Sara Goldfarb Has Left the Building

So, right when some rich lady asks for an itemized receipt of 6 or 7 books she's bought, and when a good long line is beginning to form in the bookshop, and that old adrenaline is starting to kick in, the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"I would like to speak to a...David Foster Wallace...please?"

"Uhm, this is him."

"I'm with Asshat Collection Agency and I'd like to talk to you about your student loan. We're going to start withholding your federal income tax and taking money out of your pay, we've kidnapped your little sister and we'll split her child in two --"

"I'm sorry, I'm kind of busy, can you call me back in 10 minutes?"

"Well, can I leave my name and number for you to call me back?"

"Well, sure..."

"Let me make sure I have the right person; is this David Foster Wallace with last four digits of his Social Security Number Plaid Sigma Phi Cookie?"

"Yes, that's me..."

"Well, we've released a nerve toxin in your town's drinking water and if you don't pay us money every man, woman and child will be shitting elephants for at least the next 12 minutes and 35 sec--"

"Look, I really have to go, can you PLEASE call me back?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." (click)

Guess who didn't call back?????

So I come home, start calling, have to go through 7 different numbers to find the people who called me, only to find out their system is down! 20 minutes of my life that I'll never have back because they're using hamster-wheel Dells or something! ASRHGSHSHGHGH!!!

And to top it all off, they very well might take my federal return before all of this gets sorted out. So my trip to Orlando is once again in jeopardy. :P

A far cry from "I need my tax return or I don't know where my next meal is coming from," but still, it's very very aggravating.

Now I'm going to drown my sorrows in the blood of my players.