The Clearing
House
by Doug Dawson
I ‘m a
guy who likes his privacy, OK? Don’t like
people coming to the front door, knocking loudly
and telling me I’ve got to have a new roof,
new siding or that I’ve got to change my gas
and electric service. The ubiquitous
telemarketers are even worse because there are
more of them and I protect myself with my
answering machine, except for this one time, when
I forgot my usual caution and reached for the
phone when it rang.
“Hello,”
said I, naively.
A pleasant,
yet subtly aggressive voice asked “Is this
Mr. Anderson.”
“Yes, it
is.”
“How are
you today, Mr. Anderson?”
I didn’t
say anything, as I knew that the second somebody
asks “How are you?” on the phone you
know it’s a telemarketer. This was my
opportunity to hang up, and confound me, I didn’t
take that opportunity.
“Mr.
Anderson? Are you still there? (pause) How are
you today?”
Once again, I
didn’t answer, knowing I should have hung up
to spare myself what was coming, only this time I
really didn’t see what was coming.
“Mr.
Anderson, this is the Social Security
Administration.” Now she was arousing my
curiosity.
“Yes, is
there a problem?” I asked.
“You are
in danger of losing your benefits, sir.”
“What?
They don’t tell you that over the phone,
they notify you in writing. Say, who is this?”
“It’s
special operator 672, sir, and I assure you your
benefits may be cut off, that’s why I’m
calling you today.”
“And how
do I keep from losing my benefits?”
“We have
a special program …”
“Wait a
minute, is this another scam? Not so long ago,
people called me and told me they were from the I.R.S.
and that I was in trouble with them, but for a
very reasonable fee I could take care of
…”
“This is
not a scam, sir, and I really am from the Social
Security Administration.”
“And
another time they called me and said I was in
trouble with the law – locally, that is. And
once again, for a very reasonable fee I could
…”
“Sir, I’m
looking up your records as we speak and I do see
that you’ve been contacted by various
agencies and you haven’t responded to them
in a timely fashion. That means there could be
outstanding warrants against you, plus the fact
that the Social Security Administration is
adjudicating your case as we speak. Sir, you are
in real danger of …”
“What the
hell is this? Are you threatening me? I’ve
got half a notion to call my lawyer then call the
police and then the F.B.I. and whomever else you
call to get threatening pests like you off my
back. I’ll get the law after you … I’ll
… I’ll …”
“No, sir,
we are the law, in a manner of speaking. You see,
we represent all these agencies and a few more, I’ll
have you know.”
“What do
you mean? Who the hell are you people?”
“You
might think of us as a sort of clearing house,
sir. We help people when they are in trouble,
that is, we intermediate between customers like
yourself and government agencies. For a fee we
broker for you, we handle your case and alleviate
the problems. Just let us work for you and
…”
“Clearing
house, eh? I’m speaking to you on my house
phone, my land-line that is, but I have my cell
phone in my other hand and I’m calling my
lawyer while I still have you on the phone. I’m
going to get to the bottom of this … just
give me a second, will you?”
“Sir,
that’s not going to do you any good. All the
government agencies we just mentioned and the
local law establishment have a problem with you
and you are going to be in big trouble if you don’t
cooperate, … as we like to say, ‘let
our family help your family.’”
“Ok, his
phone is ringing now. We’ll figure out just
who you people are, report you to the proper
authorities and let them deal with you. Calling
people at home, pestering them, scaring them
… I’ll fix your little red wagon!”
“Fix my
little red what, sir? Why don’t you just let
us help you? We don’t cost that much and we
will handle all these problems for you.”
“Hello
Fred? I’ve got these creeps on the line.
They’re threating to cut off my Social
Security, get me in Dutch with the I.R.S. ….’
“What’s
that? Just hang up on them? I never thought of
that!” Before I could do that, she beat me
to the punch – the next thing I heard on the
land line was … “CLICK!”
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