The first time I ever walked into a temp agency was during a summer home from college after sophomore year. I didn't have a summer job nailed down yet, so I went down, resume in hand, to see what I was qualified for. I was thinking some sort of office position, or maybe manual labor.
The woman asked if I was looking for something full time, or for individual project stuff. I told her I would take either one. "Hmmm....well, looking at your resume, I see you've done some theatre work. And you look about the right height. I think I might have the perfect job for you. It's a one-shot thing - two days worth of work. Would that be a good start?"
Absolutely, I said. What does it entail?
"Well, you would be Tony the Tiger."
"Wait - the Frosted Flakes character?"
She nodded. "It's a promotion that's going on at a couple of summer camps over in Oakland. You show up at breakfast, shake hands, hug kids - takes about three hours for each day. The representative will be there with the suit - just make sure you where light clothing, because the suit will get hot."
"Do I need to start working on my "They're..."
She cut me off. "No, you don't. If fact, you aren't supposed to say anything. It will 'ruin the magic' if you do."
Got it. Show up at the summer camp, wear the suit, get paid. Sounds like fun.
"Oh, and the dates aren't until late July."
OK, fine. I marked my calendar, and in the meantime I got a job distributing books for the Maine State Library. But I got the reminder call, made arrangements (the guys at the warehouse got a kick out of why I needed the mornings off), and I drove to the camps.
I was met by a woman probably only a couple of years older than I was, smiling and cheerful. "So, you're all ready to put on a fur suit and be animated and cheerful in 90 degree weather?"
"The weather was a lot cooler when I agreed to this, but sure."
She nodded. "I'm Barbara - I'll be with you the whole time, guiding you around, since you'll have limited visibility in the suit. We'll only be in there for about fifteen minutes at a time, and then you'll get water breaks - don't want Tony the Tiger passing out from heatstroke and traumatizing the kids, now do we?"
I laughed. "No, that wouldn't work out well."
"I also have to stay with you anywhere you go because the last guy who did this said he just had to go to the bathroom, and he took off with the suit." She laughed. "Not into the bathroom with you, of course, but still standing nearby."
I had a mental picture of Tony the Tiger sneaking off into the car, and then hightailing it for the highway. Hard one to explain if you got pulled over, I'm sure.
I started putting on the suit. It was actually sort of soft on the inside, but I could feel the sweat starting in as soon as Barbara zipped up the back of the costume. I took the head, and looked at it for a moment.
"Fifteen minutes only - you don't have to put it on until we get into the dining hall."
Barbara opened the door to the dining hall entrance, and found only a counselor standing there. "Kids are all in?"
"Yep - should I annouce the guest of honor?"
"Sure - we'll be here on your cue."
The counselor went in, and I heard her say, "Remember when i told you today we were having a special guest?"
Barbara nudged me. "That's us - pop on the head."
I put the head on, and instantly the sweat started pouring down my neck. My glasses fogged up, then cleared.
"And here he is!"
I walked through the door, shuffling since I really couldn't lift my legs in the heat in the suit. I heard a wave of applause and deafening roar of shouting kids. Out of the eyeholes of the costume I could see the frantic waves of arms and legs. I was a rock star - the myth, the legend, the breakfast cereal.
I waved, opened my arms up, shook my hands around. I even did the "They're Grrrrrreat!" fist pump, which got HUGE applause. I felt running thumps onto my legs, followed by pressure - kids running up to hug me. I gave high-fives to the older kids, patted the kids who hugged me on the head. "I love you, Tony!!!!!" I heard over and over.
After just a few minutes, I felt Barbara tug my arm, and we walked out of the dining area and into the hallway.
"Okay, no kids, you can take off the head."
I pulled it off, and nearly fell over from the rush of relatively cooler air. "Oh wow - how long was I in there?"
She laughed. "About 20 minutes. I should have pulled you earlier, but you were having so much fun hamming it up in there I gave you a bit longer."
"Felt like about five - that was fun!"
She handed me a bottle. "Here - drink water. Lots of it. But slowly - we'll take a few minutes, and then go back in for another round."
I nodded. Now that I was out of the head, I could feel the sweat, and that my clothes were soaked. I felt light-headed, a bit swimmy. After a moment, everything went clear, and I felt ready to put the head back on.
The next 20 minutes were a repeat of the first - roaring crowd, hamming it up, hugging kids. The woman at Kelly didn't need to worry about my talking - I could barely breathe, let alone talk.
At the end, I stripped out of the costume, dripping. Barbara smiled at me. "So, you all ready to go for it again next week?"
"Sure."
She signed my time card for three hours, despite only an hour and a half of work. I cranked the windows for the drive home to dry out. I could definitely get used to this.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Apologia for a debt collector
Some variation of this will be the beginning of the book:
"If you walk into a kindergarten and ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up, none of them are going to say, 'I want to be a bill collector.' You're going to hear 'astronaut', 'firefighter', 'teacher' - none of them are going to say 'I want to sit on the phone all day and call people to tell them they need to pay me money.'"
Mark Hendsbee, the managing director, had just cracked open the door to the training room, and told the trainers he 'just wanted to say a few words' to the training class. So far, he's the only guy I've seen around the office who wears a tie. He also caught the rapt attention of everyone the moment he started speaking, including the trainers, who must have heard this speech dozens of times by now.
"This is nobody's dream job - no one has their heart set on being a bill collector. It's a job that people fall into - maybe you have a friend who works here and told you it's a decent place to work. Did anyone here get recommended by someone who works here?"
One hand went up in the back. "Yeah, my cousin Jim."
Mark smiled. "You do know he gets recruitment bonus for that, right?"
"Yep."
"Good - tell him he owes you dinner." Laughter.
"Because in the end - that's why people are here. They've either heard from friends or advertising or some other way that this is a place where you can work and make really good money. And that's why you're here - to make money, to provide for your family, to get the sports car or whatever other stuff you want. And, like with the referral bonus, there are an insane number of ways to make money here."
He paused for a moment, then smiled. "Let me ask you another question - how many of you have gotten grief from a friend or a family member when you told them you're working here?"
A few hands went up. He nodded. "Okay, how many of you haven't told friends or family where you're working yet because you know they're going to give you a hard time about it?"
A few more hands went up, including mine. "Let me let you in on a little secret - 90% of people in this country are working for a paycheck. If they won the lottery and didn't need that paycheck, they would walk off the job the next day. Anybody who works in sales is working for the commission check. Anybody who does factory work is doing it for the check at the end of the week. Waitresses are working for the tips at the end of the night. For 90% of people, at the end of the day, it comes down to the paycheck and nothing else.
"There is a need for what we do - there is no shame in being an ethical member of this profession. If everyone paid their bills, we wouldn't be here. Every person we are trying to collect from signed a piece of paper promising to pay back money that they borrowed, and now for some reason are choosing not to pay it back. And that's always been kind of my mentality when trying to collect. Now, part of that may be my nature - as you may have noticed, I'm a short guy. I may have a bit of a 'Napoleon complex' about having to always be the best at what I do.
"But if I get someone on the phone, and he's refusing to pay on this just debt that he owes, he is taking the food off my family's table. And that mentality is no different than the car salesman who is trying to talk you into the premium sound system, because he knows if he doesn't, he may not be going to Cancun next month.
"So if someone asks me why I do what I do for a living, I tell them I do it to feed my family and provide them with the highest standard of living I can. Why do you do what YOU do? Are you curing cancer? Are you saving the world? I didn't think so."
"This job is not for everybody. It is high stress. You will deal with a lot of angry people who will call you all sorts of names. You will hear every sob story imaginable for why they can't pay this bill. If you can't take it, there are a lot easier ways to make the base salary we offer."
"But if you can, there is money to be made. There are collectors who routinely bring home thousands of dollars in bonus money every month. You look in that parking lot, you will see Mustangs, Lexuses, Mercedes, Harley-Davidsons - and I'll tell you what, they don't all belong to upper management. They belong to people who come in, work their forty hours, and get the job done."
