I’ve mentioned my part time employment as, legally, a collection agent. Specifically, I hand deliver a letter on behalf of the mortgage company and file a report with photographs.
One recent assignment left me disgusted. A single mother with a filthy house (as seen through the open door from the porch), lawn full of weeds not maintained, and clutter everywhere. A surly teenage male came to the door then very rudely called out to his mother. She came to the door and started a “poor little me” well practiced spiel.
Why she has allowed that worthless son to grow up in this fashion baffles me. He should be keeping that yard and that house looking good instead of sponging off his mother.
I know many strong women who haven’t let life’s events and lousy choices in men keep them from living a productive life and raising decent children. My respect for them runs deep as does my loathing of quitters and whiners.
My assignments range from million dollar trophy homes to single wide wobblies in the boonies. A common sight is expensive toys and vehicles (most likely leased) on the premises. I stay emotionally detached, for the most part, but on occasions my hard heart is touched. “Oxygen in use” sign is one trigger.
My visit is, to the mortgagee, stressful. I’ve long ago lost any need to “Lord it Over” anyone so my time on their porch is as brief and impersonal as I can make it. Other than the occasional crazy, it works for me.
The economy? Every month my assignments increase. Most now involve refinancing offers. I anticipate most of those refinanced homes will be seeing a visit from me in six months or so.
