Look Away Bitch!

Here is another tale that was not nearly as pleasant as the “you look like a badass!” story. If you know me, then I have probably regaled you with this tale in the past, so if you don’t want to hear it again, then you are a horrible person who doesn’t appreciate my lyrical prose.

I love slurpees. There it is; the cats out of the bag. There is no other slush-like beverage that even comes close. Don’t get me wrong, snow cones are a delicious treat, and so is an ICE-E, but nothing is as affordable, as delicious, or as readily available as 7-11’s heavenly slurpee. As a fan of the slurpee, I must trek to the 7-11 with frequency. 7-11 is a late night hot spot for people loitering, trying to score smokes, stoners seeking a tasty snack to cure the munchies, that last minute beer run once the crummy party some scumbags were raging at ran out of beer; one could say  there is not a more wretched hive of scum and villainy in the universe, but I digress — they have slurpees. Since I love the slurpee, it stands to reason I have to venture to the Sev for the tasty treat.

This tale took place a few years back when I was still living in the Beehive State, good ol’ Salt Lake City. My wife and I lived downtown, a few blocks from one of the city’s most popular parks, so of course there was a 7-11 nearby. This here story took place on a hot summer night; it was muggy, sweaty…something was missing, and that something was a pina colada slurpee. I exclaimed to my friends:

“I NEED A FUCKING SLURPEE, STAT”!

No sane person would refute such a bold exclamation, so me, my buddy Matt, his then girlfriend Crystal and my lovely wife Kendyl headed out the door into the hot summer night on my quest for the ultimate, sugary beverage. Matt, Crystal and I set out on foot, while Kendyl decided she was going to ride her bitchin dirt bike so that she could circle around us yelling profanities, which she enjoyed doing, and who could blame her really?

The trip over to the Sev was uneventful, except for the dirt bike circling. After 10 minutes we finally reached our destination. There, like a beacon of green, red and white signage, glowing in the night, beckoning stoner, dirt bag, smoker and slurpee seeker alike was the holy grail of 24-hour convenience — 7 fucking 11. As we crossed the street, I noticed a variety of colorful people in the parking lot, but since there are always  bunch of shitbags there (my motley crew included) I didn’t take any notice. Delicious, frozen, sugary goodness was mere moments away. I could feel the brain freeze before the cold treat even hit my mouth.

I opened the doors, and the first thing I noticed was huge fucking line and a poor, lone 7-11 worker manning the register. I knew this was going to take a while, but slurpee madness knows no bounds, so I headed to the back corner of the store to get my beverage. I walked to the machine, and the first thing I notice is a bunch of blinking lights. If you are unfamiliar with slurpees, then let me explain: when it is really fucking hot, or they just refilled the slurpee machine, the concoction that is to be the slurpee must be cooled. Blinking lights means the slurpee is not ready, and will be liquid instead of slush. I look at the pina colada flavor only to be faced with a big, fucking, blinking light. I exclaimed loudly, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo!”, followed by “GODDAMNIT!” A few of the shell shocked people in line looked over at me to see what my deal was, while the majority of the line barely took notice.

But do not fret my loyal readers, all hope was not yet lost. They had my safety slurpee, the old standby – coke. I regained my composure and grabbed a cup to finally bring my late night quest to an end.

Any slurpee hound worth their weight in frozen sugar knows that filling the slurpee is a delicate process. You can’t just fill up and leave, there is a specific protocol for getting the most slurpee for your buck. You first take the cylindrical plastic lid and place it firmly on your cup, the lid allows you to fill the slurpee a few inches above where the actual cup stops. Next, you begin the filling process; you fill the cup all the way to the top, but must be careful to stop before the squishy beverage hits the top of the lid or you may have a blowout, and no one wants to be covered in sticky liquid (insert semen joke here). After you have filled the cup, being mindful to not have a blowout, you must take the cup and tap it hard on the counter, how many times you do this is really up to you. The tapping of the cup allows the slurpee, which is filled with air, to settle, giving you extra room at the top; you then refill and repeat until there is no possible way that any more slurpee can fit in your cup.  Like I said, it is a process.

With my slurpee in hand and my spoon straw firmly implanted in it, I finally ventured to the back of the line, which had only grown larger while I was busy filling up. My friends and wife were pretty much along for the ride,  so they were sitting outside waiting for me to emerge. As I am standing there, sipping away, a young gentleman sidles up behind me in line. I give him a glance and what I get back is a full on stare that projected hate and malice. Puzzled, I ignore him. Five minutes or so go by and the line has barely moved. The kid in line behind me is still burning a hole in the back of my skull with his stare.

I shall digress yet again to explain something for those who do no know. When you are a magnet for trouble, like myself, you recognize certain signs from people who are looking to start a fight. The most unreasonable of people will want to fight you simply for meeting their gaze; these people are usually your super jock meatheads, drunks, or just simply unstable badasses. The dude who is behind me is saying with his body language and stare, ” I dare you to look at me. I DARE YOU TO LOOK AT ME!” Now, I do dare to look at these people, but all I wanted to do at that moment was enjoy my slurpee and cool off.

15 minutes later I finally reach the register. The douche-hole in back of me was staring me down the whole time I was in the painfully slow line. I make my purchase and step outside. When I get outside I turn to my buddy Matt:

Me: “So this idiot in back of me was staring me down the whole time and I think he is going to try and start a fight. I am going to ignore him, but see if he is staring at me when he comes out the door.”

Matt: “Ok man. He is just one dude, we can kick his ass.”

(Matt is kind of a badass by the way)

Me: “I would rather not.”

Matt: “Ok.”

So the kid walks out the door and clearly stares me down. He then walks back to a truckload of jock-ish looking kids. They start snickering and pointing in our direction.

Matt: “Oh man, that dudes friend, the dude that was staring at you, his friend is fucking huge.”

Me: “Shit.”

So I am standing there trying to ignore them. They keep staring and snickering for a few minutes. Finally something inside me says, go ahead and acknowledge you are not afraid of them, and you have a right to sit here drinking your slurpee, while letting your gaze drift where it may. So, I finally decide I will meet their gaze, because I have had enough. So I look up at the truckload of dudes. Instantly, the big, huge meathead cocks his head to the side and yells out:

“Look away bitch!”

He just yelled look away bitch. How is one supposed to respond to this most ludicrous of requests? Well, if you have any spine, or you are a total smartass, then your response may have been the same as mine:

Me: “Ummm, fuck you cocksucker.”

I have now crossed beyond the point of no return. From that moment on, I was now assessing the fight we are going to get in for sure. I am looking around for a weapon, Matt is also looking for something to fight with because there are 5 dudes in the truck, and most of them are average, but the “look away bitch” guy is big enough to beat both of us into the ground with ease.

