An Open Letter to the douchebag who called me at work:

Dear sir:

While I am an administrator and not a collector, I do understand that I do, in fact, work in a collection agency.  So trust me when I say that I realize part of my job is dealing with angry people.  In fact, I do it almost every day - people are constantly yelling at me, screaming at me to remove their credit bureau listings, and telling that they have no debts with my company.

But you, sir, brought douchebaggery to a new level.  Were there an award for being a douche, you would win the gold, with that guy from the Slap Chop commercials to your right, and Tiger Woods to your left.  That's right, sir - I seriously think you have a chance of winning the douche olympics. 

What are the douche olympics, you ask?  Why, they are a competition of all of the world's douches, fighting to see who is the world's biggest douche.  There are dozens of categories, judges from all over the world, and they're even televised - you can watch every event on FOX. 

It isn't that you excel in one particular area of douchery, but rather that you have high levels of douchery in multiple fields.  You, sir, could "own the podium".  You have that lack of intelligence and vocabulary necessary for douches the world over.  You have that self-centred attitude that is endemic to the western world.  And you have all of the charm of a rabid rattlesnake.  Add it all together, and we can see why you could have the gold hanging around your neck. 

For example, telling me that you're going to file a "class action lawsuit" against my company because we're calling you for a debt... that's not the brightest thing.  When I accidentally mention to you that it's impossible for one person to file a class action lawsuit, especially over three phone calls, your response should not be to correct me with an obvious lie ("my lawyer will be contacting you about this class action lawsuit if you don't do what I say").  That's a hell of a lot better than the Nigerian who can't figure out a better way to get rid of his father's crooked oil money. 

Expecting that we automatically know the second you hit "payment submitted" on your online banking reeks of self-centred douchebaggery - as if I wait by my computer, anxiously waiting for the moment you pay off your one hundred and thirteen dollar bill.  And then trying to explain to me how online banking works - me, the guy who processes online payments for about three hours out of every day - well, that little feat put you miles ahead of that Polish contestant who likes to kick cans at slow children.

Screaming at our receptionist got you some points.  As did refusing to leave a message - I particularly like the fact that you called us over ten times, and never left a single message.  Had you left a message, we would have replied a lot sooner, and your issue would have been cleared. 

So, yeah, you're going to win the douche olympics.  Great for you!   Unfortunately, I had to listen to your screaming tirade over the phone.  And while I know you thought you  were intimidating me with your foul language and falsetto screeching reminiscent of feral baboons, in reality, I was making faces at the phone and searching google.  Like I said, I've been screamed at before. 

But here's the part where karma bites you in the ass.  See, it turns out, we owe you money.  We owe you a little over a hundred bucks, due to a clerical error we made a few weeks ago.  I tried to tell you this - twice - but you screamed over me.  I gave it my college best, and I certainly wasn't going to bust a nut helping you.   Fact is, I don't think anyone will - there are several notes in your file that you're a douchebag. 

I have a feeling that money will be sitting there until you actually listen to the people you're screaming at.  Until then, though... we'll be on the other end of the phone, making fun of you.

Enjoy your gold medal.

Douche.