Amid the frequent penis enlargement, financial empowerment and free iPod Nano spam mailings clogging my inbox, I received a warm letter from my loan provider, the federal government. It seems that I am 45 days overdue with my loan payment. My loan is in forbearance. The email must have been a mistake, dreamily thinking to myself.
I called a DLS customer service representative to resolve this problem (DLS must pay their workers peanuts because they are always rude). I informed Belinda (that's such a rep name) of the problem at-hand and in protocol fashion, Belinda asked for a litany of information.
"This is not new information. You knew this already." Suddenly she knows me on a personal level.
Belinda proceeded to think of me not as the patient customer (that I was) but as her child.
Since graduating from undergrad in 2002 my life was been continually spiraling into a episode of The Simple Life: Interns. Shifting from "this is not a real job" nightmare to a "what the hell I am wearing and why I am here" workdays. Fortunately I was accepted into my graduate program in 2004 to avoid paying my rich uncle. Government started calling last winter semester (termed spring at smaller institutions) when I dropped down from 3 classes to 1 class. Uncle Sam, knowing that I have the gift of telepathy, failed to call me before my loan account was first overdue. Wait, no. They called and left a message (supposedly) stating to call a forgettable person at a forgettable 800 number (see bullshit).