I decide then that I am going to firmly plant myself against the front window of the store, and if he throws a punch, I will dodge it in hopes that he the hits the window instead of me, you know, like Mr. Miyagi in Karate Kid? So, the huge, angry, possibly drunk meathead is steadily heading our way. At the very moment when he is about to step over the curb to where I was standing and obliterate my face, Kendyl comes flying up on her dirt bike, skids out to the side right in front of him, blocking his path.

A bit amazed, I can’t help but laugh a bit, but it is a nervous laugh, because now my wife is in danger of getting smashed to bits by this behemoth. What transpired next is forever emblazoned upon my brain, and was both super gutsy and super awesome.

Poking the meathead in the chest rather hard Kendyl exclaims:

“Get back in your truck asshole!”

My jaw is on the floor. The meathead is clearly bewildered, as he has obviously never been in a situation like this before and is only used to stomping puny mortals like myself. Kendyl once again pokes him in the chest rather violently and again yells,

“I said, get back in your truck!”

The meathead eeks out,

“Hey, I’m not gonna fight a girl man, come get your girl out of the way.”

It is obvious to everyone, even the brain-dead mountain of muscles, that Kendyl is indeed not getting out of anyone’s way. Kendyl is still sitting on her bike, blocking his path. The meatheads’ friends are now getting back into the truck and muttering to each other that they should just bail. Exasperated the once angry giant yells out,

“Fuck this shit, you dudes are fucking faggot-ass pussies!”

He is still trying to kind of pick a fight with us, but now his friends are yelling at him to get in the car, and apologizing to us saying, “He is super drunk, sorry.” The truckload of once angry, testosterone-enraged jocks pulls out of the parking lot, but not without a few more “fuck you fags,” and “bunch of bitches” hurled our way.

As soon as they are out of sight, the 4 of us start laughing in disbelief. Matt looks at me and says, “Oh man, that guy was huge, I thought for sure we were getting our asses kicked.” I agreed with him. We then decided that we should get out of the general vicinity, should the drunken fools regain their courage and come looking for us after being humiliated by Kendyl on her dirt bike. We left the lot, and headed back to our house a few blocks away; the whole way home I triumphantly sipped my coke slurpee, and thanked the stars that my wife is such a fucking badass.

Seriously?! Kendyl to the rescue.

Some Weird Shit Happens To Me

Some weird shit happens to me. I don’t know what the deal is. Maybe I have some sort of scent that just attracts the crazies, or maybe I just give off a look that says, “please crazy dude, come and talk/fuck with me?” But the pure and simple fact is, I attract crazies like Juggalos are magnetically drawn to your local Hot Topic or Maverick parking lot.

Take for example, this tale. Now, I do have a tendency to exaggerate from time to time, and I will say this happened a while back, so I may fill in some details to make the story a little more interesting, but this interaction did indeed happen, and it is just one story among many that weave a tapestry of the weird things that seem to happen to me.

So there we were, traveling down to the San Rafael Swell in central Utah. It is a remote and beautiful wilderness area filled with petroglyphs, red rock formations, slot canyons, and good old fashion camping. If you ever decide to head down to the Swell, you end up going through some hick towns. These are towns you drive through and you think to yourself, “man, what the fuck do people do here?” and then you start feeling bad for the poor kids that have nothing more to do than huff paint and tip cows. Well, in one of these lovely, rustic bergs, me and my companions, Kelly, Carmen, and my wife Kendyl, stop to fill up our car at the gas station. We pull up to the Phillips 66 and I get out begin to fill up the car.

There I am, minding my own business, when I notice him; there he is in all his glory, a bucktoothed hick staring at me as he gets out of his truck.  He steps out of his Chevy, shit kicking boots clunking as they hit the ground; of course he is shirtless, is wearing wranglers, and to top it off he has a sweet mesh, trucker hat on, not like the ones hipsters started wearing ironically, he is the genuine article. He kind of gives me a once over, literally looks me up and down. Here I need to pause for a moment and explain something…

If you have never met me, I am not a large man. I am 5 ft. 6-inches and weigh 125 pounds soaking wet. So I am always surprised when some dude picks a fight with me. Maybe they see this little guy and think, I am gonna be tough as fuck when I kick that little guys ass? I also happen to have quite a few tattoos. They are not just random, little tattoos. I have a full sleeve on one arm, going all the way from my shoulder to my wrist, and I have a half sleeve on the other. I also have a large tattoo on my chest, and a large tattoo on my back. So, if I have my shirt off, which I did at the time, you can see them all. I don’t know what it is, but crazies also love to talk about my tattoos, and I think is another factor why crazies are attracted to me. Anyhow, back to the story…

So, this hick literally looks me up and down, kind of smirks. I think to myself, great, here it fucking comes, some shit is gonna go down. To avoid this redneck starting a fight with me, which is what I am sure is going to eventually happen, I head inside to buy myself a drink and take a slash (pee). While inside I track down my wife and say,

Me: “ You see that fucking hick out there?”
Kendyl: “Yeah, what about him.”
Me: “Dude was totally staring me down. It think he is gonna start some shit.”
Kendyl: “He was probably just looking at you because you have your shirt off dummy.”
Me: “No, that asshole is gone start some shit.”
Kendyl: “Whatever, you are just being paranoid.”

So as we are leaving, heading back to the car, the hick is staring a hole right through me. I am waiting for the barrage of insults surely headed my way in a moment, and anyone who knows me, knows that when someone talks shit to me, I just can’t stand there and say nothing. Some call it a little man complex, maybe it is the fact that I just hate taking shit from people regardless of my size, but if someone talks shit to me, I usually don’t back down; even if that means I may get my ass kicked. I will leave it up to you whether that is a good or bad thing.  But the guy is going to say something, and I am bracing myself for it. The inbred hick cocks his head, spits on the ground, gives me the bro nod (a little jerk of his neck upward, as if he is pointing with his face), indicating he is about to open his suck hole and some truly stupid shit is going to come out:

Hick: “Hey you!”
Me: “Ummm, yeah.”
Hick: “ Listen, I just wanted to say wassup because you look like a fucking badass.”

Yeah, that’s right. The guy just wanted to say what’s up because apparently I look like a badass! Who says shit like that? As me, Kendyl, Carmen and Kelly are trying to keep our shit together and not laugh our asses off I manage to say,

Me: “Uh, thanks dude?”
Hick: “Yup, no prob bro. Yeah headed out to the swell to get fucking wasted?”
Me: “ You know it.”
Hick “Fuckin’ party time, hell yeah!”

