Breathe...breathe in the air...

I am going to spend the next week trying very very hard not to think about work. I have arrived safely back in the grand old State of Maine to catch up with family, friends, and some salt air at some point. And some quality time with Sam, which is always good. :)

Coming back is stranger every time, but I know I go a bit stir-crazy if I don't make it back about once a year. Place is just something that is in the blood if it's there, and with me it always has been. For better or worse.

Added bonus of the day - getting to have brunch with Shane McLaughlin and Mike Woodsum. I can't remember the last time I saw Shane, but I know the last time I saw Mike was at my father's funeral in 2001. So it's been a while.

We ate, joked about high school stuff - they both were glad I'd finally told the story of the Flush, which set off another round of memories. We talked about kids - Patrick's two girls were there with us, as was Sam - and the general state of the world and where we are.

Sorry that Mike had to head back to Seattle, though reconnecting with him gives me one more reason to visit the West Coast at some point in the near future. But a lot of this trip is connecting with people I've known for years, and trying to reconnect with where I came from. There's a lot of soul-searching in my immediate future, and I want some grounding before jumping in.

The fine line of privacy law and difficult borrowers

Yesterday I had to undergo "recertification" of compliance with the Federal Fair Debt Collections Practices Act. This law is in place to protect borrowers from unscrupulous third-party collectors who will lie, threaten, intimidate and confuse people in order to get what they feel they are owed. The guidelines are very strict, though enforcement often falls to State Attorneys General offices. Some are more strict and aggressive than others.

Our AG, Andrew Cuomo, is "not" running for Governor. Which means he's loudly and publicly going after non-compliant debt collection agencies with the enthusiasm of a ten year old playing Whack-a-Mole. Granted, most of these agencies were pretty sleazy and should have been shut down ages ago. Personally, and as someone working for a non-sleazy agency, I'm glad he is on the warpath. But still - everyone's a little nervous.

Our computerized dialer system monitors most features of FDCPA that can be automated. For example, you can only call a borrower between 8am and 9pm their time. So if I try to call someone in Oregon at 9am here in NY, the dialer will not let the call go through. All paperwork must be documented through the dialler so it will only be sent by the departments specializing in those forms. It makes dialing a number a cumbersome process (everyone hates the dialer program), but it takes the guesswork out of a lot of the laws.

The real compliance issues are with direct borrower interactions, and there are two big ones. First, you must be respectful and professional at all times. No foul language, no threatening anything you can't do, no calling with intent to harass and annoy. Fairly straight forward, and mostly only an issue with older collectors who fondly remember the "good old days" prior to strict enforcement under then-AG Eliot Spitzer.

The second is about disclosure, and it's the much finer line. On the face of it, it's simple. You may not reveal information about someone's debt (including the existence of it) to anyone other than the individual, their spouse (except for a couple of states), a co-signer on the debt, or a third party who has been specifically authorized to know about the debt by the borrower. If you reveal that information to anyone else, it is the basis for a lawsuit.

(Added fun bonus: collectors are PERSONALLY liable for violations of FDCPA law and can be individually named in lawsuits. Somehow I don't see being named in a lawsuit for violation of Federal Privacy Laws being a help in passing the Bar Ethics Review in a couple of years. So I'm a little more nervous about it than the average collector.)

This means once you've found a possibility of someone's contact information, you then have to absolutely verify that you are talking to the borrower. This means identification by last four digits of social security number or date of birth. Which can lead to some fun conversations.

"Hi, is this John Smith?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Smith, I'm calling because I have a personal business matter of yours in our office. Are the last four digits of your social security number 0000?" or "is your birthday February 31, 1897?"

"I'm not giving out that information until you tell me what this is about, sonnyboy."

And so we have a standoff. You can either go for a third question that's kinda fuzzy toward disclosure ("Did you attend the Timbuktu Institute for Advanced Basketweaving?"), or attempt to explain that you need to verify this information for their protection as well under Federal Law. However, it is pretty well understood that in this standoff, more often than not you are going to lose.

Another variation of this is dealing with a younger borrower who is living with their parents. Parents often want to shield their children from the nasty debt collectors, and they tend to get very irate when you tell them you can't reveal the purpose of the call without the child's expressed permission. Best case scenario is convincing the parent to just let you talk with the borrower for a moment to get permission to continue the conversation (I've pulled this off once and only once). Worst case (and far more likely) is the parent gets annoyed enough to tell you to never call them again, which means that number becomes a Do Not Call number in the office.