"Every single one of you is capable of doing that. If we didn't think you were, you wouldn't be sitting here. And if you didn't think you were capable of it, you wouldn't still be sitting here either." He turned to the trainer. "Have they done any live calls yet?"
She shook her head. "No, they start with that tomorrow."
He laughed. "Perfect timing then. You'll get to see what you can do. And if you find you can do it, I look forward to seeing your pictures up on that top performers wall. Good luck."
"If you walk into a kindergarten and ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up, none of them are going to say, 'I want to be a bill collector.' You're going to hear 'astronaut', 'firefighter', 'teacher' - none of them are going to say 'I want to sit on the phone all day and call people to tell them they need to pay me money.'"
Mark Hendsbee, the managing director, had just cracked open the door to the training room, and told the trainers he 'just wanted to say a few words' to the training class. So far, he's the only guy I've seen around the office who wears a tie. He also caught the rapt attention of everyone the moment he started speaking, including the trainers, who must have heard this speech dozens of times by now.
"This is nobody's dream job - no one has their heart set on being a bill collector. It's a job that people fall into - maybe you have a friend who works here and told you it's a decent place to work. Did anyone here get recommended by someone who works here?"
One hand went up in the back. "Yeah, my cousin Jim."
Mark smiled. "You do know he gets recruitment bonus for that, right?"
"Yep."
"Good - tell him he owes you dinner." Laughter.
"Because in the end - that's why people are here. They've either heard from friends or advertising or some other way that this is a place where you can work and make really good money. And that's why you're here - to make money, to provide for your family, to get the sports car or whatever other stuff you want. And, like with the referral bonus, there are an insane number of ways to make money here."
He paused for a moment, then smiled. "Let me ask you another question - how many of you have gotten grief from a friend or a family member when you told them you're working here?"
A few hands went up. He nodded. "Okay, how many of you haven't told friends or family where you're working yet because you know they're going to give you a hard time about it?"
A few more hands went up, including mine. "Let me let you in on a little secret - 90% of people in this country are working for a paycheck. If they won the lottery and didn't need that paycheck, they would walk off the job the next day. Anybody who works in sales is working for the commission check. Anybody who does factory work is doing it for the check at the end of the week. Waitresses are working for the tips at the end of the night. For 90% of people, at the end of the day, it comes down to the paycheck and nothing else.
"There is a need for what we do - there is no shame in being an ethical member of this profession. If everyone paid their bills, we wouldn't be here. Every person we are trying to collect from signed a piece of paper promising to pay back money that they borrowed, and now for some reason are choosing not to pay it back. And that's always been kind of my mentality when trying to collect. Now, part of that may be my nature - as you may have noticed, I'm a short guy. I may have a bit of a 'Napoleon complex' about having to always be the best at what I do.
"But if I get someone on the phone, and he's refusing to pay on this just debt that he owes, he is taking the food off my family's table. And that mentality is no different than the car salesman who is trying to talk you into the premium sound system, because he knows if he doesn't, he may not be going to Cancun next month.
"So if someone asks me why I do what I do for a living, I tell them I do it to feed my family and provide them with the highest standard of living I can. Why do you do what YOU do? Are you curing cancer? Are you saving the world? I didn't think so."
"This job is not for everybody. It is high stress. You will deal with a lot of angry people who will call you all sorts of names. You will hear every sob story imaginable for why they can't pay this bill. If you can't take it, there are a lot easier ways to make the base salary we offer."
"But if you can, there is money to be made. There are collectors who routinely bring home thousands of dollars in bonus money every month. You look in that parking lot, you will see Mustangs, Lexuses, Mercedes, Harley-Davidsons - and I'll tell you what, they don't all belong to upper management. They belong to people who come in, work their forty hours, and get the job done."
"Every single one of you is capable of doing that. If we didn't think you were, you wouldn't be sitting here. And if you didn't think you were capable of it, you wouldn't still be sitting here either." He turned to the trainer. "Have they done any live calls yet?"
She shook her head. "No, they start with that tomorrow."
He laughed. "Perfect timing then. You'll get to see what you can do. And if you find you can do it, I look forward to seeing your pictures up on that top performers wall. Good luck."
Friday, May 21, 2010
Time to collect the thoughts on collections
53 posts about collections so far - I really didn't think I'd have so much to say on the matter. Though the idea of a book was suggested fairly early on by someone, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
At this point, I need to collect together what I've written, and try to figure out how to assemble it in some sort of order. The easiest way to tell a story is in chronological form, but there are some of the essay concepts that don't lend themselves to a chronological telling. "Collecting from the Dead", for example, is a concept issue that involves stories from several different months. Spread out, they do not speak as clearly as assembled.
I also need to make sure I've covered everything, and I'm not re-telling stories. As my wife has pointed out to me, I have a habit of re-telling the same stories without realizing that I've told them before. I've tried to be mindful of this, checking stories to make sure I haven't gone over territory before in other posts. Mostly I've been surprised to find I haven't told a story before - after 53 posts, I thought I must have repeated myself somewhere.
The two items I haven't really covered yet are initial training and colleagues (with the exception of the two in "The Unintentional Poet"). Colleagues I think will fit better in an overall "arc", and initial training seems to be a good place to start the writing of the actual book. Therefore, it is time to begin the task of writing the book and assembling the blog posts.
So to anyone who has been following the series, I have a couple of questions. Are there any areas you thought were unclear or needed expanding on? Anything you feel was left unanswered? I have one former colleague who has been reading this, and she made me promise that she could read the book when I wrote it. But if anyone has any suggestions, I'm more than open to them.
This is also to say that future posts probably won't have a whole lot to do with collections - I think for blog posting, I've mined that vein about as far as it will go. Future ones will probably still have to do with various past jobs, as I'm enjoying reflecting on them as I try to figure out where to go for a profession at this point.
At this point, I need to collect together what I've written, and try to figure out how to assemble it in some sort of order. The easiest way to tell a story is in chronological form, but there are some of the essay concepts that don't lend themselves to a chronological telling. "Collecting from the Dead", for example, is a concept issue that involves stories from several different months. Spread out, they do not speak as clearly as assembled.
I also need to make sure I've covered everything, and I'm not re-telling stories. As my wife has pointed out to me, I have a habit of re-telling the same stories without realizing that I've told them before. I've tried to be mindful of this, checking stories to make sure I haven't gone over territory before in other posts. Mostly I've been surprised to find I haven't told a story before - after 53 posts, I thought I must have repeated myself somewhere.
The two items I haven't really covered yet are initial training and colleagues (with the exception of the two in "The Unintentional Poet"). Colleagues I think will fit better in an overall "arc", and initial training seems to be a good place to start the writing of the actual book. Therefore, it is time to begin the task of writing the book and assembling the blog posts.
So to anyone who has been following the series, I have a couple of questions. Are there any areas you thought were unclear or needed expanding on? Anything you feel was left unanswered? I have one former colleague who has been reading this, and she made me promise that she could read the book when I wrote it. But if anyone has any suggestions, I'm more than open to them.
This is also to say that future posts probably won't have a whole lot to do with collections - I think for blog posting, I've mined that vein about as far as it will go. Future ones will probably still have to do with various past jobs, as I'm enjoying reflecting on them as I try to figure out where to go for a profession at this point.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Oooooh...yeah, bad call
Through a credit report, I tracked down a borrower's place of employment - we'll call it Haven House. I looked up Haven House, and found two numbers. I call the first one, and she picked up the phone directly.
She said she was at work and couldn't talk very long, but we went over a brief financial statement and got references. Haven House was run by a state agency, she said, though she didn't work directly for the state. She gave her position as "counselor", and I didn't press for details. Looking at the financial, she seemed a good candidate for a hardship program (spouse unemployed, recent medical issues - LOTS of medical bills, etc.).