The hick then turns to a stunned Carmen who is standing behind me, gives her a big, gross, chew filled smile and says,

Hick: “Sup sexy.”

Sup sexy!? Yeah, he went there.

So, while the hick did not try to start a fight with me, and believe me, it happens more frequently in my life than I would like, he did decide to let me know that I am indeed a badass. He then wanted to try and hit on Carmen with the greatest line of all time the failsafe: “sup sexy.” Now, this story isn’t too crazy, but this is the beginning of a tapestry of tales that will conclusively prove that I am a magnet for weirdos and strange happenings.

Also, if you are reading this, I just want to say, you are a badass.

Here’s the deal

So, I haven’t written anything for a while, because I am a lazy, lazy man…that and I stopped doing the repo thing a while back. Since I have written last something pretty huge happened, and no I am not talking about the impending apocalypse, unless you count my progeny as the second coming of satan. So I had a baby, well my wife had a baby, but she had my baby as far as I know. He looks a lot like me, so I assume he isn’t the milk man’s (do people still have milk men?). We named him Elliott. He is pretty rad. He cries,  poops, eats, sleeps, farts and pukes; who wouldn’t think that is awesome? But I digress. The point I am trying to make, is that I still have tall tales to tell and I still want to share them with you, my few loyal readers and my friends who are kind enough to pretend that I have something interesting to say. From here on out, this blog will be about the randomness that is my life. Since I am not going to be in the repo game anymore, I may change the name of this here blog as well. I will think on it a bit. So, expect some new updates soon, and a revamping of this here page. The URL will stay the same, because as I stated, I am a lazy, lazy man.

Sad News

So, I have some sad news royal readers; I haven’t heard from the repo man in weeks. Last time I talked to him he said his business was super slow and that he would get back to me when he needed some more help. Well, it seems that he didn’t need more help. Sigh. I have no new stories to report, no new crack heads I have dealt with, no new angry dead beats have yelled, swore or made crude hang gestures at me in weeks. I am thinking about going out and standing on Colfax (which is a seedy street in Denver) and trying to see if I can befriend any fiends just so I can get my crazy person fix. Here is the sad thing, I am pretty sure I wont be doing this anymore, so this post will be a reflection of my experiences, maybe a synopsis of what I have learned.

First and foremost I have learned that people are assholes. I knew this before, but almost every single person I dealt with while helping the repo man was a prick. I have already pontificated this fact in an earlier post, and there are a number of reasons that people who are having their shit repossessed are assholes, but the fact remains: People = Assholes.

Secondly I have learned that people on the whole are terrible, terrible liars. When someone has met you before, and then they see you again a few weeks later, you are most likely not going to be able to lie and say you are someone else. It was almost like dealing with children in a way. Have you ever seen a little kid do something right in front of you, like lets say spill their juice, and then you ask them who did it and they feign ignorance? “It wasn’t me!” as you stand their with grape juice stains on your face and shirt just aint gonna cut it.

Third on the list is that I have realized, and I knew this before, that I don’t like working with people. Now, I don’t mean all people, but I mean in a customer service type capacity. I worked collections for a few years in college, and I dealt with very similar people. I can do this job, but I don’t like it at all and it ends up giving you a real disdain for dealing with people. There is only so many times you can hear some absolute shit lie or excuse before you just want to choke some fools. Wanting to do bodily harm to strangers isn’t exactly healthy.

Fourth is something that you wouldn’t really think of, but driving all over Denver constantly and looking for people who haven’t paid their car bills has made me wish we had a good transit system in place. People wouldn’t need all these stupid cars if they could get around easily. Sure, an awesome transit system could mean there are far less repo dudes in the world, but that is a sacrifice I would be willing to make.  Just give me some good trains man. I hate my car.

The last thing I am really going to miss is writing this blog. My experiences were the perfect fodder for awesome stories. Almost every time I went out something interesting happened and it really got my creative juices flowing and got me excited about writing again. I hope to take that momentum and continue to write. What that may be I don’t know, but hopefully I can find something as interesting as workin for the repo man to write about.

If things change and I happen to get some more work with the repo man, I will be sure to write about my exploits here. In the meantime, thanks for reading and check back soon for some future projects I will be writing on.

Taylor

Nice Lie, You Liar

Last week I said I would have a new post the following day and I suppose that makes me a dirty liar. The difference between the lie I made about posting the following day is a lot different from the poorly constructed lies I hear pretty frequently. You see, I had every intention of writing this very post the next day and then I got lazy. I could lie and say I was really busy, but almost everyone that reads this here blog would know I am lying; I don’t have a job and I also don’t have a lot to do, so it would be stupid of me to lie about it right? Well, when you are hiding your car from the Repo Man people lie. I can’t really blame them because they want to keep their cars and people have been harassing them for a month or longer. Their only options are to ignore or avoid us, give up their cars willingly or to lie. My problem isn’t with the lying, but with the poor quality of their lies. If you are going to make up something, at least put some thought and real deception into it.

Let’s talk about Julie, who owns a shitty Dodge Neon (sorry dude who left me a comment saying he had a Neon, it is still shitty). I have been to Julie’s apartment building several times. The first time I went to talk to Julie, it didn’t really seem like she was lying and if she was, she had put some thought into her lie so it seemed believable. Here is the conversation we had on my first trip out there.

Me: Hi, are you Julie?

Julie: Uh, who wants to know?

Me: Well, I am Taylor and I am from the bank. They sent me out here to talk to you about your Dodge Neon. Seems that you haven’t made a payment for a while.

Julie: What?!

Me: We haven’t received a payment for three months.

Julie: Well, that is my daughter Sally’s car and the loan is under her name. I am going to give her an earful.

Me: We need to talk to her, can you please give me her address or a number we can reach her at?

And the lying begins

Julie The Bad Liar: Oh, umm, she just moved and I don’t know her address.

Me: Do you have a phone number we can reach her at?

Julie The Bad Liar: A phone number? She doesn’t have a phone.

Me: She doesn’t have a phone?  How do you get a hold of her?
Julie The Bad Liar: We email.

Me: So she has the Internet but not a phone? Right. Can I have her email address?

Julie The Bad Liar: I don’t remember it.

Me: Well next time you talk to your daughter via the tubes on the internet, let her know that she needs to call us immediately or she needs to start paying her car payment because it will ruin your credit and eventually you will be held responsible for this.

Julie The Bad Liar: Well, it is her car, so no, she will get in trouble not me.

Me: The loan is under YOUR name Julie, not your daughters. It is a pretty simple concept; I suggest you take it seriously.

At this point Julie closes the door.