The truly fun situation I had was calling for a borrower and the fiancee answered the phone. He took down my information for a message, and then asked what company I was from. As required, I gave him the company name.

"Oh, I know you guys! I had a loan in your office last year! How much does she owe, and can we get her into a program like I had?"

Ummmm...awkward. Especially since now I had the full rapt attention of one of my colleagues who had been written up the month before for third party disclosure issues, and was just itching to unload the burden of being watched by management for this.

In the end, I navigated it pretty well. I told him I couldn't talk to him about her business matter, but we were willing to try to work with her on it. He also had some questions about his own loan which had fallen into default again and was now with a different collection agency. I answered them as best I could, skating over disclosure issues about whether his loans were in collections again. And the account was reviewed by my manager (due to concerns raised by colleague), and I passed. (Colleague also praised for recognizing potential issues and heat taken off - so it worked out well for everyone.)

I passed the recertification with flying colors. As I said, it's easy on paper. We'll see what other curveballs come up later on.

In the meantime, I'm taking a week off. Christmas, then a week back in Maine with friends and family. Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

The Epic Tale of The Daily Flush

or, how a group of high school students created Public Mayhem, got school cancelled for two days, and Got Away With It. A true story from the '89-'90 school year.

The facts, as known to the general public, were these: due to an undisclosed problem with the water system at Maranacook Community School, student were sent home in the middle of the day on a Thursday, and school cancelled for the following day. A gift of a four day weekend, due to unknown circumstances. Now, with the passage of time (and the appropriate statutes of limitations, of course), the true events of what led to that blessed long weekend can now be told.

The Saga of the Daily Flush

The Daily Flush began in Manchester Elementary School during the 84-85 school year. Patrick Dow and Aaron Brown, sixth graders at Manchester, were answering nature's call and happened to flush their toilets at exactly the same time. The wall of sound that echoed around the bathroom astounded them, and they resolved that this had to become a daily event in their lives.

Thus began the Daily Flush in it's first incarnation: Aaron and Patrick, or other groups of two boys in sixth grade at the time, would go to the bathroom, flush the toilets on the count of three, and revel in the amazing cascade of sound around the concrete block bathroom. However, the tradition faded over the summer, and was forgotten upon entering seventh grade with groups of new students from the neighboring towns.

The second incarnation came about at the beginning of our junior year, as we were reminiscing about Aaron Brown, who had been exiled to Cony High School over the summer for various Crimes Against Humanity and The Common Good (see The Haircut Incident, The Lighting Afire of Science Lab Tables Incident, et al, ad nauseum). Someone mentioned the Daily Flush, and it was explained to those of us who came from different towns. Interest grew.

Someone then pointed out that while the Manchester Elementary bathroom had only two toilets, the Senior High bathrooms had six toilets and seven urinals (approximately - I don't truly remember, but I'm close). If the sound of two had been so inspiring, what would be the difference in size? And would it be any less impressive due to our relative maturity? We had to find out.

We did not have enough people to man every commode, but we did the best we could, with one person on lookout to make sure no teacher was coming. Then, on the count of three...the flush.

The sound was awe-inspiring. It was a gargantuan roar, building and echoing around the bathroom - the sound of raw power and fury, the perfect metaphor for the anxiety of teenagerhood. The roar of imagined power of stomping on the accelerator of a muscle car with our newfound licenses and permits. Boundless energy - a barbaric yawp of epic proportions.

This, we resolved, would be our manly tradition. Presaging the publication of Iron John and the following men's movement, we created our own primeval bond to capture our collective power. It was epic, multi-faceted, a grand narrative writ large upon the canvas of the senses. So it was fitting that we were able to accomplish this task only during Creative Writing with Larry DeBlois. (It was also the only class we were allowed to leave more than one at a time without prior permission. It still seemed fitting.)

So the tradition continued on, with as many men as we dared at any one time to leave Creative Writing, walk down the hallway, stand at our stations, pretend to use the facilities if need be until all was clear, and then...the magestic flush. Always with one person on point to watch and warn if trouble was brewing.

And the tradition would have continued on, had not the suspicions of Larry DeBlois been aroused, and watched us from the doorway to see where we were going. He then walked past the bathroom to lull the point man into a false sense of security, and doubled back. At the moment immediately following the command of "FLUSH!", surrounded by the crashing thunder of the Daily Flush in all its awesome fury, we turned to see Larry DeBlois standing in the doorway.

