There are many things in life that frustrate me. Random road blocks, people who don't know what they want by the time they get to the counter at any given fast food joint, CD packaging. But nothing, and I mean NOTHING, gets my blood boiling faster than automated voice responses on debt collection lines.
First off, you can't get a live person on the line. EVER. They give you the option to do everything except speak with a beating heart. They'll direct you to the option of having your colon sucked out by Pirana before they'll let you speak to one of their closely guarded "representatives".
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL MAY CONTAIN RACIAL OR ETHNIC SLURS. IF THIS OFFENDS YOU IN ANY WAY, PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER.
But, should you actually get one of these desert wandering guardians of all your info on the phone, that's when the real fun begins. First, they won't ever be from America. Not one of them. They also won't ever have a name that you can readily recognize or spell. This is in case you need to call back to reference something that one of them told you. If you can't identify them, that call never took place. Apparently, there are more Rijhbanisshis working in debt collection than one might imagine. Second, they're going to treat you like a criminal. Not just any kind of criminal, but the kind on death row. You have disturbed their solitaire game and so now you have to pay. They'll speak to you in mono-syllabic sentences, and ask you questions that you obviously would not have the answer to unless you suddenly developed telepathy while waiting for their non-English speaking asses to answer their phone, just to make you feel like an idiot. And don't dare ask them to repeat themselves, because all that does is cause them to lose their ability to speak anything other than in tongues and scream at you.
But the thing that gets me is the only reason you would be calling these Mata Hari like whores in the first place is TO GIVE THEM MONEY!
How dare you. I mean really. What's wrong with you? Didn't your Mother teach you any manners at all? Everyone knows that all these people are required to do is stay alive long enough to make it over on the plane that they're praying cousin Alexhjandrioni isn't hijacking, and sit in a cubicle all day, collecting a pay check so that they can pay to take up valuable space in a country full of inconsiderate assholes who just want to pay their fucking credit cards bills.
So, stop wasting their time and press 3 for your enema.