So I call the bank and tell them what Julie told me, and lo and behold, they have the daughter’s address and phone number on file, because she was a co-signer on the loan. Armed with my new info, I head over to the daughters apartment building.

Later, on the other side of town I knock on Sally’s door.

Me: Hi, are you Sally?

Sally: Yes.

Me: Hey Sally, I just talked to your Mom about your Dodge Neon. Seems that you haven’t made a payment on it for a while?

Sally The Even Worse Liar: She pauses for about 20 seconds before replying. Oh, I don’t have that car anymore; I gave it back to my Mom.

Me:  That isn’t what your Mom said. I just spoke with her and she said it is your car and seemed surprised you hadn’t made your payments.

At this point she stops talking, pulls a ringing  cell phone out of her pocket and tells me to hold on a minute. She hangs up the phone after a brief conversation and resumes our conversation.

Sally The Even Worse Liar: Well, my mom says I don’t have to talk to you and there is nothing you can do?

Me: I thought you didn’t have a phone?

Sally The Even Worse Liar: Of course I have a phone, who doesn’t have a phone?

Me: I don’t know, people who don’t make their car payments? Listen, either make arrangements with the bank to resume your payments or we will repossess your car.

Sally The Even Worse Liar: Well, I don’t have it anymore. Did you see it outside?

Me: No I didn’t see it, but there is a garage over there with your unit number on it, I assume it is in there.

Sally The Even Worse Liar: Well, I don’t have that garage anymore. So it isn’t in there.

Me: Well that makes tons of sense.

Sally The Even Worse Liar: My Mom has it, go talk to her.

I now have a mom who is saying her daughter has the car and vice versa. They are both lying to me and I know they both know where the car is, so I wait about a week and head back out to Julies’ Apartment.

Here is my second go round with Julie. Her lies get even more ridiculous this time around.

I knock on the door, and a voice from behind the door asks me who it is.

Me: My name is Taylor and I am form the bank, I came out and talked to you last week Julie.

Julie, pretending not to be herself: Julie isn’t here, she went to the grocery store.

Me: I talked to you before, I know it is you Julie. Look, I talked to your daughter and she is saying you have the car.

Julie still pretending: I didn’t tell you where Sally lived.

Me: Of course you didn’t, because I have never talked to you before right?

Julie still pretending: Julie doesn’t live here anymore.

Me: Really? So she moved out this last week?

Julie still pretending: No, she moved out a few months back.

Me: So who are you?

Julie still pretending: Umm, my name is (she pauses for about 5 seconds), my name is Claudia Schiffer.

Me: The super model that was married to the magician with the funny eyebrows? You must have fallen on tough times to be living in a small apartment in Aurora, Colorado. Why don’t you have your magician boyfriend conjure up a yacht or something for you?

Julie still pretending: Conjure up a yacht? What are you talking about?

Me: What are you talking about Julie? If you are going to come up with a fake name, I suggest something other than a famous Super Model.

Julie not pretending anymore: Fuck you! I don’t have to talk to you, you fucking prick. You can go suck a dick you faggot.

Me: Thanks for the suggestion. Here is my suggestion for you, give up your car or we will contact our legal department and issue a warrant for your arrest.

Homophobic Julie: Eat shit you fucking fag!

Me: Awesome. Have a nice day Miss Schiffer. I hope your modeling career rebounds for you.

This is just one example of some of the retarded shit people say. It is hard not to be a smug bastard when people are so blatantly lying. In this case, the car we were after wasn’t worth much money so the bank actually just told us to stop working the case. I assume that Julies’ credit will be ruined and they will periodically look for the vehicle, but I don’t know for sure. I guess if you car isn’t worth much and you can avoid the Repo Man long enough, you can just keep your car if it is a 2003 Neon with only about $3000 left on the loan. So great job liars, you won this round – sort of.

Dollah’ Dollah’ Bill Yall

Hello out there Internet land. So, it sounds kind of backwards, but the Repo business has been really slow lately. The Repo Man I work for explained it thusly to me, banks aren’t giving out many loans and he has already repossessed all the cars people stopped paying on in the last year or so. As you can imagine, this also means he doesn’t have much work for me to do. I have wrapped up many of the accounts I have been assigned, but I still want to talk about a few things. In my short post today, I want to give you a breakdown of how I actually get paid, because it’s not like I am out there taking cars all the time, it’s actually me just doing grunt work. In my post tomorrow I want to talk about how most people are terrible, terrible liars. Seriously, either people think that I am brain dead, or they are just awful, terrible liars.

Here is the breakdown of how I get paid. Each account I work on I will get $25 big ones once we close the account. We close an account when the car is found or the bank decides it is done wasting time and money trying to find a car. Sometimes a car is a piece of shit and is only worth a few thousand dollars, so the bank says fuck it, and cuts their losses. Accounts where people owe large sums on will never be closed out and we will work them until we find them. So if I got by a someone’s house, knock on the door, leave a card, maybe talk to someone, then later the account gets closed out, for whatever reason, I get my $25.

If the work I do directly leads to the car being repossessed I will receive a princely sum of $75 pieces of cabbage. Let’s say I talk to a neighbor and they give me information about when the person we are looking for is coming or going, and we are able to follow them to work, or the neighbor calls and says “the car is in the driveway right now”, these are instances where I get the $75 reward. On several occasions the Repo Man I work for has realized all of my grunt work resulted in the Repo, and he has given me $75, he is a pretty cool dude in that regard.

Next on the scale we have stakeouts, which I have talked about a lot. I usually get anywhere between $75 to $100 bills just for going out to sit in my car and hope we spot the car we are looking for headed somewhere.

The big money is if I actually find the car we are looking for and I call the Repo Man and he comes to repossess it. I will get the $25 for closing out the account, plus I will receive whatever bounty the bank had on the car. This can be anywhere from $100 to $500. The Repo Man I work for has informed me it takes less than a minute to hook up a car and tow it away, in fact he doesn’t even need to exit the truck. He is the master ninja of car repo, I would even go as far to say that he is the Shinobi of car repo. Last week he was out looking for cars and he randomly saw this deadbeat he had been looking for the past six months. The deadbeat was at the 7-11 getting gas; the man went in to pay for gas and while he was inside, the Repo Man rolled up, jacked up his car and was gone before the deadbeat even left the building. It’s kind of harsh when you think about it, but on the other hand, this dude has been hiding his car for the better part of a year, so it was bound to happen sooner or later. I have yet to actually find a car. Most of the people we are dealing with know we are out to get them and hide their shit or keep it in a garage at all times. Last week I spent the better part of an hour walking around the parking lot of this huge apartment complex, trying to look inconspicuous while peering in at the VIN numbers of every Dodge Neon, which was a surprisingly large amount. Who knew so many people drive such a shitty car? I have to compare the VIN numbers to be sure it is the correct car, and they are right on the front dash, so it can be more than a little shady when some guy is peering into cars in a parking lot. On more than one occasion I have had someone confront me. While I was searching this particular lot a security guard came up to me and said, “So, what the fuck are you doing bro?”  I gave him my card and explained what I as doing, showed him my paper work and he apologized for swearing at me and said “ Shit brah, I hope you catch that little cocksucker and nail him to the wall.” Thankfully he wasn’t some gung ho security guard with a tazer, he was just some foul mouthed sweet bro.