(In my memory, Larry DeBlois is backlit and about ten feet tall, entering with perfect timing to the cascading roar. Possibly with a fog machine nearby. Work with me here - that's at least how it felt.)

There would be no explaining of the concept, or our higher rationales for the Daily Flush. Larry DeBlois - lover of poetry, graduate of Bread Loaf School of English, writer of hard-boiled tales of the Readfield Fire Department, and editor with a fierce demand for clarity of communication - was incapable of uttering a complete sentence.

"I have NEVER....all my years...I...BACK! CLASSROOM! NOW!"

We slunk back to the classroom. Larry DeBlois regained his grasp of the English language, and proceeded to lecture us about the levels of immaturity and abuse of his leniency we had lowered ourselves too. Finally, he delivered his judgement - we were bound to the classroom, taking away the free reign of the senior high wing enjoyed by every single Creative Writing class since the school's founding ten years earlier. And with that, the Daily Flush ended.

However, a week later we walked into Creative Writing to find a substitute teacher. "Yeah, Mr. DeBlois is sick, so I'm here. I know the drill - so just go do your thing." She pulled out a novel, and sat at her desk.

Someone ventured the question. "Ummm...did he leave any...specific instructions?"

The sub laughed. "Nope. This is Creative Writing - why would he?"

We convened a quick meeting in the back of the classroom. Several of us were nervous about the ramifications of what would happen should we be discovered and Larry DeBlois told of what we'd done. The stakes were high, and the actions bold. We weren't sure if we were up for it.

Finally, Craig LaChance stood up and delivered a rousing speech. (He's a lawyer now - go figure.) I don't remember the specific words, but I can safely say that it rivaled - nay, surpassed - the inspiration and swelling of pride of the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V. We marched out of the classroom (I don't think the sub even looked up), and took our rightful positions at the commodes. And for the first time, with enough manpower to cover the entire bathroom.

"FLUSH!" The roar was awesome. Inspiring. We had returned to Valhalla to retake our rightful places as Gods among high school students.

"We must catch up on time lost!" Fine, then. A pause to let the sound dissipate, and then the mighty Flush rose again. Twice. Thrice! Again! Driving on and on, finally numbering NINE full Daily Flushes before the bell rang. We strode out of the bathroom, heads held high. Half departed for Physics, the other half to Study Hall.

Five minutes into Physics class, an announcement came over the speakers. "Ummm...nobody use the water. At all. Okay?"

We looked around at each other. Strange announcement. I turned to Craig. "You don't think..."

He shook his head. "Dunno."

Another five minutes passed, and an announcement: "Everyone please gather your things and proceed to the buses out front. School is dismissed for the day. And no one is to use any water on your way out."

I looked at Craig and our other co-conspirators and all of our faces had the same expression - sheer panic. Fortunately, we all sat in the back, so we were able to hide behind the celebrations of the rest of the class.

The game was up. We didn't know what had happened, but school was never cancelled in the middle of the day without a big reason. We walked slowly out into the halls, where we were met by the others coming from study hall.

"Do you know? What happened?"

"Say nothing. Act natural."

We walked past the front office as casually as possible while waiting for someone to swoop in out of the crowd and drag us in by our collars to meet our doom. We had all had our share of lectures, and the occasional detention between us, but this was Uncharted Territory. Here be there Dragons.

To our great shock, we made it out to the buses. School was called off for the following day, and there were still no phone calls, visits, or black helicopters waiting to cart us off to meet our fate. Our panic subsided, and with no recriminations from Larry DeBlois or from administration, we sent out some gentle feelers to find out what had happened.

The facts were these: for reasons that could not be explained, the main water pump for the school suffered a catastrophic failure. Which was odd, since the pump was supposed to last for twenty years, and was new a year ago. Some sort of design flaw was suspected, and there were negotiations underway between the school, contractor, and manufacturer to figure out about warranties and the like. The rumor was that the warranty had actually expired the prior week, but no one knew.

In the end, the bluster passed, and no one spoke of the Daily Flush again. Some was out of fear of the consequences, but mostly due to the peak of the experience? Where could we take it from there? Best to let it quietly fade, having achieved the penultimate goal of any self-respecting high school student. We got school called off, and got away with it.

Of course, the getting away with it means the story cannot be told. Rumors abounded that "we" were somehow responsible, but no one dared ask. And now, the story can be told, and those involved can stand tall, and twenty years out, bask in our day in the sun.

And hope they don't send us the bill.

