This was before I got better at my job as collection agent, and it was the most embarrassing experience of my career!
This man, Mr. Ahern, didn’t return my phone calls and when I did catch him at home, he told me he was not liable for his ex-wife’s debts and just hung up on me. So I’d have to show up in person to explain that he had co-signed and so on. I was just in my early 20s at the time, but I knew most people are frightened by bill collectors because we can use legal means to seize their property. I figured an in-person visit would change this gentleman’s mind, so I left him a message saying I’d drop by his apartment at 10AM next Tuesday.
The address was one of those old rooming houses or retirement hotels a few blocks below Hollywood Boulevard. When I pressed the buzzer, I was admitted to a dusty old lobby with a middle-aged man at the reception desk and four or five older gentlemen sitting on the sofas. Guys with nothing to do.
“Mr. Ahern is in apartment 401,” the receptionist said with a smile.
They were all smiling. I figured I look quite professional in my plaid shirt, eyeglasses, and neatly pressed chinos—a lot sharper than them, and with a manila folder of business papers under my arm.
But there was no friendliness in 401.
Ahern opened the door and said “I told you I’m not
paying you a damned cent. I advise you to just get out of here. If you insist on coming into
my home, you’re responsible for what happens next.”
I stepped in and placed the file of papers on a living room table.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had company." I said.
Besides Ahern, there was a short but muscular fellow standing there in a black T-shirt and jeans. Ahern himself was a clean-cut middle aged man but still in his blue pajamas.
When I shook hands with Ahern, he said, “Meet Buster.”
Buster shook my hand but didn’t let go. In fact, he pulled me towards him and spun me around to face Mr. Ahern, and grabbed both of my arms behind my back.
“Thank you, Buster,” said Mr. Ahern. “Now, mister bill-collector, you’re going to see how I deal with pests who waste my time.”
“Look, sir, I only need ten minutes of your time to explain things and get your signature,” I said. “There is no need for rough stuff.” (Did he think I’d never seen a pissed-off deadbeat before??)
To my shock, Mr. Ahern didn’t make a fist or threaten me. He started unbuckling my belt, unbuttoned my pants, and unzipped them. When I pulled back in surprise and started to struggle, they dropped down to my shoes.
“What the heck are you doing?!:” I said. “Are you crazy or something?”
My white jockey briefs were exposed!
He didn’t answer, but started unbuttoning my shirt from top to bottom, and pushed it back, off my shoulders. Unfortunately, I was not wearing a T-shirt so I was pretty much in my underpants, with my shirt and chinos draped or awkwardly falling off. Buster released my arms long enough for my shirt to fall off my arms, and they both marched me over to a long couch, slowly because I couldn’t walk easily with my pants
down. Mr. Ahern sat there and pulled me over his lap, and started spanking me!
“Uh, sir, I’m a little confused here” I said. “I’m not in the wrong apartment, am I? What the heck do you think you’re doing?? You can’t do this to me!”
“Oh, it’s definitely the wrong apartment for a stuck-up little jerk like you, but you were warned,” he said.
While he was smacking the seat of my briefs with his hand, Buster was crouching down and fiddling around at my ankles. I hated being touched down there.
“Your friend is trying to take my shoes off!” I complained. “Tell him to cut it out.”
“He’s not removing your shoes, he is removing your pants.”
“WHAT?” I yelled in disbelief.
But in fact, one of my legs was suddenly free, and then the other. This pants- down spanking had become a pants-off spanking. After a few more minutes of painful
spanking, Ahern grabbed my arm and made me stand up.
So there I was with all my clothes off. I straightened my glasses, which were all I was wearing except for my underpants and my socks and shoes!
“Well, are you sorry you didn’t listen when I told you to get out of here? Now get out!” Mr. Ahern yelled wine he pointed towards the door.
I looked around. There was no sign of my clothes!
“I can’t leave here like this!” I almost
wailed. “How am I supposed to get back to my office?”
“Not my problem, tough guy. Now get going.” He said in a calm but firm tone.
It was a standoff for a few minutes, with the two of them grinning at my pathetic appearance in just my tighty-whities and obviously scared and worried. But I wasn’t giving up so easily.
“I absolutely refuse to leave here without my clothes. I’m not going anywhere until you return my pants and shirt, and apologize.” I told them firmly.
But they were unfazed and almost started laughing.
“Did you hear that, Buster? He doesn’t want to leave.” Mr. Ahern said. “He wants to spend all day here with us, to find out what we do to pesky bill collectors in their underwear. Did I hear you right? You want to spend the day in here with us? That’s fine with me!”