There you have it! A breakdown of how I get my cream. It still hasn’t been too lucrative, but it is still nice to get a little extra bread every few weeks and I obviously have some interesting adventures from time to time. This post also provided me an outlet to use all of my slang words for money, here are a few more: duckets, pesos, stripper bait, moolah, smackers, benjamins, and bucks.  Check back tomorrow so I can regale you with the tale of the terrible liars.

The Doldrums

The last week or so has been slow, slow, slow. I went out on a late night stakeout, which was pretty much the highlight of the last few weeks. Other than the stakeout, I have just been knocking on doors and leaving cards and fliers. So lets talk about my uneventful stakeout.

I was actually staking out a friend of the person we are looking for. Someone at the bank figured out that the dude we are looking for used to live with his friend, and his paychecks still go to his friend’s house. The man we are looking for and the friend still work together delivering newspapers and apparently they go to the same warehouse to pick up papers. Someone at the bank was also able to finagle the fact they both go to pick up papers at like two in the morning. I’ve been out to this friend’s home previously and talked to some old lady, possibly his mom. I told her we were looking for her son’s friend and then she freaked out when her cat bolted out the door while she was talking to me. Being a natural animal wrangler, I was able to capture the feline and return it unharmed. I asked her to have her son call, and we could give him a reward for info leading to the repo of the car, but we never heard a damn thing, even after I saved her precious little whiskers.

At about 1:00 AM on a warm Wednesday night I head out the door. Before I leave I think about what I am doing and realize it is a little shady and if someone happens sees me sitting down the street for hours on end there could be a chance of confrontation;  I  grab my baseball bat I keep next to my bed, just in case.  I also grab  a book to read, then I stop by the 7-11 and buy a Twix and a Mountain Dew, my late night poison of choice when I am not drinking whiskey.  I arrive at the friend’s house at about 1:30 AM and I pick a spot down the street, out of the light and which provides me a vantage point where I will not miss the friend  leaving. The idea is for me to follow the friend to work and see if I can spot our guy, or at least follow the friend to work so we know where our guy works.

So I am set up. I am listening to Mastodon, because they fucking rip and it seems like it will be music conducive to stalking people and staying awake. I sit and wait, like a lion about to pounce on a gazelle, if that lion weighs 125 pounds and is a swarthy, skinny little guy with tattoos. I continue to sit and sit……and sit. I’ve already listened to all of Blood Mountain, so I throw on Black Sabbath, Master of Reality, which opens with the always awesome Sweet Leaf. As the repeat coughing at the beginning of the song starts I think to myself, what the fuck am I doing? How did I get here? I am basically stalking someone in the middle of the night, waiting outside his house hoping he will leave and lead me to some other dirt bag. But then it hits me just like the opening riff of Sweet Leaf: THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME! If you told me six months ago I would be sitting on a darkened residential street, waiting for some person to come out of his mom’s house so I can follow him to work at 2:00 AM, I would have thought you were full of shit,  or that you were describing the plot of a Hollywood comedy. My life has become a punch line to some awesome joke! As I have this epiphany, the next song on Master of Reality starts; After Forever comes on my stereo, which is a strange song where Ozzy sings about how awesome Jesus is, but the guitar line makes up for the wussy lyrics, and I sit there in the dark and soak in the riff and realize I am getting paid to listen to Black Sabbath and Mastodon! I am not getting paid a lot, and it is sporadic pay, but I am still getting paid. After Master of Reality ends, which is actually a short album at about 26 minutes, I look up at the clock and it is 3:05 AM. There is no sign of the guy. I decide to listen to one more album and then take off. I put on Neil Young, Harvest, one of my favorites. It was a mistake. The soothing sounds of that Canadian Crooner put me right to sleep. I wake up during the second to last song on the album, Needle and The Damage Done. I wipe the sleep form my eyes, take a slug off my remaining Mountain Dew and decide to call it a night.

On my way home I put on something more upbeat because I am tired as shit. Driving down the empty I-70 highway, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, Dig Lazarus Dig, keeps me awake. I reach my driveway, grab my bat from the back seat and head in to hit the hay. Nothing crazy happened this time around; no meth heads tried to get me to come in for “coffee”, no relatives badmouthed their children. It was a boring evening really, but it was still pretty fucking great. Mastodon, Sabbath, Neil Young, Nick Cave, Twix and Mountain Dew – hell yes.

The Stakeout Pt. 2

Here is the tale of my second stakeout, and it was definitely an interesting one. The woman that we are trying to find this time around is Sally. I have been out to Sally’s place before and she wouldn’t answer the door. While I was checking out her house the first time around, I saw that some of her neighbors were outside working on their cars, so I approached them.

Me: Hey, do you know if Sally still lives here?

Hick working on his truck: Umm, yup. She lives there and she is a total bitch.

Me: Ok. Well, we have you seen her Volkswagen bug lately?

Hick: It doesn’t never leave the garage. That thing has been in there for at least round six months now?

Me: Really? Well that is interesting to know. I am with the Bank and we are looking for her car. Here is our card. If you can help us out and give us a call with some info about Sally and her car we may be able to get you some kind of reward.

Hick: Well that sounds good. What kind of info you want?

Me: If you see her car, call us; if you happen to know when she goes to work, or what her schedule is, that could be helpful too. Anything that you could tell us about her would be great.

Hick: A’ight. I don’t live here, this here is my girlfriends house, but we all hate that bitch, so if I could get her shit Repo ’ed and get a little scratch at the same time, that would be fine by me.

Me: I am sure it would. Thanks for your time, I appreciate it.

So right after I leave the hicks call the Repo Man. I work with I have a stack of cards, and leave them everywhere I go. So the Repo Man calls me like ten minutes later and tells me the neighbors gave him all sorts of info. We know for sure that the car never leaves the garage, she has a new car and that she leaves between 8:00-8:30 AM every weekday. She won’t answer the door, so our best bet is to ambush her before she leaves for work. Next, the Repo Man calls the bank we are working for and we get approval for me to go out one morning and see if I can catch her before she leaves for work. The person at the bank who is handling this account actually calls me up later that day.

