The “Good Guy” Debt Collector

One Saturday morning, when I was in school at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, one of our Victory Village neighbors asked me to go with him to collect from a fellow who was behind on his furniture payments.

My neighbor, who was also a student, worked part-time as a debt collector.  He told me that debt collectors at his company worked in pairs, one was the “good guy” collector, the other was the “bad guy” collector. My neighbor said he was the “good guy” debt collector.

The is not the road the debt collector took, but it looks like it.
This is not the road the debt collector took, but it looks like it.

He headed his Volkswagen away from Chapel Hill on a four-lane highway, turn onto a two-lane secondary road, then down a gravel road, then onto a dirt road. Finally he turned down what looked like a wide path covered with pine needles.

The man’s house, which had not been painted in years, was deep in a pine forest. He had no neighbors.  There were holes in the floor of the porch and the screen door was busted.

The front door was open.

The debt collector turned off the engine, got out of his car, walked up the steps onto the porch, and knocked on the screen door.

A man wearing a dirty pair of used-to-be green trousers and a clean, sleeveless, white t-shirt came to the door but he didn’t come outside, onto the porch. He and the debt collector talked through a hole in screen door.

I sat in the car with the window down, listening.

The debt collector talked friendly like, reminded the man that he had missed several payments, and asked him to pay up.

The man said he didn’t have any money.

The debt collector told him he was trying to be nice.  He said the man didn’t have to pay everything he owed, but he had to pay something on the bill.

Again, the man said he had no money.

The debt collector began tightening the screws.

“If you don’t pay something,” he said, “they’ll send another fellow out here and he won’t be so nice — he’ll take your furniture.”

“You sent him out here,” the man behind the screen door said, “and you won’t see him no more.”

It took the good guy debt collector all of, oh, 10 seconds to say goodbye, hustle back to his car, and boogie.

Coming Friday: “Go Tell Daddy What You Did!”

She Was Not Poor

Youshehiro and Chio,
Yoshihiro and Chihoko Tamai, when they lived next door in Victory Village

Most couples who lived in Victory Village, a married student housing complex owned by the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, didn’t have two dimes to rub together. Nobody had much in the way of nice furniture but at least the American students, most of them, could get hand-me-downs from their parents to help furnish their apartments.

When I was in college my wife, Donna, and I lived in Victory Village, next door to a Japanese couple, Yoshihiro Tamai, who was in a Ph.D. program, and his wife, Chihoko.   The Tamai’s were good neighbors and we became friends.

Youshihiro and Chiko, when they came from Japan to see us.
Yoshihiro and Chiko, when they came from Japan to see us.

Yoshihiro and Chihoko, she was called “Chiko,” couldn’t get furniture from home –their home was about 7,000 miles away — so some of their stuff looked like they had picked it up off the side of the road.

But Chiko wanted Donna to know that, in Japan, she was not poor. She and her husband were quite well off, in fact, and this is how she told Donna:

Donna, with Bo and Chiko
Donna, with Bo and Chiko, sitting on our front porch.

“Here I have only one hat,”  Chiko said. “My husband told me, you have only one head, you may take only one hat. But in Japan, I have many hats.”

Coming Monday: This Was Not A Real Job