Tuesday, December 13, 2005

In the Name of All That is Holy, Jittaun R. Townsend, Please Pay Your Freaking Student Loan

Several months ago, I began receiving mail that was addressed to a Jittaun R. Townsend. Whenever I receive mail that is not addressed to ME—as in, me by my current name, which is not the name I had when I was married, because anyone who does not know that five years after my divorce is probably not anyone I want to be hearing from anyway—I throw it away. So that’s what I did. For a while.

Around the fifth or sixth item that arrived in my mailbox for Mr. Townsend, however, I began to suspect that the bank that was listed on the return address, which also happens to be a bank I have accounts with, seemed determined to reach him. And since he and I share a last name and first initial, and since he apparently has been living at my address without my knowledge, I thought it prudent to make an effort to contact the bank and let them know that I am not Jittaun and I don’t know him.

It seems that Mr. Townsend is very, very far behind in paying his student loans. I am not. After I explained the situation, the bank’s customer service representative verified that my account numbers matched my name, address and phone number, and determined that there had been a mistake. He apologized for the confusion, and said, “this actually happens quite often.” Super.

A few weeks later, the collection agency began calling. Six. Times. A. Day. Twice I called the number left on my voicemail and was connected with the collection agency’s voicemail, into which I explained the situation, spelling my name AND Jittaun’s. The calls continued. Twice, I spoke to actual human beings, and two times more, I explained. I am not Jittaun R. Townsend. I do not know Jittaun R. Townsend. PLEASE STOP CALLING ME SIX TIMES A DAY.

Then, the calls stopped, and I thought it was over.

Until last night when I received a voicemail from the bank explaining to Mr. Townsend that he would be reported to the IRS if he did not call back before 8:55 p.m.

“Okay, let’s see if we can get this cleared up,” the very friendly phone representative said. I gave her my name, address and phone number. “What is the name of the person the voicemail was for?” I told her. “Can you spell that?” Hell yeah, I can freaking spell it. “J-I-T-T-A-U-N. Last name same as mine.”

“Oh yes, here he is,” she said. “Wow, you got that on the first try.” A-bloody-stonishing.

“Okay, I’ve found the name of the person who contacted you and I’ll be sending him an e-mail right now. We apologize for the confusion, and you won’t be receiving any more calls.”

Promises, promises.

If anyone out there knows this Jittaun R. Townsend, please let me know. I have a very important message that I'd LOOOOOOOOVE to deliver to him personally.

4 comments:

Tiffany said...

I totally feel your pain! Someone named Tim Devoy needs to pay for his motorcycle--a Harley, I happen to know thanks to the phone calls.

Anonymous said...

This is Juittan. Got ya Bee-yatch

Crazy Lady said...

Ah yes, I delt with about 2 years of "Wendy Logston" and her not paying her bills. To anyone. EVER. The bitch used my number for everything, as far as I could tell. So Wendy, if you are out there, get a clue. From what I have been able to find out - you live in WISCONSIN - giving a Nevada number is just plane STUPID!!!! Oh, and Visa would like you to call them.

Ok, thanks for giving me that platform to yell at her. I'm better now

Banana said...

We've been getting calls for Michale for 6 months now.

Fortunately the only person I'm confused with on paper is my sister. Probably because our first and middle initials swap, but dammit - she's never even set foot in DC! Why does she keep getting credit card offers here (and am I legally obligated to send them to her?)