The senior collector on that evening (it was a late night, and just the two of us on the team that night) decided otherwise, and pressed for payment arrangements. She said she would have to discuss options with her husband and would call us back.
A week passed, and all attempts to get ahold of her on her cell phone were futile. I had tried her work number a couple of times, but it went straight to voicemail identifying her by name. I left vague, general messages with my name and phone number, and kept trying to get through.
Finally, one late night, I called her at work, and got her voicemail. Since the message identified her specifically, I decided to leave the computer message instead of my general voice message, which we can only do in a case of positive identification that the phone belongs to the borrower.
I hate the computer message - affectionately known as "the FOTI bomb" (don't ask me why - I can't explain for legal reasons). Its tone is rude and condescending. It is blunt. It states that we are a collection agency and we are calling you (by computer phonetic pronunciation of name) regarding your defaulted student loans and to call us back to discuss arrangements. "This is an attempt by a debt collector to collect a debt. ANY information obtained WILL be used for that purpose." It is a very intimidating message.
But I was annoyed. So I left it.
And she called back, and asked to speak to the manager when she got on the phone with the collector who answered. Katie, our then manager, picked up the phone, and the borrower went off on a rant. I didn't realize it was her until I overheard Katie say, "Yeah, I apologize for Nick's behavior - he was completely out of line."
I looked over at Katie, who waved her hand, paused the phone, and said, "I'm selling you down the river to get you a program. I'll explain later."
Katie wrapped up the call, and turned to me. "It's going to be a hardship program, but she'll definitely send it back, and she never wants to speak to you ever ever ever again. I told her to ask for me directly any time she has to call."
"What did I do? I was never anything but polite with her."
"I know - you are always polite with anyone. But...Haven House is a battered women's shelter. And apparently, you dropped 'the FOTI bomb' on the Rape Crisis phone line last night."
I felt my guts drop. I couldn't come up with anything to say.
She smiled. "I know you didn't know, so it's okay. It's got just her name on it so that if an abusive husband checks phone records and calls there's no identification. She'll return the paperwork, you'll get credit for the hardship program, and it's all good."
I'm not sure what was worse - the idea that I'd dropped the bomb on the line, or the idea that I'm sure everyone in that office who checked messages thought I was an abuser checking up on the phone records of my victim. I'm pretty sure I'm going to Hell for that one.
She said she was at work and couldn't talk very long, but we went over a brief financial statement and got references. Haven House was run by a state agency, she said, though she didn't work directly for the state. She gave her position as "counselor", and I didn't press for details. Looking at the financial, she seemed a good candidate for a hardship program (spouse unemployed, recent medical issues - LOTS of medical bills, etc.).
The senior collector on that evening (it was a late night, and just the two of us on the team that night) decided otherwise, and pressed for payment arrangements. She said she would have to discuss options with her husband and would call us back.
A week passed, and all attempts to get ahold of her on her cell phone were futile. I had tried her work number a couple of times, but it went straight to voicemail identifying her by name. I left vague, general messages with my name and phone number, and kept trying to get through.
Finally, one late night, I called her at work, and got her voicemail. Since the message identified her specifically, I decided to leave the computer message instead of my general voice message, which we can only do in a case of positive identification that the phone belongs to the borrower.
I hate the computer message - affectionately known as "the FOTI bomb" (don't ask me why - I can't explain for legal reasons). Its tone is rude and condescending. It is blunt. It states that we are a collection agency and we are calling you (by computer phonetic pronunciation of name) regarding your defaulted student loans and to call us back to discuss arrangements. "This is an attempt by a debt collector to collect a debt. ANY information obtained WILL be used for that purpose." It is a very intimidating message.
But I was annoyed. So I left it.
And she called back, and asked to speak to the manager when she got on the phone with the collector who answered. Katie, our then manager, picked up the phone, and the borrower went off on a rant. I didn't realize it was her until I overheard Katie say, "Yeah, I apologize for Nick's behavior - he was completely out of line."
I looked over at Katie, who waved her hand, paused the phone, and said, "I'm selling you down the river to get you a program. I'll explain later."
Katie wrapped up the call, and turned to me. "It's going to be a hardship program, but she'll definitely send it back, and she never wants to speak to you ever ever ever again. I told her to ask for me directly any time she has to call."
"What did I do? I was never anything but polite with her."
"I know - you are always polite with anyone. But...Haven House is a battered women's shelter. And apparently, you dropped 'the FOTI bomb' on the Rape Crisis phone line last night."
I felt my guts drop. I couldn't come up with anything to say.
She smiled. "I know you didn't know, so it's okay. It's got just her name on it so that if an abusive husband checks phone records and calls there's no identification. She'll return the paperwork, you'll get credit for the hardship program, and it's all good."
I'm not sure what was worse - the idea that I'd dropped the bomb on the line, or the idea that I'm sure everyone in that office who checked messages thought I was an abuser checking up on the phone records of my victim. I'm pretty sure I'm going to Hell for that one.
Training and how to be a better collector
Once you were on the collection floor, there was some continual training beyond the initial training weeks. Training happened for one of two reasons - to keep current with knowledge as required by federal and state laws, and to sharpen your abilities as a collector. There were also the optional seminars about moving cheese, getting what you want and other positive motivational seminars, most of which were offered during regular business hours when I wasn't there. Besides, I know where my cheese is - it's in the refrigerator.
Knowledge training happened via computer modules. You logged in, and read through essentially power-point slides of information on keeping client data protected (shred everything), updates to laws and regulations about lending as changes happened, and company code of conduct (don't ask your colleagues if you can suck on their toes - seriously, that happened). There was a simple quiz you had to click the correct answers to, and then you passed and could go back to collecting.
Ability sharpening training became a serious issue about six months in. There were a few class-action lawsuits involving the parent company and non-disclosure of all calls being monitored and recorded, so there was a threat of a docking of bonus if you failed to announce that at the beginning of the call. That led to a further examination of collection practices, and finally the director decided he was going to sit down with all 400 or so collectors in small groups over the space of two weeks to go over calls and how we could improve as collectors.
He sat down with us in the executive conference room - a group of about fifteen of us. He smiled, and started right in. "Frankly, listening to the phone calls, I'm amazed we do as well as we do on the bottom line. Which I don't mean as a down note - I'm not here to tell you that you all suck. What I am here to tell you is that there is a huge room for improvement, which means everyone in this room has the potential to absolutely crush your goals every month. And honestly, that's why you come to work every day, right? You want the bonus check. Let's listen to some calls, and see what we can to do help you get there."
Listening to your own voice on a recording is a very strange experience, and I don't like the sound of my own voice. Most people don't. And that's what made this method of training so effective - people were already in that critical "oh-God-that's-my-voice" mindset, and therefore willing to see what problems were there.
The call of mine was pretty good - I got very good at giving the monitoring and recording disclosure as a reflex when answering the phone (my mother had to inform me once that I better NOT be recording her calls), so that part was fine. What amazed me, for someone who was a theatre major and then a teacher for five years, was how uncomfortable and weak I sounded speaking on the phone. I apologized, I ummed, I errrred.....
"She ran you over," he said. "She controlled the conversation the minute that you got on the phone with her. And that's a problem I see with everyone. We're so desperate to hang on to borrowers, we just don't want to let them go, and we'll say anything to keep them on the phone.
"We need to come at this from a position of strength. We control the conversation. The worst they can do is hang up on you, and if they're going to do that, they're not serious about this debt and you are wasting your time talking to them anyway." He turned to me again. "You got a place of employment with that call - can she be garnished?"
"I'm not sure."
He nodded. "Why don't you check on that when you get back out there. If she can be garnished, set her up, and I guarantee she will call you back begging to make payment arrangements when she gets that letter."
