People don’t understand why I don’t read my mail and experience confusion at the massive pile of the stuff in our hallway. Well here’s why:
It’s always bad news
Bills, letters from the bastards at the estate agents about rent increases/inspection,threatening letters from the bank/credit card companies…
Other than that we receive several tonnes a week of pizza menus and money-off vouchers from dire local Indian takeaways with the occasional advert from some church or other that, in an attempt to increase the size of their congregation, will be featuring a dodgy religous gimmick. My favourite gimmicks so far are:
- Use will be made of a large coloured chart!
- Come and receive the anointing with the Holy Olive Oil from Jerusalem
Anyway, yesterday we got a phone call. 9:30 saturday morning while I was indulging in a nice long bath. Michele, my wife, got the phone. The call went something like this:
Caller: Hello is Martin there
Michele: Who is this
Caller: It’s Michelle
Michele: Michelle who ?
Michelle: Its a personal call…
Michele: Well he’s not going to ring you back if he doesn’t know who you are.
Michelle: I’m from MBNA [credit card bastards].
This is a tactic of all debt collectors. They pretend to be a friend of the victim so that he or she answers the phone. In America this practice is also common, but thanks to the FDCPA it’s illegal.
She called back later and after offerring me several convenient and easy methods of payment, which I refused on account of not wanting to pay anything, I asked her to make a note on my file that said never to call me again ever… she wouldn’t. I asked why they hadn’t mentioned who they were on the initial call and she said ‘because of data protection’….oh fuck off.
Finally she tried to explain to me why they call people at home and I had to point out that I wasn’t interested, repeated that I won’t take kindly to any more calls and hung up.
Then I went down to the tower of mail in the hall and dug out the MBNA letters.
Included in the package of shit which they sent me along with my bill, notification of late payment charges and implicit threats was an envelope that I could use to send in my payment.Not pre-pay of course – they’re not a fucking charity…and to show what a caring, kind, ex-hippy, love-in type company they really are underneath the harsh spikey exterior, they have drawn some nice daffodils on the envelope.
“Hey man, we’re not all heavy bread-head’s here. Groove with us baby and we’ll all skip down to the meadows toegther and dig the nature scene man and maybe drop some tabs – just pay your fucking bill or we’ll send a couple of really nasty bastards round to nick your furniture man.”