Case Files of Note, or . . .

We are trained professionals. Please do not try this at home!

Many of our process service files are in poverty stricken areas. Some are out in the boondocks, and some are in gated communities full of million dollar homes. These are the stories about the absurd things that we’ve experienced in our 30+ years of work in collection, process serving, skip tracing, and even some repo stories from long ago. We hope you enjoy sharing in our experiences as much as we enjoy our work at Quick Search International.

Nearly Mowed Down

April 2008. I was out on a routine process serving assignment in a rough area of Cleveland, OH. Fifty percent of the properties in the neighborhood were boarded up. With a foreclosure notice in one hand, I strolled up to the front porch of my subject’s home. About 12 pairs of curious eyes watched me from steps, windows, and porches all around the neighborhood as I knocked on the door. I waited a minute or two, carefully listening for signs of life. Then I knocked louder, but still no answer. I walked around the side of the home to see if there was a side door I could try. As I rounded the corner, I heard a lawnmower running, so I walked up the driveway to see if my subject was in the backyard mowing the grass. Sure enough, there he was. It didn’t take him long to notice me as I raised my voice to say his name and get his attention. He looked up from mowing and casually began walking towards me while continuing to push the running lawnmower. I was expecting him to stop and turn off the mower to talk to me, but instead he flailed one of his arms at me in a gesture that seemed to say, “Get back!” Since I value having feet in this profession, I backed up a few feet down the driveway, but he just kept on coming and continued to gesture to me to keep moving. This continued all the way down the driveway and into the street. At that point, he stopped the mower, and proceeded to lecture me on the dangers of my presence on his property. “You likely to get yourself shot by coming onto someone’s property round here!” he said. “For all you know, I could have a gun,” he continued. I thought to myself about all the places that I’ve been that were far worse than this neighborhood, and how this guy really doesn’t have a clue about the dangers of this job. He continued on for a couple minutes, and expressed his disinterest in accepting the documents. I kindly convinced him to do me a favor and just take the papers. I basically told him that he could feed them to his lawnmower after I’m gone. It really doesn’t matter to me. He went on for about five minutes about why the bank screwed up and nothing is his fault before he finally took the papers and went back about his business. There was nothing too out of the ordinary about this serve, but it was the first time anyone had ever tried to “mow” me. As I reflect on the lecture I was given, I would probably choose being shot over being mowed.

Parental Guidance Suggested

June 2007. Many years ago, when I was in high school, I worked as a pizza delivery man. Like process serving, you never quite know what’s going to happen after you knock on the door with a pizza in your hand. As a young senior in high school, however, you really hope a beautiful woman answers the door in her underwear… or that you arrive and there is a pool party full of bikini clad girls who are extremely excited about the fact that you brought them pizza! Now I’m married and have girls of my own to look out for, and my main desire when I knock on the door is that a kind person will answer and quickly accept service so I can go about my business. With all that being said, I was out on an assignment in Chardon, OH in a lower class lake community full of mossy, ram shackled homes. I parked on the street because I didn’t want to cover my car in mud by pulling into the dirt driveway that had been recently rained on. I walked up to the door and knocked. I heard movement inside, and a figure moved closer to the door and opened it. There in front of me was a woman in a completely transparent teddy. I tried my best not to look, and I stared at the ground as I explained what I was doing there. This was not the scenario I had imagined when I was younger. Not even close. This lady was about 85 years old, was about five feet tall, 220 pounds, and was completely unashamed. I’ve tried so hard to block it out of my mind that I can’t even remember if she accepted service or not. I will never be the same again.