Bank Guy: Hey, this is the account manager handling Sally’s account.

Me: Oh hey, what’s going on?

Bank Guy: Nothing, I just wanted to call you and tell you to be a little careful when approaching Sally because we spoke to a friend of hers last week and her friend said that Sally pulled a gun on her.

Me: You talked to a friend of hers? What friend?

Bank Guy: Just a friend she had put down as a reference. Just be careful when you go to talk to her because apparently she has a gun.

Me: That is a little disconcerting. I will try to be as gentle as possible I suppose.

This is everything that led up to my second stakeout. As one may imagine, I was not looking forward to this. Her neighbors say she is a raging bitch, she allegedly pulled a gun on a friend and now I have to go ambush her in the morning before work. If she is anything like I am in the morning before work, when I was actually employed, then she is not in a good mood. I actually put off going out on this job a few ties, even though I would be getting paid $100 no matter what; $100 isn’t going to cover my medical bills if I get shot by some crazed deadbeat.

After putting off going out to confront Sally for a week the Repo Man calls me.

Repo Man: Hey Taylor, I need you to go out on Sally’s account tomorrow.

Me: OK, what’s the rush.

Repo Man: Well, their neighbors called me and told me there was a moving van in front of their house today and they were moving all sorts of furniture and shit out. You need to get over there and find out what’s going on before they split.

Me: All right. I will go out tomorrow morning and let you know what happens.

I am not happy. Really, who want to have a crazy lady attack them? Do you? I don’t. So the next morning I get up bright an early, the coffee is already a’brewing when I get up. I grab my baseball bat, just in case and I head out to Sally’s house.

I get to Sally’s at about 7:45 AM. I wanted to get there a little early, just to be sure I don’t miss her. She is already driving a new car around, and I am hoping that since she is moving she just doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of taking the car we are looking for somewhere. After about 20 minutes of sitting in my car I see a blond woman in a full sweat suit, smoking a cigarette and she is walking toward my car. She doesn’t look happy. She has that kind of smarmy “fuck you” look on her face. All I can think is, this must be Sally and this is going to be unpleasant.

The woman walks right up to my car. Her face is caked in foundation, and is clearly covering up a bunch of blemishes and what look like meth sores.  She has a lit cigarette in her hand.

Mystery Lady: Hey. You looking for Sally?

Me: Yes I am.

Mystery Lady: Well, she actually left real early this mornin’. I aint never seen her leave her house before 8:00 AM the entire time I done been living here.

Me: Thanks for letting me know.

Mystery Lady: I am the neighbor that has been talking to you guys. I tried callin’ the number after she left this mornin’ but no one done answered.

Me: Again, thanks for letting me know so I didn’t sit here all day.

Neighbor Lady: Sure. Listen up, there is nothing more that I want than to get that whore’s car back for you guys. This bitch is on my hit list.

Me: Interesting. Why is she on your hit list?

Neighbor Lady: Well, she got me in a heap of trouble. She called the cops on me and my ex boyfriend while we were yellin’ at each other and she went and told the pigs that I hit him. I spent two fucking days in jail! Two fucking days in Jail? You know what that’s like?

Me: I can’t say that I do.

Neighbor Lady: Well, it is down right nasty. I am still having to go to court and shit for it. And after my boyfriend and I broke up, he started seeing her.

Me: Your boyfriend started seeing Sally?

I need to take a break from the conversation at this point to explain something about this Neighbor’s demeanor. First of all, she is talking like a million miles and hour. Her eyes are dilated and she is kind of shaking. I assume that she is on meth and as the conversation went on, I was led to believe that I may be correct in my assumption.

Methed Out Lady: Yeah, that bastard. He has been shacking up with her and he is into some shady shit.

Me: Like what?

Methed Out Lady: Well, he deals meth, and he is on unemployment, but he works under the table for this auto body shop and they are into all sorts of shady fucking shit if you know what I mean.
Me: I am not sure I do know what you mean. She is on her second cigarette now and is getting a lot more excitable.

Methed Out Lady: Well, you know, they take stolen cars and shit and do stuff with them?

Me: What kind of stuff?

Methed Out Lady: You know, shady shit. Selling ‘em and fixin’ up and stolen shit and shit.

Me: Oh, stolen shit and shit, I see, that does sound shady.

Methed Out Lady: So you can see why I hate that bitch. She is a real bitch.

Me: Indeed.

Methed Out Lady: Well, I saw them moving stuff out yesterday, and there was a moving van out there.

Me: Well, I really appreciate the help.

Methed Out Lady: Anything I can do to help you nail that whore. I fucking hate her.

Me: So I gathered.

Just then we are interrupted by another neighbor who comes out of her garage in a blue robe.

Other Neighbor: You looking for the Volkswagen Beatle?

Me: Yeah, I am.

Other Neighbor: She actually took it out of the garage last night. The battery was dead and they had to jump start it. I hope you can find her, because has been the worst neighbor ever. I don’t want to really get into it.

Me: Ok. Well, here is my card, if you see the Volkswagen, please give us a call.

Other Neighbor: Ok, sounds good. I got to get going.

Me: Thanks again.

Methed Out Neighbor: So, umm, you want to come in for some coffee or something?

You heard right, the Meth Head just invited me in for coffee.

Me: I hold up my coffee mug and point to it saying, No, that’s ok, I have a full mug here.

Methed Out Neighbor: You sure you don’t want to come in for a bit, have a bite to eat.

She flashes a crooked tooth smile at me, kind of bats her eyelashes.

Me: No thank you. I actually have some other accounts to head out on, so I better be going.

Methed Out Neighbor: Well, if you want I can give you my cell number and I will call you if I see or hear anything else.

Me: Here is my card, just call the number on there if you have any more information on Sally.

Methed Out Neighbor: You sure you don’t want my number?

Me: No, just call the Repo Man. He is the man to talk to about these matters. Thanks again, I better get going.

There you have it. The second stakeout. We didn’t find the car, but we did get some good information. I actually got the name of the auto body shop, but for obvious reasons I didn’t include it here. We also now know she is moving and actually moved the car we are looking for out of the garage for the first time in 6 months. After I relayed all of this information to the Repo Man, and he had a chuckle about the whole conversation I had with the Methed Out Neighbor, he decided to just let the bank know we needed to get a court order and a warrant. We still haven’t found the car yet, but the Bank is checking her utilities, because she will eventually need electricity, water and power, and when she hooks it up, we will have her new address.

In my next post I will tell you about my third stakeout. Thanks again for reading.

