SYNCHRONY BANK v. MICHAEL HAMM

Let’s get one thing straight: no one ever tunes in to a debt collection lawsuit expecting drama. But here we are, in Canadian County, Oklahoma, where a bank is suing a man for $2,708.78 — yes, down to the penny — because he allegedly stopped paying his credit card bill. Not because he fled the country, not because he’s living in a bunker made of gold bars, but presumably because, like the rest of us mortals, life got expensive and the plastic stopped working. And yet, here we are, watching a full-blown legal spectacle unfold over less than three grand, complete with attorneys, verified statements, and a demand so precise it feels like someone scanned a spreadsheet and hit “print.” This isn’t just a lawsuit. This is capitalism with a magnifying glass.

Meet Synchrony Bank — not a person, not a local shopkeeper, but a financial institution that’s basically the ghost in your wallet, the voice in your credit score, the fine print on every “Buy Now, Pay Later” ad you’ve ever scrolled past. They issue credit cards for retailers, online stores, and yes, probably the place where Michael Hamm picked up something he really wanted but maybe couldn’t quite afford. And then there’s Michael Hamm, a Canadian County resident who, as far as we know, is not a fugitive, not a con artist, just a guy who opened a credit account on January 8, 2024, used it like a normal human being, made his last payment on November 1, 2024, and then… well, then silence. The money stopped moving. The account went quiet. And in the world of credit, silence is the sound of default.

Fast-forward to June 9, 2025 — a year that still feels like science fiction, but apparently is now legally relevant — and Synchrony Bank pulls the plug. They “close and/or charge off” Hamm’s account, which is banker-speak for “we’re not getting our money, so we’re pretending this relationship is over and sending it to collections.” The card number? We don’t know the full digits, just that it ends in 5432 — a sequence so bland it could be a Wi-Fi password at a gas station. But the balance? Crystal clear: $2,708.78. Not $2,700. Not “around three grand.” No, this is a number that has been calculated, recalculated, and then weaponized. It’s the kind of amount that makes you wonder: did Hamm buy a Peloton and then develop a sudden hatred of cycling? Did he splurge on a gaming console, a new mattress, or perhaps a very expensive dog? The petition doesn’t say. All we know is that someone spent, stopped paying, and now a law firm in Wisconsin is filing papers in Oklahoma to get the cash back.

And let’s talk about that law firm — Rausch Sturm LLP. These folks are the ninjas of debt collection, the silent assassins of overdue balances. Their office is in Brookfield, Wisconsin, but their tentacles reach deep into Oklahoma’s court system. They’re not representing Synchrony Bank because they care about Michael Hamm’s financial choices — they’re doing it because this is their business. Their attorney, Michael J. Kidman (OBA #35912, because nothing says “trust me” like a bar number), signs a “Verified Statement” swearing under penalty of perjury that all this is true. That’s right — perjury. If he’s lying, he could go to jail. Over $2,708.78. The irony is thicker than the fine print on a credit card agreement.

So why are they in court? Well, it’s simple: Synchrony wants its money. They’re not asking for punitive damages, they’re not demanding Hamm’s firstborn, they’re not trying to get him banned from shopping at the stores that issued the card. They just want the balance owed — $2,708.78 — plus “costs,” which means filing fees, attorney time, and whatever else the court allows. They also want the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission to hand over Hamm’s employment history. Why? Probably to see if he’s working, if he’s getting a paycheck, if there’s any way they can garnish wages or attach assets. It’s not personal — it’s procedural. But still, the idea that a private bank can go to court and demand your work history like it’s a background check for a job you didn’t apply for? That’s the kind of detail that makes you side-eye the entire financial system.

Now, let’s talk about the number: $2,708.78. Is that a lot? In the grand scheme of debt, it’s not exactly “buying a car” territory. It’s not even “first month’s rent and deposit” in most cities. But for an individual, especially in Oklahoma, it’s not nothing. That’s several months of groceries. That’s a car repair. That’s a vacation you definitely can’t take if you’re being sued. And yet, is it worth the full machinery of the legal system? The filing fees, the court dates, the lawyers typing up verified statements like they’re prosecuting a felony? For less than three grand? It’s like sending a SWAT team to recover a stolen bicycle. Effective? Maybe. A little excessive? Absolutely.

And here’s the kicker: this isn’t even a dispute about whether the debt exists. There’s no claim of identity theft, no allegation that Synchrony miscalculated the balance, no dramatic story of a payment lost in the mail. Hamm hasn’t filed a response (yet), so as far as we know, this could be an open-and-shut case. Which makes it even more absurd. This isn’t Erin Brockovich — it’s Excel Spreadsheet: The Lawsuit. It’s the legal equivalent of a parking ticket, but with more paperwork and a Wisconsin law firm.

Our take? We’re not rooting for the bank. We’re not rooting for Hamm, either — not because he might’ve dodged his bills, but because this whole system feels rigged. A multi-billion-dollar financial institution sues an individual for a sum that’s barely a rounding error on their balance sheet, and they do it with the full force of the law, complete with demands for employment records and attorney liens. Meanwhile, Hamm — a regular guy, probably stressed, maybe unemployed, maybe just bad at budgeting — gets served with a lawsuit that could tank his credit, haunt his job prospects, and cost him more in legal fees than the original debt. And for what? So Synchrony can check a box and say, “We tried to collect”?

The most absurd part? That we’ve written 1,200 words about $2,708.78. That this is someone’s job. That a lawyer in Wisconsin signed a sworn statement under penalty of perjury because a man in Oklahoma didn’t pay his credit card. That the system works this hard for this little. If Michael Hamm wanted attention, mission accomplished. If he just wanted to forget about a credit card bill? Well, joke’s on him — now the whole internet knows he owes $2,708.78. And honestly? We’re half-expecting Synchrony to start a GoFundMe to cover their own legal costs.

But hey — we’re entertainers, not lawyers. So if you’re Michael Hamm, and you’re reading this, our advice? Pay the bill, close the account, and maybe — just maybe — stop using credit cards ending in 5432.