by Jack Crawford
It has always amazed me how certain jobs are looked down upon by those not performing those jobs. Why consider janitorial work as menial or demeaning? It involves labor that has to be done by someone, and those janitors I've run across who do excellent work are those who take pride in what they do. And what about lawyers? There is a running joke that tells you what most people think about that profession: 'What do you call a hundred dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start.'
But, when you have real trouble involving the justice or legal system, the first person you call is a lawyer. It's a good thing the one you call isn't dead at the bottom of the ocean, right? Dentists get a bad rap, too. But think about what their job is like... up close and personal in people's mouths that they don't really know. Hey, it may be a little uncomfortable to have a tooth filled, but how would you like to wake up every day to the prospect of meeting a bunch of people who don't want to see you? As a good dentist, you do your duty, put your hands in their mouths and hope you don't get bitten.
I'm reminded, also, of the CBS television network public service announcement about the importance of a prostate exam. You don't like the humiliation of bending over for a finger probe, but what about the doctor? Do you think he really went all those years to medical school and being an intern just so he could stick his finger up your backside?
Consider, now, the plight of the lowly debt collector. He is the last person you want to hear from if you're having trouble paying your bills. Oh, it was all sunshine and daffodils with the lending institution when you wanted money from them... but when they want it back, the debtor considers any communication with the lender as being a sure sign of the apocalypse. This is especially true when the debt is secured by, say, your car or your home.
Forget that you wouldn't even have that car or house without the lender, but how dare they ask to be repaid... especially when it is often so inconvenient to repay that debt. Don't those people have any sympathy for the poor working person who has all sorts of other financial demands being made of them?
Then again, as a debt collector, do you know how many times I've heard, 'You can't get blood from a stone'? Do you think these debtors have any idea about the big picture, in economic terms, or even the smaller picture such as my insignificant existence as a debt collector? It's a rhetorical question, but just in case you missed it, the answer is no.
The world economy - and there is no distinction for capitalism, socialism or communism - is fueled by debt. We simply can't save enough to consume what we want right now. So we all rely on debt ... people, countries, even churches. If for no other reason, debt easily facilitates transactions. But one needs to understand that debt does not work if it isn't repaid. Don't get me started on interest rates; just know that when something is borrowed, it must be repaid. Otherwise it wasn't borrowed: it was either gifted or stolen. Period.
Now consider my plight, as a lowly debt collector. In the lending world, I'm about as low on the totem pole as one can get. Sure, I am often the 'face' of the company: you see the sales guys for a brief period when you get your loan, but you'll see someone like me over and over until the bill is paid. Despite that, I don't make the big money the sales guys do... and I certainly don't make the big bucks of the hot shot Vice Presidents or other corporate officers. No, I simply have the one job that the lending institution that hires me absolutely has to have done. To that end, I, and my fellow debt collectors, are the necessary lubricant for all societies. If we don't get the money back that was lent, no more lending happens, the economy tanks in a way that makes the Great Depression seem like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, and we devolve into absolute anarchy.
My lowly job, and those with similar functions, are what keeps our world spinning. Trust me, if I did not absolutely believe that I would have become a barista years ago.
I am fortunate, however, in a weird and kinky way, compared to all the other debt collectors with whom I identify. I was seriously injured on the job. How does that make me fortunate? Well, I was at a debtor's home trying to explain the enormity of his situation to him. Unable to coax even a single monthly payment from him (he was past due six months), I put him on the phone with my manager as required.
The manager proceeded to berate this customer to the point of inciting the gentleman into some very ungentlemanly action. He hit me with a baseball bat... 17 times (and who but the district attorney counted?) resulting in my hospitalization for three months, not to mention another six months of rehabilitation.
The debtor went to jail (no, there is no longer a debtor's prison; he went away for assault and battery) and my lawyer went after the company I work for. It was obvious to all that my manager incited the debtor's behavior and, rather than being found guilty, the company offered a very, very handsome payment to me. The sum was embarrassingly large, but reminding myself of the doctor doing a prostate exam, I suffered the embarrassment with a smile on my face as I deposited that seven figure check at my bank.