The Stakeout: Part 1

So, I’ve only being doing this whole stalker, I mean, repo thing for about three weeks now. But so far my absolute favorite part of this job has been the stakeout. Just being able to say that I am going out on a stakeout is pretty cool. Seriously. How many times in ones life can you say to your significant other, “Hey babe, I am going out to sit on a perp for a few hours, see what I can shake out. Now I gotta blow.”? Well, I will tell you how many times I have said that, twice so far.

So the best thing about a stakeout for me is that I get paid no matter what happens. Usually this is how it works. We have a case and we have been unable to get the person we are looking for to talk to us. They won’t answer their door, and usually their car is kept in the garage and it never leaves. So the repo man I work for will call the bank and say, hey, we need to have Taylor go out and wait around to see if he can spot the car. The bank will approved the stakeout, and I get $100 for my time; the $100 does not include the fee that I will earn should I actually end up helping repo the car, so the stakeout can be very lucrative.

My first stakeout was a few weeks ago, early one Saturday morning. Being an unemployed writer, I haven’t been out of bed before the asscrack of noon for months, but I was sure as shit getting up to earn a little scratch. So I hauled my sorry carcass out of bed bright and early on a fine Saturday morning. I got some coffee in me, and I headed out for my first stakeout. The woman we are looking for lives in some really nice, newly constructed town homes south of Denver. I’ve been out there twice before, and she refuses to answer the door. She keeps her car in the garage and you can see it in garage if you stand on the edge of your car when you open the door and peek through the window; my point is, we know that she still has the car. The payment is about half a year past due. So after guzzling like a gallon of coffee and stopping at a Target on the way because I drank too much coffee and had to take a dump,  I arrived outside of “Stacey’s” posh town home. The first thing I noticed was a new car  parked in front of her garage. It wasn’t blocking the garage entirely, but it is partially blocking it. It isn’t a brand new model, but it still has the dealer tags on it. So the first thing I think is, this asshole bought a new used car, so I call up my Skiptracer Buddy to give him the score.

Me: Yo, this is Taylor, it looks like Stacey has a new car in front of her house.

Skiptracer Buddy: Are you shitting me?

Me: I am not shitting you, I am staring a tan Chevy Blazer in front of her garage.

Skiptracer Buddy: This is actually pretty common. The people we are looking for will go and trade in their cars for a new one. Get the info off the car if you can. Like where it was purchased, if it has a temp tag, everything you can without having someone come out and think you are trying to steal shit.

Me: OK, I will do. Sorry I wasn’t able to do more, but maybe I will hang around for like an hour or so see what I can see.

Skiptracer Buddy: Just go knock on the door, see if she will talk to you. Tell her we know she has a new car and we just want to be able to close out our file. If she has a new car, maybe she will just give up her old one?

Me: Ok, sounds good.

So I head up to her house, write down the info about the car and I pull around in front of her town home, which I later realize was a mistake, and I knock on the door. I hear someone running down the stairs and then I see someone behind the frosted glass on the front door. Instead of answering the door, the woman, who I assume I the woman we are looking for locks the door and walks off. So I pound on the door harder and yell out, “Stacey we need to talk to you today about your car.” She comes back to the door, yells out, “Fuck you motherfucker!”, flips me off and walks away. I stand there and knock a few more times, but to no avail. So I head back to my car to leave. I drive around the corner and park on the street to call my Skiptracer Buddy. I am telling him what happened when all of the sudden the car we are looking for comes tearing out of the parking lot. I was parked a little down the road, so she didn’t see me. I tell my buddy,  “That crazy lady we are looking for just pulled out in the car we are looking for, so I am going to tail her.”

The idea behind following someone is that hopefully they will go to a grocery store, or to the movies or to a friend’s house. While they are inside, we call the tow truck, the truck comes, takes the car and the poor bastard inside comes back out and realizes their shit has been straight repossessed! The tow truck  the repo man has can have a car all jacked up and ready to go in under a minute without him even having to leave his vehicle!

So back to Stacey. The hunt is on. Now, I’ve never tailed someone before, so I am just thinking I will stay a few car lengths back, like in the movies, and all will be well. Well, it didn’t really go as planned. First off, this woman was already driving like a bat out of hell, and she hadn’t even seen me. She is doing like 65 on a road where the posted speed limit is 40. I am doing my best to keep up with her, and honestly my heart is pounding. This shit is exciting! I am almost giddy! I have to tell someone what I am doing. So I call my buddy Kelly.

Me: Kelly, guess what I am doing right now!

Kelly: What?

Me: I am on  a stakeout and I am fucking following this lady! (I am kind of giggling while I try and get this sentence out of my mouth)

Kelly: Seriously?

Me: Yeah seriously! This is awesome! Oh shit, she is driving like an insane woman, I have to go.

Kelly: Be careful Taylor, don’t get shot.

Me: Ok, good advice, I won’t!

It’s as if I’ve stepped into the pages of some hardboiled detective novel! I am trailing some dame; what adventures am I going to get into next? I am thinking how awesome this is going to be when we snag her car when all of the sudden the two cars I am behind decide to get out of the lane I am in at the same time, leaving me at a stop light right behind Stacey. Shit! I am trying to not look at her, but she already saw my face and my car when I went to her front door. The light changes and she still hasn’t noticed me, or so I think, when she guns it! She is driving like the hounds of hell are on her ass. She is doing at least 70 or 80 and is weaving in and out of traffic. I am trying to keep up with her, when I start thinking about her state of mind. She is now aware that some strange  dude, that is trying to repo her car, is following her. This is not good. I try and tail her for a bit, but just decide that she may be a unstable, and I don’t want to get stabbed or shot (thanks again for the solid advice Kelly). So she blows through a red light and I don’t even try to follow her. I have failed. My heart is still pounding, and I am a little disappointed that I wasn’t able to get her car repossessed. How cool would that have been? My first stakeout and not only would I have tailed her, but I get her car too? So, my first stakeout is over. I head home with my tail between my legs, but I am $100 richer.

There is still a plus here. We know she still has the car that we are looking for, and she does drive it. Some people will just leave the car we are looking for in the garage and stop driving it all together. Later this week I plan on going over there during the day to try and follow her to work, in my other car that she hasn’t seen this time, and maybe I will wear a hat? Maybe I could get some cool disguise? I have a hamburglar costume I could wear.

So while I failed this first time, I will try again. My next post will be about the cracked out lady whom I met on a stakeout earlier this week and how she tried to invite me in her home for “coffee”. Gross.

Are people who don’t pay their bills assholes, or does not paying your bills turn you into one? Pt 2.

