Midland Credit Management, Inc. v. Warren Perry

Warren Perry owes $1,452.75—and a debt collector in Minnesota is so committed to collecting it that they flew a notary public through the legal stratosphere to swear under penalty of perjury that yes, Warren Perry definitely still owes $1,452.75. This isn’t a murder mystery. There’s no missing body, no secret affair, no dramatic courtroom reveal. Just one man, one credit card, and one very determined paperwork machine known as Midland Credit Management, Inc., which has turned the art of chasing small balances into a full-contact sport.

Let’s meet the players. On one side, we’ve got Warren Perry of Creek County, Oklahoma—your average guy, probably not thrilled about being sued, and likely unaware that his financial misstep has now been immortalized in legal affidavits signed in Minnesota. We don’t know if he’s a rancher, a mechanic, or just someone who really wanted a new blender back in 2023. What we do know is that at some point, he opened a Credit One Bank credit card—account number ending in 7632, for those keeping score at home—and used it for… something. Groceries? Car repairs? A spontaneous trip to Branson? The court filing doesn’t say. But what it does say is that Warren made his last payment on May 28, 2024—exactly seven months before the world ended for his credit score—and then… radio silence.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, Midland Credit Management, Inc. (MCM) is doing what Midland does best: buying up defaulted debt like it’s clearance rack Halloween candy and then suing people for it. Based in St. Cloud, Minnesota—yes, that St. Cloud, the one you’ve never been to but sounds like it snows there 11 months a year—MCM is a professional debt buyer. They don’t issue credit cards. They don’t send out monthly statements. They just wait in the financial shadows, ready to pounce when someone misses a few payments. And when Credit One Bank decided Warren’s account was too much of a lost cause (officially “charged off” on January 26, 2025), Midland swooped in, bought the debt, and became the proud new owner of Warren Perry’s $1,452.75 problem.

Now, before you start feeling too sorry for Warren, let’s be clear: he probably did spend money he didn’t pay back. That’s how credit cards work. But here’s where things get deliciously petty. Midland didn’t just send a stern letter. They didn’t call him three times a day with robotic voices. No, they went full legal artillery. They drafted a petition. They attached an affidavit. They had a Legal Specialist named Jennifer Dittberner—a woman whose job title sounds like she moonlights in a spy thriller—swear under penalty of perjury that, yes, the records do show a balance of $1,452.75 as of December 5, 2025. And get this: the affidavit was notarized in Stearns County, Minnesota, then filed in Creek County, Oklahoma, meaning this entire legal drama traveled over 700 miles on the strength of a spreadsheet and a notary stamp.

The claim? Simple: indebtedness. That’s legalese for “you owe money and haven’t paid it.” Midland is arguing that Warren defaulted on his Credit One Bank account, that they legally acquired the debt, and that they are now entitled to collect every last penny—$1,452.75, to be exact—plus interest at the statutory rate (which in Oklahoma is 5% per year if no contract rate applies, but let’s not get too nerdy). They also want court costs, which probably include the price of filing the lawsuit, serving Warren with papers, and possibly the emotional toll of having to type out “XXXXXXXXXXXXX7632” three times.

Now, let’s talk about that number: $1,452.75. Is that a lot? In the grand scheme of debt, it’s not exactly “I bought a car on credit and then fled the country.” It’s less than the average American’s credit card balance. It’s about two months of rent in a small Oklahoma town. It’s the cost of a decent used transmission. But here’s the thing: for Midland, it’s not about the amount. It’s about the system. These kinds of lawsuits are often filed in bulk—dozens or even hundreds at a time—because the legal fees and court costs are relatively low, and many defendants either don’t show up or don’t fight back. If Midland wins, they get the judgment. If Warren ignores it, they can potentially garnish wages or freeze a bank account. And if they collect even half of what they sue for across hundreds of cases? That’s how you turn $1,452.75 into a profitable business model.

But here’s what makes this case chef’s kiss absurd: the sheer bureaucratic overkill. We have a debt buyer in Minnesota using a Legal Specialist to swear under penalty of perjury—perjury!—that a man in Oklahoma owes a very specific amount of money on a credit card he hasn’t paid in over a year. The affidavit is longer than the actual petition. It cites electronic records, regular course of business, data compilation via computer, and the sacred tradition of “near real-time” documentation. It’s like they’re trying to prove the existence of gravity, but for debt. Yes, Your Honor, the records do show a balance. Yes, I have been trained in the manner and method of record-keeping. Yes, the computer posted the information. And yes, if I were on the stand, I would say all this again, probably while wearing a headset and sipping lukewarm coffee from a company mug.

Are we rooting for Warren Perry? Honestly, it’s complicated. On one hand, he probably should’ve paid his bill. On the other, does anyone really deserve to be dragged into court over $1,452.75 by a third-party debt collector who wasn’t even the original lender? Is this justice, or just legalized harassment dressed up in notarized affidavits? And why does it feel like Midland could’ve just sent a strongly worded email?

Look, we’re not saying Warren is innocent. We’re not saying debt collectors should stop existing. But when a case hinges on a balance that could’ve been settled with a single Venmo payment, and instead results in a notarized legal document crossing state lines like a financial FedEx package, you have to ask: is this how we want the civil justice system to be used? Is this what “the regular course of business” looks like in 2025? A woman in Minnesota swearing that a man in Oklahoma owes money… so a court in Oklahoma can tell him he owes money?

At this point, Warren, if you’re reading this—just pay the $1,452.75. Or better yet, challenge them in court. Make them bring Jennifer Dittberner to Oklahoma. Make her explain “data and records acquired from the seller or assignor” in person. Make her define “near real-time” under oath. Because if nothing else, this case proves one thing: in the wild world of debt collection, the paperwork is real, the stakes are low, and the drama is very high.