I get two phone calls, minimum, every single day, from a certain ginormous corporation that specializes in student loans, especially since I took my “sick leave” from CBU.
I recently (as in, 10 minutes ago) answered the phone, and as I was not feeling charitable enough to even discuss a payment plan, had the following exchange:
Her: “Would you like to do a forbearance on your loan for the time being? It will be [amount of money I don't have, and won't for quite a number of weeks] for the number of loans you have, currently.”
Me: “Well, I’m going to be frank with you. Right now, I have no intention of giving you guys any money, even if I had it. Would you like me to tell you why?”
Her: “Well, ma’am, technically that’s a default…”
Me: “Oh, I’m all kinds of aware of that, and I couldn’t give less of a shit, if you’ll pardon my language. You see, I’m taking medication that makes me feel like I have the flu, except it’s supposed to do that, and it’s supposed to make me better, because after 16 years of not knowing what the hell was wrong with me, I finally have an answer, and so I’ve spent the day throwing up because of this wonderful medication that is, despite the side effects, doing what it’s supposed to do. I care more about THAT than owing the equivalent of a 30-year mortgage on a mansion, do you understand?”
Her: “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about, but, um, we can discuss payment options…”
Me: “I just told you. I’m not giving y’all any money right now. I have something called Lyme disease. You can look it up, later. L-Y-M-E. Part of it involves my immune system doing stupid things like gluing my internal organs together for shits and giggles. If I cough too hard, I could give birth to my colon…as in, traditionally, through my freakin’ vagina. Alternately, I could poop and find my uterus in the toilet. Sounds fun, right? And I have to pay for surgery for that to not happen, and while I happen to have insurance, it’s tenuous, and I still have to find money so that I don’t die in the midst of all of this vomiting and careful coughing and tick-borne madness I’m currently experiencing. Until THAT is resolved and paid for with the money I DO have, and I am able to find gainful employment, y’all need to stop calling me, because you’re wasting your time, you’re wasting my time, and I don’t give a fuck about my credit.”
Me: “I’m very sorry to have taken out my frustrations on you, as I know you just work there, but I’m hanging up, now. You can write whatever you want on your report. I’m going back to sleep. Happy Monday.”
Obviously I exaggerated, but for fuck’s sake. They have records. They know I dropped to half-time, and they were notified that I was taking a medical leave of absence from school. Get it together, you anal derbies.
And clearly, herxing is as pleasant as using a cactus as a dildo. So, you know, I genuinely am sorry that poor girl had to be the one to call me, today. Maybe I’ll get one day without phone calls, though. That’d be nice.
Yes, that would be mighty fine.