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.”
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.