I feel like an absolute nag today... how many messages do I have to leave for you to not return? I can't get my head around the procrastination part of the debt thing --- or maybe it's the "bury my head in the sand and ignore my situation even though I'm reminded every time the phone rings." Probably a short-term memory loss thing - blame it on that time when you rolled off the bed when you were three. It's you mom's fault.
If only I could leave the messages I really want to leave. Starting with "Yoo hoo, man up and pick up the receiver and at the very least tell me what the hell is going on". I know something happened because it's a rare person that just decides to stop paying a bill. But please stop skirting the issue... face the problem and start looking for ways to solve it instead of wallowing in self-pity. However bad your life is - someone has it worse.
Collectors have a bad rap and that's unfortunate because the collector is situated to save you money. I know it's all about personality - if you don't like me, you ain't gonna pay me. And I'll bet dollars to donuts you don't like any collectors! So you'll cut off your nose to spite your face, you'll refuse to return calls claiming you never return calls to numbers you don't recognize. Then you get mad when we call you at work. And you won't verify your home address. And then you get mad when you get served at work and wind up with a wage garnishment.
I'm trying to rewrite this profanity-laden post and I am boring myself. I'm burned out and am resenting my time there. I was initially attracted to the job like a bad car accident but the blood and gore eventually becomes pedestrian. I think paramedics would say the same thing.
Frustrated. Here I sit in a position to settle out accounts for fifty cents on the dollar and no one is willing to answer the phone or return calls. Why? Tell me, I want to know. Really.
Do people think that if the debt collector stops calling then the debt goes away? So if I stop giving myself breast exams, I can forget about the lump I felt and I can stop thinking about the cancer I might have. OK then. That would be the power of retarded thinking.
A nod to Mr. Bogosian for his kickass book title: "Pounding Nails in the Floor With My Forehead" because today is one of those days. And the book was as good as the title. EB, thank you, you rock.