Caller #2 - Family Reconnections

Caller #2 from that evening (two hours following Mr. Get A Real Job from previous post) wasn't sure why she was calling in. She was transferring phone numbers from her old phone to her new one, and came across our number with the listing of "Call Dottie - important".

"Dottie" (names changed) sits next to me, so I knew it had to be she was calling in on our line of business. Dottie had left a few hours earlier, otherwise I could have asked her if the name rang a bell. As it is, left to try phone number, name...

"It could be about my sister, I dunno...."

She gives me her sister's name - bingo. Dottie left a message with the borrower's sister as a contact reference. And, strangely enough, the account got moved in the last shuffle, and is now one of mine.

"Oh no - I hope I haven't gotten her in any trouble."

No trouble, I assure her. We're just trying to get a message to her about a business matter we need to touch base with her about.

"OK - I know she had some issues with student loans. She was the smart one, you know. Always was. She's kinda gone into hiding...might be kinda...what's the word? Agoraphobic."

Understandable, I tell her. That happens. We've tried her at the phone number listed - is that still good?

"Yeah - she never answers though. She used to have a really good job as a social worker. Really helping people who needed it."

Right, I say. One of the good people of the world.

"Yeah, then she lost the baby, and things just spiraled out of control. She lost the job, and now never leaves her house."

That's rough - miscarriage is an emotional roller-coaster. Had a close friend who went through that.

"Yeah - she just feels like everything is piled up around her. Is this a bad thing you're looking for her for?"

Not really. She might think it's one of the things piling up on her, but with how things seem to be, I think we can work something out to fix this.

"Oh good. I can tell you're one of those good people, too - just like my sister. You sound like you really want to help her out. Sorry if I'm rambling on...I've had a few glasses of wine..."

I laugh. All good, I say.

"If you do get ahold of her...could you ask her to call me? Tell her that her sister loves her and that I want to help her out with anything she needs? She helped me out of a spot a few years ago. Not that I think you will get ahold of her...but can you tell her that?"

Sure, I tell her. I'll pass that on.

"Okay, and if I talk to her first I'll give her this number and tell her its not as bad as she thinks. You're a good person...thank you so much."

Thank you. Have a great night.

"You too."

I actually did put in the notes to mention the sister if I get ahold of the borrower. The account, however, has since switched to a different collector, and I don't know who got it or any information to track the account. Whoever has it, I hope they pass the message on.

Under my skin

I got three of the strangest phone calls in the space of a few hours last week. One was an outlier I'll use for a different post, but the other two are a good combination of the extremes of dealing with people on the phone.

The first was a guy who seemed to own his own business but had a strange rash of commentary when called at work. "Borrower lives in Fiji and is not in very often" is one that comes to mind. So I called at work.

"Hey, is Mr. Jones in?"
"No, this is the warehouse. He's on the Executive Board."
Sure. "Alright, is there a better number I could reach him at? A front desk number?"
"Where are you calling from?"
A killer question. Per company policy, directly asked, have to answer. So I answer.
"Hmm...don't know anything about them. But you know what I think?"
"What?"
He laughs a bit. "Shouldn't you be dialling for dollars?"
I have no response to this. I wait.
"I'll tell you what. I think you should go get the Sunday paper, check out the want ads, shine your shoes, pull out your suit. Polish up the 12 year old Honda Accord Mommy got you for graduation. And go find yourself a real job."
And I answer with the wittiest, sharpest comeback imaginable. "Well, you have a wonderful evening, sir." And I hang up.

I've had various people inform me I'm going to Hell, that I'm harassing them, that they are going to report me to the Proper Authorities where I Will Be Dealt With Severely. I've been called an asshole, a bloodsucker, a fucking bastard, a disgrace to humanity, and had someone run a circular saw near the phone and tell me I'd face that if I call again. I laughed at all of them.

This guy bothered me. I had to go take a walk.

The walk made me calm down so I could take the second call, but still hadn't figured out what bothered me about the call until recently.

In my mind I do have the sense that this isn't a real job, since it is a diversion from the path I'd intended to take. There is a part of me that is terrified that it is a permanent diversion, which is silly, but is a fear nonetheless. (If nothing else, with no improvement in performance I'll be fired by the end of February - thus ending that stage of the diversion.)

There is always a sense of desperation in the field - this is not the ideal of where anyone ever expected to be. There are a very select few who do feel this area as a natural fit - I can say I've honestly met one, and I don't work with him. Even in training, the emphasis wasn't on job satisfaction, but on the large bonus checks that can pay for the stuff you want. And for some that works, though it turns bitter when the promised riches don't come.

