So. In a splendid case of “verbing weirds language,” what does it mean to “Bob Watterlond {someone}.”?

Bob Watterlond was an unassuming man. Somewhat stringy brown hair. Large glasses, with thick, square frames. Perhaps a little thick around the middle. A mustache much in favor today, but not in the late ‘80s/early ’90s when I knew him.

Which was at the LA distributorship of Gallo Wine.

Bob was the Credit Manager. Among his duties, he would collect delinquent accounts.

His method was charmingly simple. Bob would call the liquor store (or restaurant) and go, “Hello, Mrs. Kim. How are things today? The children are doing well? Great, great, glad to hear it. I was calling to remind you you owe Gallo Wine $167.47, and we’re not going to ship new product to you until you pay. OK, Mrs.Kim, hope you have a nice day.”

And then he’d call the next day, sweet as could be.

And the next.

And the next.

I guess things went to a formal collection agency after 28 days. But he’d remind you if you didn’t pay before then, his hands were tied when it came to what happened afterwards.

I’m reminded of all this because I’m Bob Watterlond-ing someone right now, trying to get them to produce a document to me.

Lexicon, of course.