I am well aware of the fact who that some people just get into financial trouble and can’t pay their bills, especially in this day and age. These people are good people, they just lost their jobs or got injured or had some generally bad luck. Then we come to the people who I deal with and so far I am convinced that they are just assholes. They are hiding from us, lying to us, are shitty to their neighbors and friends. Seriously.

I guess this goes without saying, but I am never really using real names with any of the people I discuss due to the legality of airing people’s dirty laundry to the world. With that out of the way let’s talk about Mr. White.  Mr. White has a Ford Explorer and he stopped making payments on. We don’t have a current address for him because when we went by his home address we found out that he had recently been evicted. Immediately one thinks of this poor guy who was kicked out of his apartment and obviously isn’t paying his bills due to some sort of tragedy in his life. You may think to yourself, much like I did,  maybe  Mr. White was out trying to help old ladies carry their groceries across the street and he got hit by a truck; or maybe he stopped a mugger from stealing some defenseless woman’s purse, who was carrying her newborn child and he took a knife to the gut; or maybe he is a machinist in a shop and he lost some fingers in a freak accident? That is the nice thing to think right? Those would all be great reasons to not be paying your bills. Well, you and I are both wrong about Mr. White. Turns out, the dude is just an asshole. You ask, “But Taylor, how can you possibly know that he is an asshole?” Well, because I talked to his old neighbors and more importantly, his in-laws.

So, the first place I check out is his old apartment building. I knock on his door and no answer, so I go knock on some neighbors’ doors.  After discovering that his apartment is empty, I happened to see the exact make and color of car I am searching for in the parking lot. I don’t have the license plate number, so I have to rely on the VIN. If you don’t know where your vehicle’s VIN number is, I will fill you in. It’s right in the front dash, toward the bottom of your windshield, and it’s hard to see. The Vin is found in your dash, but it is also stamped into the frame of your car, so that your vehicle can always be identified. It’s pretty much impossible to look inconspicuous when you are trying to scope out the VIN, but I can’t have this car towed unless I am sure it’s the correct one. So I am trying to look as non-shady as possible, and I look through the window when a woman comes up to me and says, “Uh, what are you doing?”

Me: Well, I am looking for Mr. White, he lives or lived in apartment 32.

On High Alert Woman: Oh, you are about the third person to come by and look at my car thinking it was his.

Me:I am sorry if I alarmed you, here is my card just so you know I’m not up to anything shady.

On High Alert Woman: Oh, I believe you. Mr. White got evicted. He wouldn’t leave and the cops actually came over and made him leave and they also repossessed a TV and some furniture and stuff. I heard that he bought a ton of stuff with a credit card and just never made any payment.

Me: Well, that’s not too smart. If you happen to see him again can you give me a call?

Calmed Down Woman: Sure. I doubt he will be back here though. He owes the building like 5 months rent, and I’m pretty sure he actually was arrested when he got evicted.

Me: Well thanks for your time, sorry if I alarmed you when I was snooping around you car.

Calmed Down Woman: We’ve just had some cars broken into recently, but I thought you might be a repo guy looking for Mr. White’s car. I just had to be sure.

Me: Absolutely, have a good day.

So, he doesn’t live here, he hasn’t paid rent in a while and he may have gone to jail. I call the bank that I am working for and give them this information. They get back to me later in the day with several alternate addresses. They give me his Mother’s address, his Sister’s, his Aunt’s and his in-laws’. I feel I should explain something here. I am always just a little bit nervous when approaching a friend or family members home to ask if they have seen their relatives vehicle. You never know how they are going to react, so I always have to tell myself to be calm, and courteous, because I don’t want to go on the defensive and start being an asshole, which if you know me, is kind of my natural inclination. The smart ass in me instantly wants to be a jerk when someone is a jerk to me. The saying you catch more flies with honey is very appropriate in these situations.

So, I have a few new places to check out.  I look up the addresses and his Mom and his in-laws  are within three miles of each other, so I decide to hit those up and see what I can find out. I head over to his Mom’s house first. No one answers. I leave a card and a flier at the door that basically states the law regarding people who won’t give their vehicles to the bank. It says something to the effect that depending on the amount, not handing over your vehicle will be a class 3 or class 5 felony. It has a cute little cop car on it and is meant to inspire fear. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.  No one is there so I head over the in-laws.

I pull up to a quaint little cul-de-sac, and there is obviously someone at home because the front door is open and so is the garage, and there is  car in the driveway. I kind of psyche myself p, because I know this could get weird. I head up and knock on the door and a woman answers.

Me: Hi, I am looking for Mr. White. The woman looks at me very puzzled.

In-law: Umm, Mr. White? I know who he is, but he doesn’t live here. What is this about?

Me: Well, I am from the bank. I lower my paperwork so she can see it, she takes the bait and glances.

In-law: Oh, has he not paid his car payment? That doesn’t surprise me one bit. Man, I told my stupid daughter not to marry that fucking prick, but no one wants to listen to me. That little shit head has caused more trouble to my daughter than any other damned soul on this earth. He is a fucking prick.

Me: Ummm, ok. I am sorry to hear that. You haven’t happened to see his Ford Explorer lately have you?

In-law: No, I don’t even know if my daughter is still with him. After that sunofabitch smacked her around a few times she left him. Last I heard they were getting divorced. Did you try his Mom’s house, I know he has been staying over there.

Me: Yeah, I went by there but no one answered. Here is my card, if you can help us find his car we may be able to get you a reward.

In-law: I would like nothing more than to stick it to that fucking asshole any way I can. You know, when I first met him I instantly new that he was a piece of shit.

Me: Wow. Well, he doesn’t sound like a good guy.

In-law: You’re goddamn right he aint a good guy. Look up “Fucking Prick” in the Dictionary and there will be his picture.

Me: I will have to look that up later.

In-law: Well now you are being cute aint you? Look, I will make some calls and see what I can dig up. Hopefully my daughter left him. I apologize for all of my foul language, I am going to have to put like $20 in the swear jar after this one.

Me: Don’t worry about it. I appreciate your help and have a good day.

So, there you have it. Two for Two. So far these people are just turning out into wife beating, non-bill paying, all around assholes. I think that the nice and decent people just give up their cars or try to work out something with the bank. At least that is my current theory. We still haven’t found Mr. White’s Ford Explorer.

In my next post we will talk about the stakeout. I have only been on two so far, but they are great. I basically go and sit outside a home and hope that the person we are looking for leaves in the car we want back. Once they leave, I follow them to wherever they are going, and when they get out, the tow truck swoops in and snags their vehicle. Stakeouts are great because I get paid a decent amount whether my work ends up in a repo or not. Expect a new update sometime later this week and thanks for reading.