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On Burning Bridges... Flaming Bridge
Submission by Bill Wickland
In '64, just out of the Air Force, I went up to Detroit to see a buddy, and I ended up getting a job as a repo man for a big bank...
Big department: 20 of us chasing cars, and over there, 20 other
guys chasing major appliances. We were one of four banks our size, each with huge
collection departments. 
The good side was that the bank re-financed my '63 Morgan Plus
Four. God, it was a "straight" outfit. Their theory was that any person who
fell three payments behind was a thief, and should be treated as one.
Hey, the town was broke in the fall of 1964. Riots came the next year. People were having trouble. Well, I was nice; now and then I would wear a sport coat instead of the obligatory dark suit. The bosses ragged on me for it. End of the first month, I came in third in collections. The next two months, I was second. Still, they called me a fluke and wouldn't admit that being nice gets results.
I had already learned how to be in debt over my head; I could empathize.
In my file was a true deadbeat, who lived in the sticks. One fine afternoon I ditched the bank car and drove my Morgan out to talk with her. Her Ford (too old and dinged to repossess) was chained to a tree out front. She went off the scale in rage at me and my fancy British car.
I explained that I was in debt to my butt over it, joked her a little, and got a payment!
I was a hero for a few minutes the next day, until they remembered that I didn't do my job correctly. And the woman quit paying again, because I had told her that we would never repo her ride.
So I quit...
Before I left, I wrote an official letter to the "deadbeat" saying that we drew deadbeat accounts out of a hat each month, and that she had been selected. "In case a collector screws up and calls you about the loan," I informed her, "just remind him that you are Deadbeat of the Month. Refer to this letter."
I'd had fun in Detroit, but ended up wanting to be home in Oregon by New Year's Day; I chuckled all the way across the country in the Morg. But I ended up driving around more than working for the first three months back home, and just after I had gotten two jobs and could catch up, they repo'ed it. Full payoff or nothing, and both my former department heads were "on vacation and couldn't be reached."
They got me good, but it was fun even now recalling that letter.
See Bill's Young at Heart at WIRED'S Rants & Raves...
______________________________________
Have you ever hated a gig or it's brass, so-o-o-o much that giving notice wasn't
enough?
It'd be a gas to hear YOUR bridge-burning story.
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