So what am I doing? At the moment, working a job where I can exist conveniently, and enjoy mornings and early afternoons with my son. Where I have health insurance, which was needed desperately when Sam got pneumonia back in October, the first month I'd had insurance since February.

Yes, I should be doing something else. And I will be doing something else. But for the moment, I will be doing this. And eventually, I will call him again.

Garnishment - no, not parsley

Garnishment is the only area of collections I have any qualms about at this point. I have two specific qualms about it - one the nature of the act, the second being reactions from other collectors and my own.

When I once told someone they were facing a wage garnishment for non-payment of their student loans, they told me quite dramatically, "YOU can't garnish me! YOU must first get a judgement! And I have not been served with one! So THERE!" *CLICK*

This statement is true for almost all debts - a judgement in a court of law must be issued in order for a garnishment to take place. There are three exceptions to this rule, and in pecking order of importance: Back Child Support, IRS taxes owed, and....

Yep - student loans. Legislation signed by Bill Clinton in 1993. Not dismissed by bankruptcy, and collection abilities on par with (but behind in pecking order to) IRS taxes owed.

The guidelines for garnishment vary depending on who the loan originated from, and I think my particular line has the most stringent requirements in the office. First, we need to verify by SSN that a person has worked at the place of employment for over a year. Then, verify they make more than full-time equivalent minimum wage per week. Then make sure they are not in a legally protected class of workers from a set list. And that is part one.

Part two is a follow-up phone call to find out where the order of wage garnishment should be sent. Then some paperwork is filed, and the garnishment usually comes out of the next paycheck the borrower receives.

How do we find out where someone works? All depends. We get credit reports, and often they are found there. Sometimes through internet postings of positions on publicly accessible sites. (Run a quick Google search - I'll bet you can find out where you work real fast.) And if you work for a large company, chances are they do verifications through a service that we subscribe to, and when those reports are run once a week, we get a gift from the garnishment Gods with the verification of employment and garnishment address in a neat little package.

Garnishment is not a small amount of money, either. Assuming a borrower isn't already being garnished for back taxes or child support (we're third in line), the garnishment is 15% of gross salary.

This is the first issue I have with garnishments. It requires very little effort, and we have a certain number we are supposed to put through every month as a collection group. My bonus check does not directly depend on a number of garnishments, but there are colleagues of mine whose bonus checks do.

So here is an example of the problem - I got a "gift" of a subscription hit for a borrower who is verified to be employed by a large business concern that is well-known to be solely located in the State of Washington. All the contact information I have for the borrower is most decidedly NOT in the State of Washington, and all reasonable attempts to locate them in Washington have failed, as well as any attempt to locate them directly at the place of employment. So, with no contact to the borrower whatsoever - there goes 15% of salary.

Should they contact us after the garnishment is attached, it cannot be removed - only reduced if they make voluntary payments on top of the garnishment, and they make the same number of payments as if they had their loan "rehabilitated" as noted in previous posts. Though when the loan finishes the rehabilitation and is funded through a new agency, the garnishment is then lifted.

The second problem I have is with the attitude toward garnishments. Not everyone has the same queasiness about the nature of garnishments that I do (especially those whose bonus checks are tied to a number per month). When someone has verified a borrower's employment only to find out that they do not meet garnishment requirements, there is a gnashing of teeth and a grumbling that a borrower is not "garnishable". It strikes me almost as a dehumanization - making that person really just a screen of information.

When I did mention my queasiness to the former senior collector on our team, he gave me two suggestions of other ways to look at it: the first being the personal responsibility of the borrower to keep track of their affairs, and the second being that the set-up garnishment is a leverage tool for getting a borrower into a payment plan - you will be garnished beginning on this date unless we get you into an arrangement now. I see that value, and have tried to adopt that view.

The problem is a borrower who has the Angry reaction and is garnishable. There can be almost a vindictiveness on the part of collectors with borrowers who have that combination. The phrase of "well, he wants to yell at me, let's see how he likes that 15% garnishment" has been heard on our team more than once (and out loud from some other teams much more frequently). And, though I hate to admit it, has flown from my own mouth at least once that I remember.

And anyone who says it will fully point out that the individual had more than sufficient opportunity to defer, or work with us, or be reasonable when they called. And I'm aware of that. We all have many opportunities to alter our reality to stay in reasonable positions. But I am far too aware of the circumstances that lead people into situations they never intended. And there, but for the Grace of God, go I.