He looked at everyone else. "That said, don't start in with the garnishment on first contact. As a matter of fact, I don't even want to hear the word 'garnishment' on a first contact. Some of you have the opposite issue in that you're scaring people off. Don't show your ace on the first throw. Cause if you scream garnishment in the first breath, when you take that statement of finances, they're not going to tell you where they work. And we need all the information we can get in case they fall out of a program three months down the road."
He thought for a moment. "You know, you can even ask them straight up at the beginning of the call if this is something they have good intentions about. After you tell them what the call's about, what the balance of the loan is, ask them straight up if they have good intentions about it. Do they intend to pay it back? If the answer's no, then that's really the end of the call and you just follow up with a garnishment if you have their employer, or their taxes will get seized. Nothing you can do. If the answer's yes...that's something you can always get back to if they're giving you issues with references and financial info. 'You said you have good intentions.'"
We went through everyone else's phone calls, and most people were in the same position I was - weak, letting the borrower control the conversation, hesitant to ask for information, lots of umms and errs. He went through a lot of the same talk with other collectors, and them summed up.
"Too many people go in with the mindset that we are 'asking for their money'. We are not asking. Every single borrower in our office signed a piece of paper when they took out these loans stating that if they ever fell into federal default, the balance in full would be due on demand. Any arrangement we are willing to make beyond that is a courtesy. Ask for balance in full. Ask if they can pay if off in thirty days. Let them know this is a serious obligation they need to take care of. We are here to help them if they are serious about taking care of these loans. If they aren't serious, move on to someone who's going to pay you."
What came to mind as I was walking out was a line from "Get Shorty" when John Travolta is explaining 'the look' to Danny DeVito: "What I'm thinking is, I own you. But what I'm NOT doing is feeling one way or another about it. You are a number in my book. That's it."
And that really is the key to success in collections. Being able to hold that mental state - not compassionate, not aggressive monster. Just a hum of "you owe this debt, and we need to settle it". It's just a fact, a number in a book that needs to be resolved, and then we will go on our way and never cross paths again. Whatever the circumstances in the borrower's life (in the case of my phone call, five kids and a useless drunk of a husband), there needs to be resolution.
It is a surprisingly hard mental state to retain. I think I came close to it the month I hit NPV, though I was only able to express it through people in impossible situations that I kept on the phone to get into hardship programs (no bonus money in that direction, Skippy). And perhaps in different personal circumstances I could have held it and eventually hit goal. But it is enough for me that I know, understand, and was capable of it. And to move on.
Knowledge training happened via computer modules. You logged in, and read through essentially power-point slides of information on keeping client data protected (shred everything), updates to laws and regulations about lending as changes happened, and company code of conduct (don't ask your colleagues if you can suck on their toes - seriously, that happened). There was a simple quiz you had to click the correct answers to, and then you passed and could go back to collecting.
Ability sharpening training became a serious issue about six months in. There were a few class-action lawsuits involving the parent company and non-disclosure of all calls being monitored and recorded, so there was a threat of a docking of bonus if you failed to announce that at the beginning of the call. That led to a further examination of collection practices, and finally the director decided he was going to sit down with all 400 or so collectors in small groups over the space of two weeks to go over calls and how we could improve as collectors.
He sat down with us in the executive conference room - a group of about fifteen of us. He smiled, and started right in. "Frankly, listening to the phone calls, I'm amazed we do as well as we do on the bottom line. Which I don't mean as a down note - I'm not here to tell you that you all suck. What I am here to tell you is that there is a huge room for improvement, which means everyone in this room has the potential to absolutely crush your goals every month. And honestly, that's why you come to work every day, right? You want the bonus check. Let's listen to some calls, and see what we can to do help you get there."
Listening to your own voice on a recording is a very strange experience, and I don't like the sound of my own voice. Most people don't. And that's what made this method of training so effective - people were already in that critical "oh-God-that's-my-voice" mindset, and therefore willing to see what problems were there.
The call of mine was pretty good - I got very good at giving the monitoring and recording disclosure as a reflex when answering the phone (my mother had to inform me once that I better NOT be recording her calls), so that part was fine. What amazed me, for someone who was a theatre major and then a teacher for five years, was how uncomfortable and weak I sounded speaking on the phone. I apologized, I ummed, I errrred.....
"She ran you over," he said. "She controlled the conversation the minute that you got on the phone with her. And that's a problem I see with everyone. We're so desperate to hang on to borrowers, we just don't want to let them go, and we'll say anything to keep them on the phone.
"We need to come at this from a position of strength. We control the conversation. The worst they can do is hang up on you, and if they're going to do that, they're not serious about this debt and you are wasting your time talking to them anyway." He turned to me again. "You got a place of employment with that call - can she be garnished?"
"I'm not sure."
He nodded. "Why don't you check on that when you get back out there. If she can be garnished, set her up, and I guarantee she will call you back begging to make payment arrangements when she gets that letter."
He looked at everyone else. "That said, don't start in with the garnishment on first contact. As a matter of fact, I don't even want to hear the word 'garnishment' on a first contact. Some of you have the opposite issue in that you're scaring people off. Don't show your ace on the first throw. Cause if you scream garnishment in the first breath, when you take that statement of finances, they're not going to tell you where they work. And we need all the information we can get in case they fall out of a program three months down the road."
He thought for a moment. "You know, you can even ask them straight up at the beginning of the call if this is something they have good intentions about. After you tell them what the call's about, what the balance of the loan is, ask them straight up if they have good intentions about it. Do they intend to pay it back? If the answer's no, then that's really the end of the call and you just follow up with a garnishment if you have their employer, or their taxes will get seized. Nothing you can do. If the answer's yes...that's something you can always get back to if they're giving you issues with references and financial info. 'You said you have good intentions.'"
We went through everyone else's phone calls, and most people were in the same position I was - weak, letting the borrower control the conversation, hesitant to ask for information, lots of umms and errs. He went through a lot of the same talk with other collectors, and them summed up.
"Too many people go in with the mindset that we are 'asking for their money'. We are not asking. Every single borrower in our office signed a piece of paper when they took out these loans stating that if they ever fell into federal default, the balance in full would be due on demand. Any arrangement we are willing to make beyond that is a courtesy. Ask for balance in full. Ask if they can pay if off in thirty days. Let them know this is a serious obligation they need to take care of. We are here to help them if they are serious about taking care of these loans. If they aren't serious, move on to someone who's going to pay you."
What came to mind as I was walking out was a line from "Get Shorty" when John Travolta is explaining 'the look' to Danny DeVito: "What I'm thinking is, I own you. But what I'm NOT doing is feeling one way or another about it. You are a number in my book. That's it."
And that really is the key to success in collections. Being able to hold that mental state - not compassionate, not aggressive monster. Just a hum of "you owe this debt, and we need to settle it". It's just a fact, a number in a book that needs to be resolved, and then we will go on our way and never cross paths again. Whatever the circumstances in the borrower's life (in the case of my phone call, five kids and a useless drunk of a husband), there needs to be resolution.
It is a surprisingly hard mental state to retain. I think I came close to it the month I hit NPV, though I was only able to express it through people in impossible situations that I kept on the phone to get into hardship programs (no bonus money in that direction, Skippy). And perhaps in different personal circumstances I could have held it and eventually hit goal. But it is enough for me that I know, understand, and was capable of it. And to move on.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
That is some HOT salsa!
One of the stranger jobs I did was assembly line for a food processing plant. This was straight out of college, while I was teaching night school English, and trying to cover the rent on my first apartment. It was walking distance from the apartment, and it was something different to do from the other temp jobs.
The company made bottled marinades and salsa under their own imprint, which are still available throughout Maine. The first day I put tops on the marinade bottles, which basically meant just slapping a cap on them - no automation for a lot of the system then. Mind-numbingly boring, but not too hard.
