Upon moving recently, our address change request didn’t process
correctly, and we lost over a month’s worth of mail. (Fun, right?) Some trickled
in here and there once I called the USPS and followed the appropriate steps to attempt to fix the situation,
but much of it was lost, one of which being an old phone bill we didn’t
know we had to pay to begin with.
You see, when we set-up our new phone services with the same service
provider, AT&T, we assumed our accounts would merge and carry
over. Some how, though, our old account didn’t merge with our new,
and so, we were quite surprised to find a duplicate bill for $150
for our old number when we’d paid the same amount for our new. And
before we could do or say anything about it, because our mail was lost, we were placed into
collections. We were
stuck.
Almost immediately, my husband began receiving numerous unscrupulous
calls to his cell phone from an 866 number, and it wouldn’t stop,
especially while he’s at work doing Army-type things. At times, he
had to turn his ringer off just so that they’d stop interrupting,
which didn’t bode well for my trying to reach him. I had to
take care of this myself immediately.
I finally received documentation from this so-called collection
agency, Bay Area Credit Service LLC, and called them to set up a
payment arrangement with them.
A pre-recorded message answered, telling me I’ve reached a
debt-collector, and that this is an attempt to collect a debt, all
information will be used…. blah blah barf. I reached a live person,
finally.
“Hello? I’d like to set up a payment arrangement and change the
number with which you contact us, you’re calling my husband’s cell
phone at work.”
“Okay, let me transfer you to the person whose handling your
account…”
CLICK. Disconnected. Because that’s EXACTLY what you want to happen
when you’re already unglued over this situation.
I call back, only to hear the same stupid pre-recorded message of doom I luckily got to sit through,
again.
“Hello? I’d like to set up a payment arrangement and change the
number with which you contact us, you’re calling my husband’s
cell…”
“Can I get your name?” The douche-bag cuts me off, rudely.
“My name is Lisa Douglas, I’m his wife. As I was saying…”
“Mrs. Douglas, let me attempt to connect you with the person
handling the account. Also, let me remind you, this is in attempts
to collect a debt…”
“Sir, your pre-recorded message already said this, I don’t need to
hear it again.”
“..any attempt to collect this debt may be recorded for quality
assurance purposes…” he continues, interrupting, talking over me.
This guy is going to get lit-the-hell-up in a minute. Thank goodness he was about to transfer me.
“Uh, thanks so much for listening. Can you transfer me now?”
“What type of payment would you like to pay this bill with?”
“Um, you said you were going to transfer me to the person handling
the account?”
“He’s busy.”
“Okay?…”
“Now, you were saying, how would you like to pay this account?”
“I didn’t say pay the account in full, I’d like to set up a payment
arrangement.”
“A payment arrangement?” He stammers, as though this concept is
completely foreign to him.
“Yes, a p-a-y-m-e-n-t a-r-r-a-n-g-e-m-e-n-t. As in, a little bit
each month for the next, say, four months. That comes out to be…”
“Okay, so, you want to pay this in increments?”
“Yes, exactly. Four months, which comes out to be…”
“Okay, and how would you like to pay for this?”
“By check.”
“Check?”
“Yes!” said sternly.
Seriously, was this guy going to copy
everyfrigginthing I said after I say it? “A check, yes please.”
“Can I have the account information?”
“Um, no. I meant, a paper check, to be mailed in. I don’t want to
give you my account info over the phone to auto-draft.”
“You want to send in a paper check every month?”
OHMYFREAKINGOD, must you copy everyfrigginthing I say?! *thud* “Yes,
I plan to pay you by check through the mail, with a stamp, every
month until it’s paid.”
“But how will I know you will pay this?”
“Um, I called you to set this up, remember? And how will I know you
won’t continue to charge my account for monies I don’t owe after the
four months are over?”
“How do you plan to mail us the payment?”
“In the mail? With a stamp? Uh, you guys sent me a bill. At the bottom of
said bill is a payment remittance slip. I plan to mail in the
payment with my check using that.”
“And you have our address?”
SERIOUSLY? Do you know know what a ‘bill’ or ‘payment remittance’
slip is!?!? “Yes, it’s on the slip, sir.”
“And you have our phone number?”
Thud. That’s the sound of my head rolling off my shoulders and hitting the floor. Is he freakin’ serious?
“Uh, yes. Recall, again, I called you.“
“Do you have my extension?”
“No, it lists no extension on the bill.”
“The person handling this account is Ronald Smith.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“So when will you mail this in?”
“Um, sir? You mentioned extension?” {smacks head}
“Oh, right. Yes. My extension is 5235.”
“And you’re Ronald Smith?”
“No, I’m Andrew Martin. Ronald Smith is handling the account.”
Meanwhile, I call bullsh!t, this guy has a really thick accent. His
name is Andrew Martin as much as mine is Penelope Leadbottom. “But I
need your extension?!?”
“Yes.”
“Okay?!”
“So, when will you send this?”
“Today.”
“And you will pay this on the 8th of every month?”
“Well, I’m not sure, let me ask, when do you mail these statements
to go out each month. On the 1st?”
“I don’t know. When will you pay these every month, on the 8th?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. I can’t commit to paying this every
month on the 8th if I don’t receive a statement with payment coupon
from you by that date. Can you tell me when you’ll mail these,
roundabout?”
“I don’t know. I need to know when you’ll pay this, so I can put it
in my notes.”
“And I need to know when you’ll mail this by so that I can tell you!
Can’t you just type in your notes that I’ll pay it as soon as it’s
received, since you can’t tell me when you’ll mail your statements?”
“Fine.”
“Alright, thank you. Have a great…”
And he hung up on me. Hilarious.
This head explosion now has been brought to you today by the Post
Office and ridiculously stupid collection agents.
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