Call reactions

One of the things that has amazed me is the range of reactions that I get when I actually get someone one the phone. They have to know something is up, since we have to verify by either date of birth or social security number to make sure we are speaking to the right person. (I tend to use date of birth - for some reason people get really freaked out when you tell them what the last four digits of their SSN are. Can't imagine why.)

So after they say yes to the date of birth question, the bomb is dropped regarding what the call is. And provided they don't just immediately hang up (the Extreme Panic reaction) there are some stock reactions.

Anger - How dare I! How dare I insist on this! I have the audacity and the nerve to...etc. I don't get this reaction often, as I usually give the benefit of the doubt with the question "Did you realize your loans were in default?" said in a tone implying I'm aware this may be complete news to them. Get as much info as you can, and pass off to supervisor if can't get further.

Excuses - Yes, the economy sucks, and catastrophe X has befallen you. Or multiple catastrophe x, y, z, and q. You still owe the debt, and we have many programs that can help you. Keep them talking, show them you want to help. Will generally end up in something.

No time - A variation on the excuse. Can't deal with this right now, caught me at a bad time. Hard to pin these people down - now that they know what you want, they don't have a whole lot of impulse to really want to speak with you further. Unless you have something definitive to hold over their head (tax withholding, wage garnishment) they are going to dodge and dodge until they vanish off into the sunset.

Panic - As long as it doesn't escalate to Extreme Panic, this is the best reaction possible. Often happens when calling at work. It's the "holy shit, you found me" sometimes said in exactly that fashion. These people are terrified, and if you can push quickly enough, will agree to pay you out of fear for what might happen because You Found Them. Often involves a lot of calming (at least in my handling), and a reassurance that while I am reasonable, I might also be the last reasonable person they will deal with.

I got a variation combination of the Extreme Panic/No Time today that just baffled me. I called, she said she didn't have time to speak with me right then, and then we set a time to call later on that evening. At the appointed time, I hear whispered "Tell him he has the wrong number" and a male voice informing me that I clearly have the wrong number. Nope, never heard of her. No one else home, no sir. Thank you very much. Because I'm just going to go away after that, right?

So what to do with that? Well, I have a verified phone number (at least on my end it is). From there, see if I can track an address, verify a town, and possibly maybe even track down a place of employment from one piece of information. Then call her at the office. It's a little puzzle, a mystery to work out.

And a note to those who control the music at work - turn off the Christmas music. I do NOT need to hear Bob Seeger crooning about poor Little Drummer Boys while I am explaining to someone what a Federal Tax Offset is (seizure of tax return). My head will eventually explode, and someone will have to clean that up.

The bonus and how to swing it

Alright - the changes I feared weren't so bad. We have a new senior collector who seems pretty cool, our old senior collector just moved over one row, and those of us who are front-end collectors on the team were just informed that we had to hit bonus this month, no questions asked. Had to happen. That's it.

In order to hit bonus, you have to make enough money for the company that in their eyes, you are making a profit for them. I came very close to hitting that margin this month, but fell just short. So a quick pep talk for the upcoming month, and all is well.

There's several factors that go into hitting that profit margin. Most they are "rehabilitating" loans, and preferably at the highest rate listed. Then there is making sure people keep paying on their loans after they've been signed up. You can also earn toward that profit through "hardship" programs, but those don't offer nearly as good a return as a rehabilitation. And there is also the one area of collecting that I still have qualms about - garnishments. (THAT will be a separate post all on its own.)

So at this point, it is hunt, hunt, hunt and get people on the phone to pay. Christmas is always a rough time, since no one has any money, as they are trying to buy all their Christmas gifts. We'll see how all that works out this month.

So close...

and yet not close enough. No bonus check for Nick this month. Boo hoo.

Manager was strangely zen and serene and calm, which frankly put has me worried. Apparently there are major personnel changes coming down the line - one senior collector is out on leave since his wife just had a baby, and the other is transferring to a different line of business at his request. We're getting one new senior collector, and apparently a whole bunch of west-coast people are being shuffled around to different lines of business back and forth. We'll see how that works out.

I doubt I'm being moved, just from some comments my manager has made about how to structure the team, but we'll see.

More tomorrow on changes, and possibly an explanation of bonus structure that I just barely missed. Debt collection is a very strange world, yet a major factor of our lives today. Right now I need sleep desperately, as I will be back in my office chair in 8 1/2 hours.