The second day I was put on salsa jar duty. I was handed a pair of heavy rubber gloves, and told that what I had to do was put a cover on a jar of salsa within seven seconds. So from when the salsa was poured into the jar, I was to slowly count to seven and get the top on. If I didn't get it on within the seven seconds, then the salsa would have cooled enough to possibly be "contaminated", so I would set that jar aside. And please don't set aside too many.
I did okay for the first half hour, and then I noticed my left thumb was really starting to hurt. After another fifteen minutes I could barely hold on to the jar, and I went on cigarette break to see what the damage was.
There was a blister about and inch long and a half inch high on my thumb. I had calluses on the rest of my left hand fingers from guitar, so they were only a bit red, but this was an angry painful blistering burn. Throbbing.
"Son of a..." I said as I headed out and joined the pair of women smoking out back.
"Oh yeah - you're the new guy." One of them pointed to the medical kit. "Just drain it and throw a gauze pad on it - band-aids will just melt if you use those."
I bit the end, drained it, and put on the pad. It felt like it was on fire, but the bottle of anti-burn cream was long gone, so I just went with the pad.
The women were still out there when I went out again. "How do you put on the jar tops without getting burned?"
They laughed. "Ya don't. Eventually you just build up the calluses till you don't feel it anymore, and then that's okay. Once you get the calluses you won't ever lose a single jar. Ruthie knows that, and she'll cut you some slack the first couple of weeks while you build them up."
The one woman checked her watch. "Well, time to go back in." She took a last puff on her cigarette, and then crushed it out on her left thumb. "See? Just takes time."
I quit three days later when I got the convenience store job. It took my thumb two solid weeks to heal.
The company made bottled marinades and salsa under their own imprint, which are still available throughout Maine. The first day I put tops on the marinade bottles, which basically meant just slapping a cap on them - no automation for a lot of the system then. Mind-numbingly boring, but not too hard.
The second day I was put on salsa jar duty. I was handed a pair of heavy rubber gloves, and told that what I had to do was put a cover on a jar of salsa within seven seconds. So from when the salsa was poured into the jar, I was to slowly count to seven and get the top on. If I didn't get it on within the seven seconds, then the salsa would have cooled enough to possibly be "contaminated", so I would set that jar aside. And please don't set aside too many.
I did okay for the first half hour, and then I noticed my left thumb was really starting to hurt. After another fifteen minutes I could barely hold on to the jar, and I went on cigarette break to see what the damage was.
There was a blister about and inch long and a half inch high on my thumb. I had calluses on the rest of my left hand fingers from guitar, so they were only a bit red, but this was an angry painful blistering burn. Throbbing.
"Son of a..." I said as I headed out and joined the pair of women smoking out back.
"Oh yeah - you're the new guy." One of them pointed to the medical kit. "Just drain it and throw a gauze pad on it - band-aids will just melt if you use those."
I bit the end, drained it, and put on the pad. It felt like it was on fire, but the bottle of anti-burn cream was long gone, so I just went with the pad.
The women were still out there when I went out again. "How do you put on the jar tops without getting burned?"
They laughed. "Ya don't. Eventually you just build up the calluses till you don't feel it anymore, and then that's okay. Once you get the calluses you won't ever lose a single jar. Ruthie knows that, and she'll cut you some slack the first couple of weeks while you build them up."
The one woman checked her watch. "Well, time to go back in." She took a last puff on her cigarette, and then crushed it out on her left thumb. "See? Just takes time."
I quit three days later when I got the convenience store job. It took my thumb two solid weeks to heal.
Son, do you know why I pulled you over?
The company office is located in a smallish town, and in their ads they vigorously promote how much they pay and the idea that the sky is the limit for what you can make. This creates some partnerships that are positive for employees, such as car dealers who are willing to put their name out there offering a discount when you decide to buy that sports car you've been visualizing. And there are some negatives, mostly to do with local law enforcement.
One night coming out of a midnight shift, I had just pulled on to the public roadway into the parking lot when I saw flashing red lights behind me. I couldn't have been doing more than five miles and hour, and I didn't think any of my lights were out. What's up?
The officer came over, and asked me what I'd been doing there. "Working - I work the west coast shift - three to midnight," I answered.
She nodded. "Did you realize your registration is overdue?"
I looked at my sticker, and indeed it was. She wrote me a ticket for the expired registration, and went on her way.
Small question. It's midnight. It's dark. And she had clearly been waiting for me where the parking lot becomes public road. How did she see my sticker?
I got my answer from someone at work the next day. "Saw you got busted on your way out - what happened."
I told them it was for registration, and he nodded. "Yeah, any car in the parking lot here after 10pm, the town cops come and run all the plates to see if there are outstanding warrants, and all that crap. They'll look at inspection stickers, too."
"So how come she didn't hit me in the parking lot?"
"Ah...that's private property. She can only cite you on a public roadway. They have permission to go into the parking lot from the company, so that way the cops will do overnight patrols on the property. But yeah, you want to see the real fun, you should see the speed traps at 8am, 5pm, and 9pm for the east coast nights. Looks like a damn Christmas tree some nights."
I went to court to see if I could argue down the ticket, and found four other people I knew from work were there arguing speeding tickets or other violations. I talked to the prosecutor, and paid my fine.
Two weeks later, I got busted for speeding on the way in to work (late). So a month later I'm talking to the same prosecutor, who's laughing at me this time. We talked about law, and law school, and he told me to get out of collections and get back to school. Speeding reduced to failure to obey sign, no points.
For the rest of my time there, I strictly obeyed the speed limits. A friend of mine at work had a truck that was uninspectable, but arranged with someone else for rides home at midnight when the town cop was waiting right there for him. It made for a very surreal situation, to say the least.
In the end, I should be grateful my license survived collections, along with so much else.
One night coming out of a midnight shift, I had just pulled on to the public roadway into the parking lot when I saw flashing red lights behind me. I couldn't have been doing more than five miles and hour, and I didn't think any of my lights were out. What's up?
The officer came over, and asked me what I'd been doing there. "Working - I work the west coast shift - three to midnight," I answered.
She nodded. "Did you realize your registration is overdue?"
I looked at my sticker, and indeed it was. She wrote me a ticket for the expired registration, and went on her way.
Small question. It's midnight. It's dark. And she had clearly been waiting for me where the parking lot becomes public road. How did she see my sticker?
I got my answer from someone at work the next day. "Saw you got busted on your way out - what happened."
I told them it was for registration, and he nodded. "Yeah, any car in the parking lot here after 10pm, the town cops come and run all the plates to see if there are outstanding warrants, and all that crap. They'll look at inspection stickers, too."
"So how come she didn't hit me in the parking lot?"
"Ah...that's private property. She can only cite you on a public roadway. They have permission to go into the parking lot from the company, so that way the cops will do overnight patrols on the property. But yeah, you want to see the real fun, you should see the speed traps at 8am, 5pm, and 9pm for the east coast nights. Looks like a damn Christmas tree some nights."
I went to court to see if I could argue down the ticket, and found four other people I knew from work were there arguing speeding tickets or other violations. I talked to the prosecutor, and paid my fine.
Two weeks later, I got busted for speeding on the way in to work (late). So a month later I'm talking to the same prosecutor, who's laughing at me this time. We talked about law, and law school, and he told me to get out of collections and get back to school. Speeding reduced to failure to obey sign, no points.
For the rest of my time there, I strictly obeyed the speed limits. A friend of mine at work had a truck that was uninspectable, but arranged with someone else for rides home at midnight when the town cop was waiting right there for him. It made for a very surreal situation, to say the least.
In the end, I should be grateful my license survived collections, along with so much else.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Office environments
At the moment, I'm writing this from the basement of a high school in Rochester, NY. I was out of work for four days before I got a call from a friend who teaches here, and he told me that the school needed a substitute textbook clerk for the rest of the year. As this is the same system where I'd been a librarian, I knew the cataloging system (as well as the librarian here), so I started right up.
