your Apple ID and password, please?” Out loud. Just like that. Like I was supposed to shout my login details into the void. That’s when it hit me: Steve wasn’t even good at this. He was confident, sure, but in the way a toddler is confident they can drive a car.

I couldn’t resist. I told him my password was “BananaSamsung123.” He didn’t miss a beat. Just typed it down like it was the most normal thing in the world. That’s when I knew Steve Apple was a professional scammer. Probably regional manager of Scams Incorporated.

And the best part? He kept going. The script continued, his voice smooth, as if he actually believed I might be taking notes. At one point I swear he said, “Don’t worry, we are Apple certified.” Which, fun fact, is exactly what you’d say if you weren’t.

Here’s the thing: I almost admire the creativity. They’ve stopped pretending to be mysterious government agents or faraway royalty. Now they’re just rebranding themselves as knockoff family members of billion-dollar companies. Steve Apple today, maybe Linda Microsoft tomorrow. Bob Netflix calling to tell me my password needs renewing. Karen Amazon reminding me my package is ready, just send over my Social Security number.

Scammers used to be annoying. Now? They’re practically performance art. Bad, dangerous, absurdist comedy, but comedy nonetheless.

So here’s my PSA: if you get a call from Steve Apple, don’t panic. Don’t hand over your details. Just ask if he’s related to Granny Smith, thank him for his service to scammer culture, and hang up.

Because in this new world of fraud, one thing is certain: the fruit is always rotten, and Steve Apple is never fresh.