I'm still a debt collector, but I am now a specialist. My old company, and one or two others, contract me to offload some of their most past due accounts. It's a simple transaction, really; I analyze the situation and make an offer to purchase the debt... usually between 5% and 10% of what is owed (not counting back interest due!). I then try to recover my investment, and as much of the total balance as possible. It's been a pretty good setup for me, and my original settlement from my company has now tripled in size in only two years.
How I do that is the point of this story. Oh, one other thing... I also provide what I consider to be a very valuable service in my own small way to the continued operation of the world economy. And I am very, very selective about the debt I purchase.
It started as a favor to a friend of mine in the Collections department at my old job. I'm not sure if he thought he was doing me a favor once my rehab had finished, or if I thought I was doing him a favor by making a cold call at the home of Miss Thelma Jones. Maybe it was both.
Miss Jones had a 2001 Toyota Camry on which she owed almost $14,000. Someday I'd like to learn how she ended up with such a sizeable balance on such a crappy car, but it didn't matter right then. She had two problems: first, she was past due six payments of $326, and the vehicle was worth only $3,500. The lender could repossess the vehicle, and after costs recover something like $3,000 if they were lucky. Maybe that was better than nothing, but the lender was hoping to coax Miss Jones back into regular monthly payments and not take the loss that would occur if they repo'd the car.
I took her loan file, made a few calls, and determined that Miss Jones still worked as an exotic dancer at a strip club called Peeks and Cheeks. I found this intriguing and began to suspect how she got the loan. After noting that her apartment was in an elegant complex and verifying with the apartment manager that she was a single occupant in the building, I decided I would check out Miss Thelma Jones at her place of employment.
No one knew a Thelma Jones at Peeks and Cheeks until my $20 tip to the DJ revealed she worked there under the stage name Cinnamon. Never identifying my true purpose, I enjoyed a beer and the views until Cinnamon made her stage appearance. Wow, this chick was hot! Even allowing for the difficulty with dim lights and a heavy smoke haze, her long legs and glorious build could not be overlooked. My eyes followed her as song by song, she made the rounds on five different stages. I even splurged another $20 for her to do a lap dance for me.
Admittedly, it was this lap dance that was the motivation for my plan. As she straddled my legs, facing away from me, she bounced and jiggled her bottom with the vigor of two rabbits in heat before she finally sat down on my lap and ground away. Yep, I had a very clear plan and in less than an hour after I left the club, I was the new lien holder on Miss Jones' 2001 Toyota Camry. Admittedly, I overpaid on that one, coughing up $2,000 to purchase the lien, but it was the best overpayment I've ever made.
I rang Miss Jones' apartment doorbell at noon the next day. Knowing she worked until at least 2am, I waited for a reasonable hour. She answered the door and immediately recognized me from the club.
"I don't see customers away from the club," she said, quickly trying to shut the door. But with my years of field experience, my foot was between the door and the door jam so she could not close it.
"A practical policy, I'm sure," I agreed with her, adding, "I'm here about your car. Actually, I'm here about the loan on your car."
She hesitated and asked, "Are you with the bank?"
Smiling, I answered, "No. I purchased your loan and you now owe me six back payments of $326 each plus late charges. Or, you can pay off the balance of the loan. Perhaps we can discuss this inside so your neighbors don't overhear?"
Nodding, she opened her door and let me in. I assumed that it was the exact knowledge of her loan that convinced her I was not some creepy stalker from the club. She pointed to a couch and suggested I sit. As I took my seat, I watched her and decided that I had a pretty good idea how she ended up with a $14,000 lien on a $3,500 car: she wore a silk dressing gown that just barely covered her bottom, and when she sat opposite me she bent so that her prestigious bosom was exposed out of the loosely wrapped gown. My goodness, but her legs seemed to be a mile long as she sat and crossed them!
Even with limited makeup, if any, she was a stunning beauty, but I got right down to business. Most people would wonder why anyone in their right mind would repay $14,000 on a car worth only $3,500. What they don't consider is the cost of substituting that vehicle. I correctly intuited that Miss Jones needed her car desperately to get to work and to get around town. There is a public transport system in our city, but it is rather limited and unreliable. I also knew that there was no bus line within a ten minute walk of this apartment, and the buses did not run as late as Miss Jones worked.
Miss Jones had a real problem now: she had to come up with close to $2,000, at the least, in order to keep her transportation.
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