The air handling units for this side of the building are in the ceiling above this room, so there's a constant rattle at about normal conversation level. It's also right next to the door to the cafeteria, so I've got the noise of students shouting, ranting, and all the other normal things that teenagers do.
However, when I get tired of being down here, I have an office up on the second floor, and there are four other book rooms I'm responsible for (though the majority of the work really needs to be done down here).
And if I think it's too much, I just have to remember that I could be back in the cube farm of collections.
The tools a collector needs are a phone, a computer, and a place to write notes and on forms. Given this, the best setup to maximize floor space and building space is cubicles.
The building itself is a pre-fab warehouse-style building - very non-descript and meant to blend in. (Though the building is sealed and the windows are bulletproof, just in case it doesn't blend in well enough.) Which means the inside has high ceilings, along with sound baffles and dampeners to keep the noise to a dull roar.
There is also background music. Usually classic or modern rock, with occasional switches to country.
The cubicle walls are greenish/grey, on which I was supposed to have tacked up various important lists and documents - fax numbers, policies, training scripts and notes, etc. In the middle of my time there, there even was a memo that came out documenting exactly how everything was supposed to be posted in the cubicle, and what lists were supposed to be where.
We were encouraged to put up pictures on the walls that weren't covered by official paper, especially anything related to our "visualization" of what we were working for. This didn't take hold so much in my area as it did in others - if you looked at other teams, you saw pictures of motorcycles, cars, boats, vacation spots, and other such things.
The computers took up the bulk of the desk, along with the phone. For ease of calling we all had headsets, and the dialler was run through the computer. The cord connecting the headset to the phone was about seven feet, so you had a bit of an ability to stand up and walk around.
Looking back after only a couple of weeks out, it does seem strange that I was essentially tethered to my desk for eight hours a day. And in the final month it was one of the things that became unbearable about the job - I got jittery if I sat down too long, and needed to move a lot. Which meant putting my dialler on pause. And dialler status statistics are viewable by management from department manager on up.
The ritual of sitting down and putting on the headset did give you a sense of grounding - a sort of tunnel vision, Matrix-style, of you, the computer, and the person you are trying to reach. Collectors who can achieve that sort of focus are praised - my manager often told me that was his mindset when he'd been a collector, as did the manager of the next team over. Not hearing everything else, just disappearing into the zone.
It sounded very much like some creative zones I'd experinced in writing, reading, and music. I did manage to find that zone a couple of times, and it scared me a bit when I did. Which is probably another reason I was not successful at the job.
The first day after I got fired, I waited until my appointed time when I would normally be plugging in to the system, and I went to sit down by the creek out behind my apartment. I listened to the rushing water, the noise of the village, and a passing train. It was a far better day.
The air handling units for this side of the building are in the ceiling above this room, so there's a constant rattle at about normal conversation level. It's also right next to the door to the cafeteria, so I've got the noise of students shouting, ranting, and all the other normal things that teenagers do.
However, when I get tired of being down here, I have an office up on the second floor, and there are four other book rooms I'm responsible for (though the majority of the work really needs to be done down here).
And if I think it's too much, I just have to remember that I could be back in the cube farm of collections.
The tools a collector needs are a phone, a computer, and a place to write notes and on forms. Given this, the best setup to maximize floor space and building space is cubicles.
The building itself is a pre-fab warehouse-style building - very non-descript and meant to blend in. (Though the building is sealed and the windows are bulletproof, just in case it doesn't blend in well enough.) Which means the inside has high ceilings, along with sound baffles and dampeners to keep the noise to a dull roar.
There is also background music. Usually classic or modern rock, with occasional switches to country.
The cubicle walls are greenish/grey, on which I was supposed to have tacked up various important lists and documents - fax numbers, policies, training scripts and notes, etc. In the middle of my time there, there even was a memo that came out documenting exactly how everything was supposed to be posted in the cubicle, and what lists were supposed to be where.
We were encouraged to put up pictures on the walls that weren't covered by official paper, especially anything related to our "visualization" of what we were working for. This didn't take hold so much in my area as it did in others - if you looked at other teams, you saw pictures of motorcycles, cars, boats, vacation spots, and other such things.
The computers took up the bulk of the desk, along with the phone. For ease of calling we all had headsets, and the dialler was run through the computer. The cord connecting the headset to the phone was about seven feet, so you had a bit of an ability to stand up and walk around.
Looking back after only a couple of weeks out, it does seem strange that I was essentially tethered to my desk for eight hours a day. And in the final month it was one of the things that became unbearable about the job - I got jittery if I sat down too long, and needed to move a lot. Which meant putting my dialler on pause. And dialler status statistics are viewable by management from department manager on up.
The ritual of sitting down and putting on the headset did give you a sense of grounding - a sort of tunnel vision, Matrix-style, of you, the computer, and the person you are trying to reach. Collectors who can achieve that sort of focus are praised - my manager often told me that was his mindset when he'd been a collector, as did the manager of the next team over. Not hearing everything else, just disappearing into the zone.
It sounded very much like some creative zones I'd experinced in writing, reading, and music. I did manage to find that zone a couple of times, and it scared me a bit when I did. Which is probably another reason I was not successful at the job.
The first day after I got fired, I waited until my appointed time when I would normally be plugging in to the system, and I went to sit down by the creek out behind my apartment. I listened to the rushing water, the noise of the village, and a passing train. It was a far better day.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
If you're hiding, you're not very good at it
Several times I ended up talking to people who claimed to be in hiding from people. Ex-husbands, family, and people who wanted to do them harm. I even had one guy who claimed to be in super-secret hiding from the mob - for him, I had a simple answer: If you're hiding from the Mob, don't list your phone number in the White Pages, cause that's where I found you.
I often felt bad for those who were in hiding from an ex-husband, because people who try to hide often aren't willing to go full out to do what it takes to drop off the map. So they still have searchable work, relatives, and other trails that bill collectors can find. And when we find them, they spook. I had one borrower who I was working with her mother on getting her a hardship program, but I have no idea what happened.
There were two interesting hiding cases I remember. A colleague of mine called a neighbor to pass the message on to the borrower, and she called back to give her an earful. And this is the approximation of it:
She was on the run from her abusive husband who had threatened to kill her and her children. We had actually called her mother's neighbors, as that was where she got her mail, but she was hiding even there. She didn't even KNOW the neighbors - they just randomly came over and handed her the message.
And now we had blown her cover, and put her children at risk, and they might all die next week just so we could collect a couple of bucks. And how did we feel about that?
My poor colleague was all worked up, but I asked her if the borrower was so stealthy, how did the neighbors know who she was to pass on the message? My colleague did say that the neighbors had nothing nice to say about her (and their kids played together), so she was obviously known. I also pointed out that if the threat really were that serious, one should consider relocating a little further away than 20 miles. Or getting police protection.
Or, when you are offered a hardship arrangement on your loans, you call back. Which is what she failed to do.
The other one was much more interesting. It was an 'open season' new buisness account on a Sunday, and a ridiculously high balance. I did some poking around with the databases, and found there was no record for the borrower after 2005. However, there was an associate who was supposely in his 80s who had no record prior to 2005, and had the same last name as the prior city the borrower had lived in.
It piqued my interest, and I copied the associates phone number...only to realize a colleague had called and left a message a half hour before. So it was a matter of a call back.
Which came. Apparently from a voice that sounded much younger than 80's, screaming that he didn't know anyone by that name, and there wasn't anyone by that name in the system - there couldn't be. The borrower was gone, had been for years.
"But I thought you didn't know him?"
"Ap...erp...don't call here again." *click*
I poked at it a bit more and found an address to check out the following day, and wrote down the number.
When I got in, the account was gone. Removed entirely from the system. Which is amazing, as any account being removed usually takes at least 24 hours to vanish. So I asked the manager.
"Yeah, I was told someone at the big office removed the account. No explanation - just said the account's going, and make sure you don't call anyone about the account. Never had that happen before."
