The phone rang again, this time I just let the recorder take it. “Hello, Miss Jones, this is Joe Collector, how are you doing this fine day? I think you’ve been avoiding my calls after we last talked. As you know the payment of $125.00 has been due now for two months. I am certain you want to make the payment, so let’s talk. The longer you let this go on, the higher the payment interest becomes.”
I pushed the delete recording button and just then the phone rang again. The voice was Joe again so I pulled the wall plug and silenced the phone. It was never going to stop. I had two dollars left in my purse, and hoped a trip to the food bank would get us by for a few more days. My mother was in the bedroom, ill, and things in general were bleak. The only saving grace was the home we lived in, paid for when my dad was working full time. If it hadn’t been for his frugality, mother and I would be homeless.
My mother’s medical bills swallowed up our savings, Medicare was only covering eighty percent of her expenses, and my job is not bringing in enough to support us. I know our neighbors look down upon
us, thinking using the foodbank supplies are sponging off the government, but we are not. The foodbank is supplied by willing businesses, markets and ordinary people. We contributed as a family, when times were better.
I know I should plug the phone in again, know the bills need to be paid, I feel so discouraged. I only have so many hours I can be away from home and caring for my mother. Our future is dim.