Tell Debt Do We Part

From these calls, I learned that collection agencies don't have helpfully descriptive names, like "Deadbeat-Finders Inc." or "Thumbscrew Associates." They have deceptively elegant names, like "Washington-Lincoln-Roosevelt Fiscal Consultancies Ltd." And only when you Google them do you discover what they truly are up to. Officially, they call themselves "accounts receivable management partners." They mean: "We wring blood from turnips."

All of these companies brag about their high-tech people-locator methods, but I must tell you that after fielding scores of these calls over dozens of weeks -- calls that cost someone a lot of money in salaries and infrastructure -- I managed to locate Diana by looking in the phone book. She lives in my neighborhood.

By this time, I had a pretty good picture in my mind of Diana. If she lived around here, I deduced, she wasn't poor. From the number and variation of the calls, I deduced she was flagrant. In short, she was young and slick and joyfully felonious, the sort of person who takes a perverse pleasure in staying a step ahead of The Man. She's a manipulator of the system, a con artist by choice, not necessity. She might be an international jewel thief or cat burglar.

I got in my car and set out to find her and give her a piece of my mind.

It turned out that there are government-subsidized apartment complexes on the outskirts of my neighborhood. Who knew? On the outside of Diana's apartment door was a stuffed teddy bear. On the inside of Diana's door was Diana. She was neither young nor slick, and, from the size of the housecoat she was wearing, I strongly suspected that she was not a cat burglar. I told her that I now had her old phone number. I didn't have to say anymore. She smiled and shook her head in sympathy.

Diana: Aren't those calls terrible? Those awful people kept calling all day and night!

Me: I know!

By now, we were both laughing.

Diana: Yeah. You got yourself a problem, all right.

Me: But, see, it's not really fair because . . .

Diana: I used to have a job in debt consolidation. But I broke my back in a fall down concrete steps and haven't been able to work for nine years. The debt piled up. I couldn't eat now, except that this welfare agency brings me two bags of groceries every Wednesday. The dog eats what I eat because I can't afford dog food.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of her little dog sniffling around my ankles. Then, Diana's face lit up.

Diana: Hey, you know what you should do? You should do what I did.

Me: What's that?

Diana: Change your phone number!

So, there we were. Diana had successfully placed herself back under the radar, and that's where she wants to stay. When I got home, the phone was ringing. It was for Diana.

Gene Weingarten can be reached at weingarten@washpost.com.

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