And somewhere, someone is looking over his shoulder a little more carefully. Because if WE found him....
I often felt bad for those who were in hiding from an ex-husband, because people who try to hide often aren't willing to go full out to do what it takes to drop off the map. So they still have searchable work, relatives, and other trails that bill collectors can find. And when we find them, they spook. I had one borrower who I was working with her mother on getting her a hardship program, but I have no idea what happened.
There were two interesting hiding cases I remember. A colleague of mine called a neighbor to pass the message on to the borrower, and she called back to give her an earful. And this is the approximation of it:
She was on the run from her abusive husband who had threatened to kill her and her children. We had actually called her mother's neighbors, as that was where she got her mail, but she was hiding even there. She didn't even KNOW the neighbors - they just randomly came over and handed her the message.
And now we had blown her cover, and put her children at risk, and they might all die next week just so we could collect a couple of bucks. And how did we feel about that?
My poor colleague was all worked up, but I asked her if the borrower was so stealthy, how did the neighbors know who she was to pass on the message? My colleague did say that the neighbors had nothing nice to say about her (and their kids played together), so she was obviously known. I also pointed out that if the threat really were that serious, one should consider relocating a little further away than 20 miles. Or getting police protection.
Or, when you are offered a hardship arrangement on your loans, you call back. Which is what she failed to do.
The other one was much more interesting. It was an 'open season' new buisness account on a Sunday, and a ridiculously high balance. I did some poking around with the databases, and found there was no record for the borrower after 2005. However, there was an associate who was supposely in his 80s who had no record prior to 2005, and had the same last name as the prior city the borrower had lived in.
It piqued my interest, and I copied the associates phone number...only to realize a colleague had called and left a message a half hour before. So it was a matter of a call back.
Which came. Apparently from a voice that sounded much younger than 80's, screaming that he didn't know anyone by that name, and there wasn't anyone by that name in the system - there couldn't be. The borrower was gone, had been for years.
"But I thought you didn't know him?"
"Ap...erp...don't call here again." *click*
I poked at it a bit more and found an address to check out the following day, and wrote down the number.
When I got in, the account was gone. Removed entirely from the system. Which is amazing, as any account being removed usually takes at least 24 hours to vanish. So I asked the manager.
"Yeah, I was told someone at the big office removed the account. No explanation - just said the account's going, and make sure you don't call anyone about the account. Never had that happen before."
And somewhere, someone is looking over his shoulder a little more carefully. Because if WE found him....
Wake the neighbors
Heading out into the really far realm of uncomfortable 3rd party is calling neighbors. These calls depend on several things, first being full knowledge of the person's address, and an understanding of geography:
"I've never heard of the guy. No, I don't live in Seattle - dude, you have the wrong fucking AREA CODE for Seattle. I'm in fucking OREGON. Moron."
The borrowers we're trying to track down often tend to be transient, so often they've moved on in the distant past, leaving only memories...and other unpaid bills.
"Her? Yeah, her and her deadbeat boyfriend skipped out on a couple months of back rent - ran out in the dead of night, and I had to fumigate the place before I could rent it again. You find her, you let me know, okay?"
"Oh crap, that was the guy who set fire to his lawn right before the cops busted down his door, wasn't it? Man, that was funny..."
Most of the time I never got any useful information from neighbors, but there is always that "collector's legend" of the neighbor who brings the phone over to the neighbor across the street, and they pay. So we keep calling neighbors.
I had one borrower I had pinned down to being self-employed and definitely at the home address. All other reference avenues turned into dead ends, so I decided to break down and finally call a neighbor.
"Hey there, I'm trying to reach Mrs. Jones."
"Nope, that's my neighbor. Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm calling long distance from New York and the other number I thought was hers in disconnected and I need to speak to her. Is there any way you can get a message to her?" (Neighbors will often leave messages - that's pretty common. Not that they ever call back, but still.)
"Hold on - they just pulled in. Let me see if the cordless reaches that far."
A rustling on the end of the line, and then:
"Hello? Who the fuck are you and why are you calling my neighbor to get ahold of me?"
"Well, I think we may have a business matter of yours in our office..."
"You're a FUCKING BILL COLLECTOR and you called my FUCKING NEIGHBOR? Listen here you miserable little shit...(slightly muffled) Stop your goddamn whining, and I'll get you your fucking animal crackers in a minute...(back in my ear) NEVER FUCKING CALL THIS NUMBER FOR ME AGAIN." *click*
Okay - just short of legend. Now if only I'd have gotten her to pay...
"I've never heard of the guy. No, I don't live in Seattle - dude, you have the wrong fucking AREA CODE for Seattle. I'm in fucking OREGON. Moron."
The borrowers we're trying to track down often tend to be transient, so often they've moved on in the distant past, leaving only memories...and other unpaid bills.
"Her? Yeah, her and her deadbeat boyfriend skipped out on a couple months of back rent - ran out in the dead of night, and I had to fumigate the place before I could rent it again. You find her, you let me know, okay?"
"Oh crap, that was the guy who set fire to his lawn right before the cops busted down his door, wasn't it? Man, that was funny..."
Most of the time I never got any useful information from neighbors, but there is always that "collector's legend" of the neighbor who brings the phone over to the neighbor across the street, and they pay. So we keep calling neighbors.
I had one borrower I had pinned down to being self-employed and definitely at the home address. All other reference avenues turned into dead ends, so I decided to break down and finally call a neighbor.
"Hey there, I'm trying to reach Mrs. Jones."
"Nope, that's my neighbor. Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm calling long distance from New York and the other number I thought was hers in disconnected and I need to speak to her. Is there any way you can get a message to her?" (Neighbors will often leave messages - that's pretty common. Not that they ever call back, but still.)
"Hold on - they just pulled in. Let me see if the cordless reaches that far."
A rustling on the end of the line, and then:
"Hello? Who the fuck are you and why are you calling my neighbor to get ahold of me?"
"Well, I think we may have a business matter of yours in our office..."
"You're a FUCKING BILL COLLECTOR and you called my FUCKING NEIGHBOR? Listen here you miserable little shit...(slightly muffled) Stop your goddamn whining, and I'll get you your fucking animal crackers in a minute...(back in my ear) NEVER FUCKING CALL THIS NUMBER FOR ME AGAIN." *click*
Okay - just short of legend. Now if only I'd have gotten her to pay...
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Relatives
I was never comfortable calling relatives. References that the borrower had willingly put down at one point was uncomfortable enough, but calling other relatives just opened up all sorts of other possibilities of uncomfortable for me.
We find relatives in a couple of ways. One is through a people finding database that lists various relatives and "associates". The other is through guesswork - if the last name is moderately uncommon, then most likely someone with that same last name in the same town is going to be related somehow.
Most of the time the reaction I would get when I called a relative was "Who? Nope, don't know her at all." Occasionally you get a gut feeling that they're lying to you, but there really isn't all that much you can do.
The discomfort levels come from the people who do know the borrower, and are more than willing to share a bit more than I'd like:
"Oh, that's my cousin. Yeah, we don't talk much anymore since she broke into our grandma's house and stole a bunch of money for her drug addiction. Couldn't help you."
"Why's that asshole giving out my number? He never calls unless he needs something - didn't even call me when I had the operation for my bladder cancer. Do you know how painful it is to have to use that bag to piss into? Well, let me tell you..."
"You want who? How did you get this number? He doesn't know this number. Oh shit, now I'm gonna have to change it all over again, you miserable..." *click*
"Now, who are you? What is this about? Well, if I'm going to get her the message, I need to know..." (Disclosure violation waiting to happen. Hang up the phone and run like your job depends on it.)
The truly entertaining relative calls are if they happen to be former in-laws. You either get the complete shut down, or all the information you could ask for. Colleague got a perfect hit on a 30K account hitting a relative who turned out to the be ex-wife who'd just filed suit for back child support and had all sorts of useful information.
