Wednesday, November 20, 2013

He's No Account

I've been rather busy this past week paying bills. I thought that I had covered everything from cocoa to car insurance. (It was hump day. Just sayin'.) Money was tight once again, but I felt good. In fact, I felt downright productive. All was well with the world as I looked over local traffic Mario Andretti-ing its way to its own productivity for the day. I felt completely satisfied, nay, a winner. Rob has even paid the cable bill! Almost immediately, something caught my attention.

On the other side of the room, something flashed rhythmically. My answering machine light was blinking. Uh-oh.

"This is a very important message from Funtime Recovery Group. This is an attempt to collect a debt. This call is for Robert Adcox. By staying on the line, you agree that you're a cheapskate who's trying to sneak out of paying an old medical bill." Yep, I've painted myself into a corner with this bill. Maybe it's a subconscious thing with me, but I always forget this bill. Not that I can't pay this thing, but it's embarrassing to realize that I still owe two more payments to my doc for giving me the meds needed to endure the joys of a kidney stone. "If you are Robert Adcox, press one" was quickly followed by a rather unpleasant conversation which almost made me want my kidney stone back. "Mr. Adcox", intoned a very impatient woman wearing a headset and glancing, frequently, at photos of her honor student kids and dreaming of the alimony check due no later than the fifth of the month. "According to our records, you haven't attempted to make a payment since July. Is there a reason for that?" Heroically, I resisted the temptation to suggest that it was because I was afraid I'd have been stuck with a different bill collector whose voice wasn't quite as melodic as hers. "What are we looking at here?", I enquired, trying to sound as professional as I could, and knowing that having been awake for not quite one minute I was going to sound like a moose with a throat allergy.

Bantering ensued for approximately fifteen minutes while I pondered how on earth I could possibly think on my feet amidst slowly abating theta brain waves and various remnants of dreams. Turns out I wasn't thinking on my feet, if my "I see them, and they're all purple" comment received a very curt "Excuse me?" "Nothing", came my awkward response. "Just thinking out loud. Let's see. Is my account number 2433508834?"

In lieu of coffee, I drink one glass of Pepsi in the morning. The caffeine usually works as quickly, and the sugar means I don't have to eat a doughnut. I became aware that the caffeine and sugar had had almost no impact on my cognitive processes as Freida reminded me that the number I gave is my social security number. Maybe if I had accidentally given her my phone number instead, she would have laughed and would no longer need alimony payments, depending on what she looks like (kidding).

After kicking the ball around a bit (that's what we important business people call it when we can't agree on something), we decided that I'd be spared the horrors of further "very important calls" from  Funtime provided that I fork over a hundred bucks plus ninety-eight no later than the twentieth of December. In the final analysis, I think that's eminently fair. And, now that I consider it, I'm pretty sure I can cover that. I can't wait.

Lewis-Gale will finally consider me no account.


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