Put on Your Big Boy Pants...

Last night I was reading my Hitler book and fell asleep. I was awakened at 10pm when I thought I heard my cell phone vibrating. I ignored it. Then I heard it vibrating again, and still ignored it. Then one  more time and I decided to get up (I keep my phone charged in the bathroom ((don't ask why)).

It was the renter who can't come up with $175 a day (a good job will pay that much in a day - they have three working age adults living there and can't come up with it). The real story hear is not the transcript of that call, which was brief and to the point (I am tired of dealing with you, and I am executing the judgement tomorrow). The interest comes from the second voicemail she left me.

The first voicemail asked me to call her back.

The second voicemail, one minute later, was as follows:

"I see that you called me earlier but the message was garbled because there were kids in the background drowning out your voice. [raised voice] Why don't you just call me,  put on your big boy pants and act like a man, and tell me what you got to say to my face"

If I would have listened to the voicemail before I spoke with her a moment later, all hell would have broken loose. I didn't hear the message until this morning when I was driving to work and I immediately became enraged. I was considering how I was going to get to the courthouse to file for eviction with a busy schedule today. But as soon as I heard the voicemail, I became so motivated to get them the eff out I cleared my morning tasks so the eviction became top priority.

HOW DARE YOU LIVE IN MY HOUSE FOR FREE FOR 2 MONTHS AND TALK TO ME LIKE THAT

The saga continues....

On the way to the courthouse, I crashed into the car in front of me at the red light. Not much dammage, but this day in age any dammage is $1,000. So my rage to get them out ASAP cost me another 1,000.

Side note: why won't the court just take a fax??????