Conversation With My Student Loan People

Sooo I lost my temper at my Student Loan people the other day. The bad news is they probably recorded it. The good news is my service couldn't get any fucking worse, so whatever. The other bad news is that the problem still isn't worked out. The other good news is that when I get really angry, I tend to work a good blog post out of it. So here it is, my unedited* conversation with my student loan people:

*Okay, it might be a bit edited because I don't remember exactly what I said, but below is the gist.

Twenty Minutes of Electronic Touchpad Bullshit

Her: Hi this is (LOAN PEOPLE) how may I help you?

Me: Hi, I've been calling about four or five times a week since, uh, July, trying to sort out my loan forbearance, which you owe me for (reasons I legally can't publish online), so I'd love you to take care of that.

Her: Okay sir let me bring up your file… yes, it appears we emailed you that form last week. Also you're a billion days delinquent and owe us all the money in the world!

Me: Really? You E-Mailed it? Because last time you specifically told me you couldn't email it, you had to mail it via normal mail.

Her: No sir, that's not true.

Me: We had a long, irritating conversation about it. I wrote a sticky note to myself saying "they have to mail it for some reason so I can fax it back to them." I was angry when I wrote the sticky note so my handwriting is all fucked up. I remember this very clearly.

Her: Well, sir, I can email it to you now.

Me: Well what does that mean? Will you actually email it, or are you going to, like, text it to me or something now?

Her: Sir, I will email it to you.

Me: I don't believe you. Like, I'm sorry, but I really just don't believe you at all. I feel like you're just screwing with me. Are you just screwing with me?

Her: Sir, I need you to calm down.

Me: But I'm being straight-up lied to. By you. A huge, multi-national corporation. What do you possibly have to gain? I don't owe you that much, and what I'm trying to do is going to benefit both of us.

Her: Sir…

Me: No! I don't think you even want me to calm down. Nothing you're doing is making any sense! I don't even think you need my money, I think that's all a sham, and your corporation actually runs off the frustration of people in their mid twenties.

Her: Sir?

Me: Does it? Do you have a doomsday machine powered by rage-drinking and indigestion? Are you sucking the anger out of me through a microchip installed in my phone?

Her: No.

Me: I still don't believe you. This is the kind of thing that is starting to make sense to me, okay? I hear the things coming out of my mouth and they're insane, but I still believe them because they make more sense than the alternative. As Sherlock Holmes once said, when you remove the impossible whatever remains, how improbable, must be true. Do you disagree?

Her: Do I disagree I work for a company with a doomsday machine powered by frustration? Uh. Yes.

Me: So you're saying you're smarter than Sherlock Holmes.

Her: What?

Me: I'm asking if you're smarter than Sherlock Holmes. I'm asking if you're smarter than a fictional character whose defining characteristic is being smarter than everyone. It's the easiest question I could possibly ask you.

Her: Can we talk about your loans?

Me: No, because whenever I try to be productive with you people, nothing happens, so I'm trying the "ranting like a crazy person" route. At least this way I'm starting to feel a little bit better.