Debt Collection

“This is Natasha! Can I have your reference,” came the voice of a young female, as the phone was answered at the other end.

“What do you mean by “can you have my reference number”?” asked the frustrated fifty year old Thomas Harris, as he pushed his white and silver coloured hair back, “You are the one who rang me a few seconds ago. I phoned you by just dialling 1471 as I didn’t recognise the number. So you give me the reference number and I will see if it matches with any of my correspondence.”

The young female was being adamant on having the reference number.

“I must have a reference number,” she said.

The fifty year old, gave up and got up from his mahogany desk and walked up to the shelf behind and took out a file and went and sat down at the desk.

“Try this,” he said, as he read out a number, “and see if it matches with you and if not, then shove it up your...”

He stopped as he realised that he was being rude.

“That is the reference number and just to confirm your identity, I will need to ask you some questions. Can I have the first line of your home address?” said Natasha very politely.

“What is this?” asked Thomas Harris, as he felt more frustrated, “Some sort of Spanish inquisition?”

“I must have the answer or I can’t take this further,” said Natasha calmly.

The fifty year old, feeling more frustrated than before, slowly gave the information.

“You owe us six thousand pounds and we need to know how you are going to pay up,” said the young female on the phone.

This took Thomas Harris by surprise as he had been paying his Bank one pound a month as it had been agreed with them through his financial advisor at the Citizens Advice Bureau.

“You have all my information there infront of you and you are asking me when I can pay you?” yelled Thomas Harris, as he finally exploded with anger like a bundle of dynamite sticks exploding when detonated.

“I have been paying you,” exploded Thomas Harris with rage, as his faced turned red,” for six months after it was agreed and now you are asking for payment that hasn’t been agreed.”

There was total silence on the other end.

“Are you listening, or, am I talking to blonde bimbo – a youth who has no brains between her ears?” yelled the man, as he thumped the desk with his fists.

The yelling caught attention of the fifty year olds wife, Dorothy. Thinking that there was something wrong with her husband, she rushed into the study, from her nearby bedroom, where she was getting changed to go out for lunch with her friend.

“Thomas are you ok?” she asked, as she looked concerned but calmed down when she saw him sitting at the desk with the phone in his hand.”

“There’s a brainless, blonde, who seems to know everything but has no clue on how to look at a computer screen,” replied Thomas Harris, as he covered the phone’s mouth piece with his right hand.

“You must pay up at least two hundred pound per month,” insisted the woman on the phone, a brunette and not a blonde, “I am not able to see any information on my screen.”

Thomas Harris once again exploded like dynamite and insisted that he was in no position to pay except a pound a month.

“I have not had a job for the past six years,” he yelled down the phone, “How can I pay you?”

    “By direct debit,” replied Natasha.

“Not paying a penny more than agreed,” insisted Thomas, as he began to fumble with his pen and then put to his mouth, wondering what the woman would do next. Suddenly he realised that there was taste of ink in his mouth. He looked at the pen and realising that he bit the nib off, he flung it in the bin under the desk.

The woman, on the other end, started firing questions again.

“You need a hearing aid!” yelled Thomas Harris, as he spat out the ink, “I just told you my situation and you are repeating the questions.”

“You can yell all you want,” insisted Natasha, “but it won’t make any difference as I don’t have anything. And by the way, I am not a blonde haired bimbo. I am a brunette.”

This gave a complete shock to the fifty year old as he tried to find words to say something but was unable to.

“Why did you lose your job?” asked the young woman, knowing that her statement, had knocked the man for a sixer, “Was it because you said something to infuriate your boss and he decided to give you a sack?”



“Nothing at all,” replied Thomas Harris, “The bastard Directors took the company into Administration.”

“And the Bank didn’t give a pittance when you asked them for an extension on your overdraft and a loan?”

“Don’t get me started on that!” exclaimed Thomas Harris, as he felt like putting his hands down the phone and strangling the woman.

“If I had my way,” he went on, “Anyone working in Bank, or, connected to a Bank, I would have them put up against a wall, without a blindfold and have them shot.”

The young woman, typing the information onto the Bank’s computer, looked up and saw that her Manager was walking around.

“Mr Thomas,” she said, as she tried to sound happy, “Your one pound a month has been accepted. Just continue paying as you are for another six months, when we will review your situation.”

“About time bloody too,” said Thomas Harris, agitated, as put the phone down and looked up at his blonde haired wife.