I’m at the workstation, doing my duties to mine the paycheck, when I get a call from K. Some lawyer woman called about it being vitally important I get back to her. Wouldn’t say what it was about, but that I should call. K referred the woman to my dad, thinking it was for him, since he actually deals with lawyers as president of the cluster association. He calls me next, saying its for me, and here’s the number. I’m like, whoa, what could be so important that I’m getting a call from a lawyer? I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary, so what gives?

So I call the “lawyer” woman up, and try to get the scoop. It’s not a “lawyer” at all, it’s some “representative” of so-and-so-services with a vague sounding name, and they are trying to get a hold of my neighbor, who lives at the end of the townhouse line. The tricksy slime ball of a woman deflects all my inquiries about what this is in regards to and who she is, and if I have any information about Mr. Next-door-neighbor-whoever, that would be appreciated. I’m like, Miss-whoever-you-are, I just moved into the neighborhood a few months ago, I don’t know anybody in my neighborhood yet! She sighs and suggests that I’m to blame for the loss of “close-knit” neighborhoods these days, and if I would only post-it her phone number or visit this person with a knocka-knock-knock at their door, that would be my good deed for the day. I’m like; “sure”, having been blathered as to what the blazes is going on.

I get home, and I look up the address the woman mentioned. Oh, that townhouse. I know for a fact no “Joe Whats-his-name” living there; it’s a nice family of people who certainly don’t look like fugitives. I talk with K and I come to the conclusion that I’m not helping this “woman” do squat. If it’s a mutha-scratchin’ emergency, she can call the cops. Even if “seemingly nice family” are a bunch of evil deadbeats, or if “Joe Whats-his-name” really does live there, or the names they gave me are false aliases, why on earth did I agree to help these monstrous bill-collectors do their stupid job? I’m not lifting a finger to help them, and they can, in the words of the Fonz, sit on it.

It’s an elementary truism that if you deceive someone, and they find out, they become unfriendly.

So I do jack squat, and I watch said family adopt a series of weird “dodging” behaviors. Getting up early and driving off as a family unit and not coming back until late at night. That kind of thing. So I guess they do owe money. But my thoughts are along the lines of, “That’s none of my damn business”, and why is some accursed bill collector company dragging me into the picture? I look it up on the internets, and I learn that it’s a standard bill collection procedure to call neighbors and get them to shame the deadbeats into paying up. The idea is that your neighbors cost you more face than talking to some loser on the phone. I can’t believe these shenanigans are legal. It’s between the parties involved, and dragging me (and who knows how many other dweebs) into the equation is about as discourteous as you can get.

I get another call from the bill collectors. They want to know if so-and-so neighbor’s car is in the parking lot. I get mad, so I start wasting their time. “What’s a Toyota look like?” That kind of thing. I want blood; this crosses the line of my privacy as an adult citizen of legal responsibility. They clue in and hang up. They don’t call me again.

I met the family at the grocery store the other day. I rapped with them and had a good laugh. Look like a nice bunch of people to me. I didn’t mention squat about the bill collectors. They could be the most evil bunch of deadbeats on the planet, but I’m on their side. Calling me and misrepresenting themselves? I’m wise to that now. I’ll never help the undead callers again, and I know the language codes now. They could have been honest; instead they tried to trick me. I won’t forget, or forgive that. I soiled my armor I was so scared! Now we hates them forever precious.