He reached out and tweaked one of my nipples. I hated that!
“OK, OK, I’ll go.” I said.
“But you’ll never get away with this.” I said. “I passed
through the lobby and the guy at reception saw me, and five other men. They know exactly who I was going to see—I have witnesses! So if you want to stay out of trouble, you’d better return my clothes!”
“You’re a riot, Four Eyes.” He says with a chuckle. “I’ve been bragging to them all week that a pesky bill collector might come, and how I was going to beat him up and send him home in his boxer shorts, stripped and humiliated. Why else do you think they were all waiting
down there? And they’ll be waiting now to see you leave here cut down to size, in your underwear. But not in boxers—it’s an extra bonus that you’re in those little-boy briefs.”
Shucks! I’d been set up. No wonder they all had those sly smiles on their faces. And I had nothing to cover myself with except my file folder. I tried to take it off the table but Ahern stopped me.
“Leave that there. I’ll look it over.” He says, knowing that the folder was my only resort to covering up. “If you want it back, or your pants, call me this afternoon
and I’ll give you instructions. Now goodbye, Four Eyes, unless you want some serious trouble.”
Gosh, that sinking feeling as I left in my underpants and heard the door close and lock behind me! I walked down the staircase, and when I reached the last flight of stairs into the lobby, I heard someone call out, “Hey, here he comes!”
They could see me coming slowly down the stairs, first my shoes and white crew socks, and I could hear the laughter start as my bare, pants-less legs appeared as I descended, and then my white jockey shorts, and my bare torso. The five guys were laughing like hell, and the receptionist looked very amused.
“Wow, he got you good! Cute undies, mister!” said one guy.
“You jerks knew what he was going to do! You at least could have warned me!” I snapped back.
“Hey easy, there, mister, watch your language. And just move along here and leave.” The receptionist said.
I was so mad and embarrassed with all these characters enjoying the sight of me in my briefs that I couldn’t hold in another outburst.
“FUCKERS! It’s your fault I lost all my clothes up there!” I yelled.
“I said watch your language, pal!” The receptionist yelled back.
He then walked over to me from behind his desk and gave me
such a hard shove that I almost fell over backwards. This was just like high school—pantsed and bullied, after being called Four Eyes.
“This is a respectable place and you cannot hang
around in here in your underwear. Now get out!” The receptionist said.
For the second time in ten minutes, I was being ordered to leave someplace in just my underpants, but this time it was out into the big bad world, out in public.
“OK, I’ll go.” I said. “I’m just saying, I walked in to your ‘respectable’ building on legitimate business, and with all my clothes on, and you all knew your ‘respectable’ neighbor in apartment 401 planned to strip me all along.”
“Out!” The receptionist shouted. “And if you try to come back here, I’ll call the police and who will charge you with trespassing and indecent exposure.”
So amid this humiliating combination of being laughed at, lectured, and threatened (which would have been embarrassing enough if I were dressed!) I pushed open the door and stepped out into the hot sunshine of Yucca Avenue.
Hollywood Boulevard is the craziest street in LA, always full of tourists and performers dressed up like superheroes and Disney characters, but I still drew plenty of attention running down the sidewalk in my white Y-front briefs and nerdy glasses. And yes, more than one tourist yelled out:
“Look! He’s dressed like Tom Cruise in Risky Business! Hey mister can I take a selfie with you!?”
The worst part was reaching street corners where I had to stop and stand there until the light changed. I would estimate that more than a thousand strangers saw me in humiliated in public in my underwear, and almost half of those took pictures.
Later on, I called Mr. Ahern and he made me describe in detail my embarrassing walk back to my office. Then he gave me my instructions:
“I will keep the file of papers and your clothes for 24 hours. After that I will destroy the papers and donate your clothes to a thrift shop. You might want to write down the instructions, because I will not repeat them and if you do not follow them 100 percent, there will be consequences. Come back here tomorrow morning. You must be dressed exactly as you were when you left today—white Jockey briefs, shoes and those stupid white socks, no undershirt. Nothing more. When you are buzzed in, you will announce to everyone in the lobby that you are the fag loser who tried to mess with Mr. Ahern yesterday. Those exact words, even if there are 50 people in the lobby instead of five. Of course, I’ll be too busy to see you and I will tell the desk that you must wait in the lobby. You will wait there at least 30 minutes. Then I will call down and say you may come up. You’ll have a chance to earn your clothes back. It won’t be easy. And if you fail to show up
tomorrow, we have some charming pictures of you Buster took while you were over my lap. I’m sure your boss will enjoy those. Have a nice day.”
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