And then you get the sob stories about the drug use, the losers, deadbeats, and other assorted dregs of humanity. You hear about the violence ("they finally locked his ass up for beatin' on my sister"), the scam artists ("she cleaned out my bank account years ago - haven't seen her since"), and the people who just wandered off into the sunset ("he's probably under a bridge somewhere drunk, stoned, or dead. Maybe all three.")
And I never got anything useful. At least not in a time frame to make the info something that would benefit me. And that's not even getting into calling non-relatives, which I'll leave that for another post.
We find relatives in a couple of ways. One is through a people finding database that lists various relatives and "associates". The other is through guesswork - if the last name is moderately uncommon, then most likely someone with that same last name in the same town is going to be related somehow.
Most of the time the reaction I would get when I called a relative was "Who? Nope, don't know her at all." Occasionally you get a gut feeling that they're lying to you, but there really isn't all that much you can do.
The discomfort levels come from the people who do know the borrower, and are more than willing to share a bit more than I'd like:
"Oh, that's my cousin. Yeah, we don't talk much anymore since she broke into our grandma's house and stole a bunch of money for her drug addiction. Couldn't help you."
"Why's that asshole giving out my number? He never calls unless he needs something - didn't even call me when I had the operation for my bladder cancer. Do you know how painful it is to have to use that bag to piss into? Well, let me tell you..."
"You want who? How did you get this number? He doesn't know this number. Oh shit, now I'm gonna have to change it all over again, you miserable..." *click*
"Now, who are you? What is this about? Well, if I'm going to get her the message, I need to know..." (Disclosure violation waiting to happen. Hang up the phone and run like your job depends on it.)
The truly entertaining relative calls are if they happen to be former in-laws. You either get the complete shut down, or all the information you could ask for. Colleague got a perfect hit on a 30K account hitting a relative who turned out to the be ex-wife who'd just filed suit for back child support and had all sorts of useful information.
And then you get the sob stories about the drug use, the losers, deadbeats, and other assorted dregs of humanity. You hear about the violence ("they finally locked his ass up for beatin' on my sister"), the scam artists ("she cleaned out my bank account years ago - haven't seen her since"), and the people who just wandered off into the sunset ("he's probably under a bridge somewhere drunk, stoned, or dead. Maybe all three.")
And I never got anything useful. At least not in a time frame to make the info something that would benefit me. And that's not even getting into calling non-relatives, which I'll leave that for another post.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Exit interview and confidentiality agreement
The paperwork was in my mailbox the day following my verbal notice of termination. There is the general letter stating my termination, the listing of paperwork and benefits I need to deal with immediately, and the request to re-sign a confidentiality agreement.
No, I don't think I'm being singled out. It's a standard document to make sure I don't reveal "trade secrets" or "confidential information" related to my employer. I signed it and put it in the envelope to send back.
They also sent me the original I had signed when I first started the job back in June. Apparently non-publicly known information includes "know-how, technical data, processes, techniques, developments, inventions, research products..." etc, etc.
This does give me some pause as I look over the weblog and think about some of the postings. But I don't think I've given away any trade secrets, or revealed anything that will damage the company. I suppose if I do get a cease and desist order, I'll know I crossed a line. But until then, I intend to finish out the posts I feel like I need to write.
There is also the "exit interview" regarding the rating of the company and how it was to work for them. I'm torn on this one. The reason for leaving is mostly just I couldn't do the job. I enjoyed the people, for the most part. In the end the job was just killing my faith in humanity, and I want a little bit of that in my life going forward.
So, two forms, drop in the mail (they paid the postage), and that's the end of it. I am now formally an ex-collector, and will move on to better prospects. My better prospects right now I think involve a walk to the post office, then sitting by the creek for a spell. Then back to other paperwork and continuing to settle in to apartment.
No, I don't think I'm being singled out. It's a standard document to make sure I don't reveal "trade secrets" or "confidential information" related to my employer. I signed it and put it in the envelope to send back.
They also sent me the original I had signed when I first started the job back in June. Apparently non-publicly known information includes "know-how, technical data, processes, techniques, developments, inventions, research products..." etc, etc.
This does give me some pause as I look over the weblog and think about some of the postings. But I don't think I've given away any trade secrets, or revealed anything that will damage the company. I suppose if I do get a cease and desist order, I'll know I crossed a line. But until then, I intend to finish out the posts I feel like I need to write.
There is also the "exit interview" regarding the rating of the company and how it was to work for them. I'm torn on this one. The reason for leaving is mostly just I couldn't do the job. I enjoyed the people, for the most part. In the end the job was just killing my faith in humanity, and I want a little bit of that in my life going forward.
So, two forms, drop in the mail (they paid the postage), and that's the end of it. I am now formally an ex-collector, and will move on to better prospects. My better prospects right now I think involve a walk to the post office, then sitting by the creek for a spell. Then back to other paperwork and continuing to settle in to apartment.
Further signs of comfort
One of the other signs of civilization I've always found relaxing is a good cigar. I've smoked various and varietal types of tobacco over the years - on and off the cigarette wagon, smoked a pipe in college for a while - but the cigar is a special sort of enjoyment. It's meant to be smoked leisurely, and often socially.
Through some mail-order sampler packs, I've found I have a taste for very expensive cigars - old Cuban seed such as La Gloria Cubana and Montechristo. All of which are way too expensive for my regular budget.
So, after the liquor cabinet, I ordered some sampler packs to be shipped here, along with a cigar cutter. I have a humidor from a previous housemate who gave up cigars, and I filled it and then some. And tonight, I had the first one while standing outside.
It's an odd one - a torpedo size from the Philippines, but very easy to smoke. I watched the stars and just puffed away.
Again, the continuing mellowing out, and trying things that require the lingering time to savor and enjoy. Right now, I need to savor bedtime.
Through some mail-order sampler packs, I've found I have a taste for very expensive cigars - old Cuban seed such as La Gloria Cubana and Montechristo. All of which are way too expensive for my regular budget.
So, after the liquor cabinet, I ordered some sampler packs to be shipped here, along with a cigar cutter. I have a humidor from a previous housemate who gave up cigars, and I filled it and then some. And tonight, I had the first one while standing outside.
It's an odd one - a torpedo size from the Philippines, but very easy to smoke. I watched the stars and just puffed away.
Again, the continuing mellowing out, and trying things that require the lingering time to savor and enjoy. Right now, I need to savor bedtime.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
And so it ends
So in the end it was more of a whimper than a bang. I called in to the office, spoke to my manager who transferred me over to HR, and they told me they’d be mailing me all the paperwork necessary, no reason to come in, etc, etc.
The big question is going to be regarding unemployment. Technically they did offer me the demotion, which means NYS may determine I walked away from the job of my own free will, therefore I will get nothing. If this is the case, clearly I will need to find employment relatively quickly. If not, you’ll probably get to see a whole lot more posts about the job a whole lot more quickly, as I’ll have the time to really flesh out a few subjects I’ve been meaning to touch on.
In the end, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I wasn’t going to walk away from a paying job for nothing – I needed to get fired. I spent the day basking in the sun, considering starting work on the two bicycles I’d picked up at the dump to get into rideable shape, and in the end just chatted with neighbors. Closure to hopefully come later at a leisirely rate.
The big question is going to be regarding unemployment. Technically they did offer me the demotion, which means NYS may determine I walked away from the job of my own free will, therefore I will get nothing. If this is the case, clearly I will need to find employment relatively quickly. If not, you’ll probably get to see a whole lot more posts about the job a whole lot more quickly, as I’ll have the time to really flesh out a few subjects I’ve been meaning to touch on.
In the end, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I wasn’t going to walk away from a paying job for nothing – I needed to get fired. I spent the day basking in the sun, considering starting work on the two bicycles I’d picked up at the dump to get into rideable shape, and in the end just chatted with neighbors. Closure to hopefully come later at a leisirely rate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
