The old table would not do. It was marred, made of pine, ugly with acrylic paint stains, much too large for her tiny new studio apartment life. She was not an animist but she was superstitious and dreamy. The old table had absorbed too much wicked babble over microwaved macaroni and cheese dinners and cheap breakfast cereal. “You fuck all the wrong men. Shabby men. Men with bad hair and worse ideas.” “Oh, eat my butt. You remind me of a geriatric poodle.” “You’re crazier than my Pentecostal snake shaking grits with ketchup eating grandpa, you middle-aged floozy.” “You’re as exciting as a wall of white paint. Fuck off.”
A new table was the answer, the remedy, the miracle she would deliver to herself. It would be small and round, not big and square. It would have two chairs, not four. Maybe she would paint it cherry red. That would make sense. That seemed right. She would eat and fuck on the table. She would clean it with baking soda and water, not Lysol.
I’ve never met Hollie Stevens. She’s a friend of a friend. But from what I’ve read about her, she has more class, character, heart and inner beauty than all the so-called Christians I have ever known. Reading about her final days humbles me, makes me think I need to get my fucking priorities in order.
Effective as of the date of this notice, your student loan account has been referred to Premiere Credit Of North America, LLC. for the purpose of securing repayment of a delinquent debt.
Premiere Credit Of North America, LLC
PO Box 19901
Indianapolis, IN 46219
TOLL Free Phone: 1-888-744-2602 or call 317-869-0618
Hours of operation: MON – THUR 8AM – 9PM, FRI 8AM – 5PM, SAT 9AM – I:00PM EST.
In addition to principal, interest and administrative fees, you are now responsible for costs ED incurs for fees earned by Premiere Credit for recoveries on this debt. These charges may be up to 24.34% of the principal and interest repaid.
Unless you notify this office in writing within 30 days after receiving this notice that you dispute the validity of this debt, or any portion thereof, this office will assume this debt to be valid. If you notify this office in writing within 30 days from receiving this notice, this office will: obtain verification of the debt or obtain a copy judgement and mail you a copy of such judgement or verification. If you request this office in writing within 30 days after receiving this notice, this office will provide you with the name and address of the original creditor, if different from the current creditor.
THIS IS AN ATTEMPT TO COLLECT A DEBT, AND ANY INFORMATION OBTAINED WILL BE USED FOR THAT PURPOSE. THIS COMMUNICATION IS FROM A DEBT COLLECTOR.
All payments should be mailed to the following address:
US DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION, NATIONAL PAYMENT CENTER
P.O. Box 105028
Atlanta, GA 30348-5028
Notice: See reverse side for important information.
I call to tell the rabid greedy pig fuckers known as Premiere Credit Of North America, LLC to stop calling my mother at work. My mother has Lupus and works full-time. This is not her debt. This is mine. I’ve worked as a CSR (customer service representative) before. I know that when a client calls in the client’s information populates the screen. I asked the CSR right away. “Do you have my information in front of you?” Her response: “Uh. No. Who are you? What is this about?” I know there has been a general dumbing down of the “culture” (what culture? precisely! culture does not exist in North America!) since the wild popularity of such classy shows as “Jackass.” “Keeping Up With The Kardashians,” “16 And Pregnant,” and “My Super Sweet 16.” I know intelligence and common sense have been on the decline since Reagan was voted into the Big House. I know “Idiocracy” hits way too close to home to be correctly classified as a “comedy.” But goddamn. So the rocket scientist CSR passed the buck/transferred the call to another drone. The phone rang about twenty times before I finally hung up. I have sent the rabid greedy pig fuckers all the pertinent documentation to prove that I am not hoarding thousands of dollars, keeping the American pie all to myself. I am in fact on disability for insanity. Since the government decided to deduct $90 from each check for Medicare, which I did not sign up for, I now bring in a whopping $699 a month. Maybe I’ll go to Fiji next month, sit in a chaise lounge near a lagoon and sip something fruity that will make me feel all sexy and shit. I hate attorneys, all attorneys, on principle, but I am ready to contact an attorney to get these cretins off my back. It’s one thing for them to harass me. I just toss their threats in the trash and leave them to their getting blood from a turnip delusions. But when they start calling my sick mother at work it’s war.
Speaking of war…how are we on that front, America? I stopped watching the news after Bubba Junior stole his second election in 2004. My ex-husband and many other Americans got all teary-eyed and optimistic when Obama got voted in. Call me cynical but there were no stars and stripes in my eyes. I think the only thing that will help America at this point is if we put a disenfranchised woman in charge…maybe a woman who has been raped, paid for groceries with food stamps, had at least one abortion, been inside a pawn shop more than a few times, had to leave two carts filled with groceries inside Wal-Mart Supercenter because her debit card was declined, been conned out of a $5,000 checking account by a guy who knocked her up and then left her for a trust fund brat, dug under sofa cushions for pocket change to buy groceries at the dollar store, survived at least one hurricane evacuation in East Texas with psychotic, squabbling family members and a baby who had to be rushed to the ER with a 106 degree fever…a woman like me, without the insanity, of course. We don’t need an insane person running this country, after all.