I got another of those creepy postcards today. The front shows a murky photograph of my house from Google Images. The headline reads: “ATTENTION Dennis, I want to buy your property.” The note on the back is from “Michael,” who says he has been trying to reach me. I usually throw these things in the bin along with political solicitations, but my inner journalist was curious.
The back of the card included an address, a phone number, and a QR code, but no website. That meant I couldn’t easily identify the sender without giving up my own identity. Although the address was in New Hampshire, the phone number was from Massachusetts. I tried a couple of those reverse phone number web searches, but they were creepier than the postcard.
So I did something I’ve never done. I asked ChatGPT for help. The robot could not find any listing for the phone number on the card. “Do you think it’s a scam?” I asked. “No,” the robot replied. The address listed showed a legitimate real estate agent named Michael. But his office phone did not match the number on my ad.
“My assessment,” the robot said, “is that this may be a genuine unsolicited “cash for your house” solicitation rather than a classic scam, but don’t assume the caller/text sender is really Michael [last name withheld] simply because they supplied his name and address. Someone could easily copy those public details, and caller IDs/numbers can be spoofed.” (FYI, the robot gave me the sender’s surname, but I have redacted it here to protect his privacy.)
Chat continued: “I would not give the solicitor your Social Security number, bank information, mortgage account information, copies of identification, or any payment whatsoever. A legitimate cash buyer doesn’t need money from you just to make an offer.”
Chat had an interesting idea. It suggested I call Mike’s real number, not the one on the card, and ask if he’s the guy who wants to buy my house. I did, and he picked right up. Mike seemed surprised that I knew his name.
“Who is this?” Mike asked.
I explained that I was trying to track down the person who wanted to buy my house, but I was not interested in selling.
“Oh, um,” Mike said. “If you’re not interested in selling, I can remove you from the list.”
Mike explained that the number on the card should send me to a receptionist. I explained that ChatGPT said I should call him directly, rather than dial the advertised phone number.”
“Well,” Mike laughed. “Good old ChatGPT.”
I explained that his solicitation was not being listed as a scam, but that the robot had warned me to be wary since I had received a number of scams recently and there seemed to be more every day. I said I found the photo of my house on the flyer to be a little creepy.
“I know,” Mike said. “Some people think it’s creepy.” But he noted that there was no one driving by my house and taking a photo. It had come from Google.
“I get it,” I told him. But with all the real estate agents on the seacoast, the last person I would ever call would be a solicitation with a picture of my house offering cash. I agreed that the process, though costly, may be working, since the cards keep coming. But I asked, what did he think made me a target of this highly personal form of advertising?
“Right,” Mike said, kindly. “I understand. Some people like to use real estate agents.”
I identified myself as a journalist and said I was mostly curious as to how I had gotten on the list in the first place.
“It’s really a numbers game for investors,” Mike said. “We do help a lot of people. It may only work for one percent out of a thousand people, maybe 5,000. It’s very challenging, for sure.”
Had I missed a mortgage or tax payment? Mike wondered. No, I’ve been spot-on for 26 years, I told him. Was I, perhaps, an elderly person? Bingo.
If the homeowner is interested in selling, the investor comes out in person and tries to come up with a fair figure. If the owner agrees THAT DAY, I was told, an arrangement could be made. This was starting to sound like the people who have been trying to sell me a bathroom refit. Old people get a lot of those. After a two-hour meeting, the last bathroom guy told me I had 30 minutes to lock in my bargain price. I showed him the door.
“But this is Portsmouth,” I told Mike. Yes, we seniors, especially those on a fixed income, are being driven out by high property taxes, but it’s a seller’s market. People knock on my door asking if I want to sell. I don’t need postcard ads.
“Ya,” Mike agreed. “Portsmouth is probably not a good area for this.” He seemed like a nice guy.
“And by the way,” I added. “That Google photo is one of the worst pictures of my house I’ve ever seen.”
Mike gave a hearty laugh. “I appreciate you reaching out,” he said. “I’d rather not waste the postage. Ah, what is your address there?”
“Oh, no,” I said. Now I was laughing. “Chat told me not to give you any details. But you can look me up in a reverse phone directory.”
“I can do that,” the investor said. “I understand completely. That’s fine. It’s a scary world.”
© 2026 by J. Dennis Robinson. All rights reserved.
SEE: My life as a cartoon
Eccentric “Pilgrim Stranger” Preached to Congress