I am The Reaper… Coo Coo, Ka, Choo
As a debt collector I rarely see people on their best day. Many times, an outstanding debt is the least of a person’s worries. Some wheel oxygen tanks into the courtroom, others suffer from permanent disability, and almost everyone we sue appears beaten and battered from life in general. Generally, if you meet a debt collector in court, something has gone terribly wrong.
At times I feel like the grim reaper himself. Instead of a scythe, I carry a stack of files. Instead of a black cape, I wear a black suit. Instead of taking a life or soul, I demand money.
Facing the meek and defeated debtors is probably the worst part of my job. They know they owe the money, they are typically embarrassed about their inability to pay, and they would pay me a nickel if they only had a dime. I hate adding to their burden.
On the flipside, I take guilty pleasure in suing the occasional arrogant, self-righteous, chronic complainer I meet. They act as if the world owes them. They accuse me of being rude just because I will not just wave my hand and make a debt they incurred go away. Few grasp the concept that I, personally, am not the creditor. They generally (in my mind) get what they deserve.