It was just another day at work. Except on this day, I’m standing on a stranger’s porch with a gun pointed at my face. This is my job.
It was my second-to-last stop of the night. As soon as I started knocking on this person’s door I had a feeling in my stomach that this would not be just any other service.
As a self-employed process server, I have attorneys, homeowners and companies pay me to deliver the bad news (by any means) to dead-beat dads behind on their child support, a mother behind on her mortgage, a young couple behind on their rent, a kid in his early 20s who “forgot” to pay off a Best Buy credit card or a student behind on college loans; the list goes on.
After delivering eviction papers to an older man, I headed to a woman’s home for an unpaid Wal-Mart credit card.
Like usual, I step out of my car. I take a picture of the home. I see two cars in the driveway. This excites me. I have yet to see vehicles at this home on prior visits. I write down the license plate numbers and walk towards the front door. I see the television is on. Someone is watching the Sci-Fi network. This disgusts me. I knock and wait as I watch an alien creature destroy his surroundings while grade-D actors scream.
Generally, after my third attempt at knocking on a door I will simply leave or ring the doorbell once more. I opted for the doorbell.
Then I hear the TV volume rise. “Oh, a jerk lives here,” I tell myself. So, I knock harder.
Keep in mind, I am looking for a woman. And most women don’t act as insensitive to a young man standing outside their home with a backwards Orioles cap on in the humid Florida weather. Nor do they watch the Sci-Fi network. If a woman was avoiding me from inside the home, she would simply ignore the knocks or sneak into the other room.
The door swings open and a bare-footed, bearded, older man quickly becomes belligerent. This man is nose-to-nose with me and I can smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. I must be cautious.
I slowly back away in hopes of avoiding more confrontation. But it’s too late.
He shoves his hand in the back of his pants. “Gross! What the hell is this guy doing?”, I ask myself.
To my surprise, he pulls out a gun and points it at me. I have no idea what kind of gun it was. That was the least of my worries. I didn’t even know if it was loaded. Do I want to know?
I was able to escape the situation by explaining I was looking for someone else (presumably his wife) and that if she didn’t live here, I would be on my way. To no surprise, he yells, “Well she doesn’t. So get outta here before I bash your face in with my fist.”
“Why would you punch someone if you have a gun?” I think to myself.
I slowly start walking backwards to my car and the drunken man stumbles back inside while wearing a Joe Dirt style, yellow-crusted wife beater.
Once in my car, I drive one street over and frantically search the local property appraiser’s public records. The woman I was looking for owned the home…with her husband. I call a friend to run the plates and the same man and woman’s names appear again.
I drive back to the home and I see the man standing outside staring at a tree. I call him by the name I’ve seen several times. “Yea!” he replies.
I throw the papers in his general direction and say “You’ve been served. Your wife has 20 days to respond” (and yes, that is legal).
To think I made a career from watching Seth Rogan sing “Electric Avenue”on the big screen amazes some people, despite the dangers I face on occasions like this day.
And although the pay is great, a typical process server’s life is not glamorous, and it is dangerous to constantly knock on strangers’ doors day in and day out.
After the event I asked myself, “Is this what I want to do for the next 20-30 years?”
Hell no! I want to be a sports writer.
