The absolute worst moment in postgrad life. Your sixth month grace period is over. You know it’s coming, but you refuse to believe that it could actually happen to you. Like somehow Uncle Sam will just “forget” about all those thousands of dollars you stupidly borrowed to pay for education. Spoiler Alert: He NEVER forgets.
OOHHHH mail for me! Yay!
FEDLOAN SERVICING?! Oh no. This is not good. No good at all.
I can’t open this. Nope.
This is giving me anxiety. I can’t know this. It’s like opening the Chamber of Secrets.
Alright I’m gonna open it. I can do this.
*Slowly peels open envelope as if something is going to jump out*
I opened it. The hard part is over right?
Must. Unfold. Paper. Slowly.
WHY MUST YOU INCLUDE SEVERAL PIECES OF PAPER? JUST GIVE ME THE TOTAL. I CAN HANDLE THIS.
*Toss all extraneous papers*
I’m going to vomit. That is not a fathomable number.
I’m going to be poor forever. I should just invest in Ramen.
Now I’ll have to budget my money. I can’t handle this.
WAIT “income based repayment”? They know I’m already poor?!
I’m going to be in debt until I’m 75 years old at this rate.
My grandchildren will have to pay this off after I’m dead.
I’m actually going to vomit all over this document.
Why is school so expensive? Why was I a stuck up little shit? I should’ve gone to community college and commuted somewhere local.
I can’t pay this. I work too hard for my money, America!
Fine. I’ll pay it. Are you happy now, Sallie Mae? ARE YOU?!
$800 I’ll never get back. Gross.
Time to do what I do best in times of stress – drink an entire bottle of wine.
FUCK YOU SALLIE MAE!!!!!!! I’M GETTING DRUNK.