Whether my roommates are employed or not has no bearing on if the fucking check for my pickup's repairs should be mailed to me or not. The insinuation that I'd forsake the over three thousand dollars I just put onto my credit card for some strange reason vaguely relating to my roommates being unemployed (and they aren't, at the moment) is unfair and downright insulting to me. What's going on here? Do my parents think I'm paying the rent for Chris and Lana? Or maybe doing their car payments? Insurance? I am not the First National Bank of Feren, or at least I wasn't, the last I checked. My patience was wearing thin already, but when I was interrogated if my roommates are holding jobs or not right now, I started getting riled up. When I get riled up, I get obstinate. Displaying my inherited stubbornness I replied that I wasn't at liberty to release that information -- mostly because it isn't any of my parents' business, and partly because Chris and Lana were sitting not six feet away from me. I told them as much, stating that it was none of their business and has no bearing on the issue at hand -- how to get the three thousand dollars that's due me into my hands. I got back a smarmy response of "your lack of an answer tells me that they don't have jobs." In a rather curt manner I informed my mother she was sorely mistaken, and reminded her once again that said issue had no relevance to the topic of the discussion. More bullshit was fed down the line to me, and finally I reached my limit. I told Mom that I was amazed that my father's paranoia could extend this far, and that if he had any desire to change the plan that was established and agreed to previously (cash the check that's in your name, write me a check, mail the check to me) he could very well call and tell me himself rather than designating her as some sort of lackey go-between. The thing that pushed me over the limit was that somehow this "problem" (what problem, send me the goat-kissing money!) came back to being my fault, "because I never call and never communicate with the family." Small wonder, if this is the craziness I have to put up with! How hard is it to do what you said you'd do? Why does all this paranoia about the "money not being directed where it should go" have to come into it? What in the name of little juniper berries do they mean by that, anyway? Do they think I'm going to take the money and go out, rent a limo, buy two hookers and smash up a penthouse at the local Hilton for the weekend? I mean, give me a break! So I did the immature thing, and hung up on her once she started that tired old litany about how this whole thing is my fault for not communicating, and how they always have to call me, yadda yadda yadda. Not the best choice, I know, nor the most mature one, but my bullshit-o-meter was way in the red and I had better things to do tonight. The phone rang five minutes later, and I didn't answer it. Chris and Lana had heard me muttering as I hung up so they knew not to get it, either. As soon as the call went to voicemail they hung up and called again. I'm sure my father got involved and left some rather choice words on the voicemail for me. That's fine. He may even decide to keep the money for himself, as I'm sure it would be fitting punishment since I am just a totally ungrateful and undeserving whelp. That's equally fine. I've dug myself out of this much debt before, taking a step backwards is nothing new to me, and it'd only serve to prove to me that my decision to avoid my family as much as humanly possible is a well-warranted decision.
Tomorrow morning I will get up, delete any voicemail I might have, and make a phone call back to Minnesota in the afternoon while I'm on lunch. Hopefully tempers will be a little more cool then and rational conversation a little more plausible. If not, no harm will be done because I'm fully ready to pick up this load and just add it to the ones I'm already carrying. Another straw won't break the camel's back, yet.
He was a Midwestern boy on his own