Lately I've become an unwitting answering service for collections people looking for some guy named Johnny James. He once had my phone number and gave it to every lender who stupidly issued him credit, all 937 of them. They now harrass me and my husband in the evenings. The persistent ones try to wear me down asking over and over if I'm sure I don't know Johnny and where he is. They think he's my derelict brother who's hiding out in our kitchen cabinets. They think that if they interrogate me long enough I'm going to hand the phone over to Johnny who's been standing there the whole time sipping brandy out of a crystal snifter that he never paid for. Like I'm going to suddenly realize, "Oh, you mean THIS Johnny James. Yeah, he's right here. Hold on."I've started calling them back and asking if they've heard from him yet. "Hey, Sue from Bank of America, did you ever get ahold of Johnny because I have messages for him from Chase, Citibank, Washington Mutual (the high interest rate division), In the Hole Credit Card Company, Failure at Life Auto Loans, Blind Bob's Rent 2 Own Recliners, the Family Jewels Pawn Shop, Kidneys 4 Kash, and some guy named Louie Ballsmasher who wants da money he lent you.
If any of you good Laurens Countians know Johnny James, I'm sure he's a swell guy. But for goodness sake, don't co-sign on anything for him and tell him to stop using my phone number.
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