I've informed you my mother's dead, hell, I've told you three different times, the lawyer's informed you of it as part of the probate disaster. Hell, the company trying to help me save this piece of shit house you want to take from me told you (and seriously, you don't want this house, the bathroom floor is molding and there are roots in the sewer line).
STOP CALLING ME ASKING FOR HER! She's dead, D-E-A-D.
I know you want your money, I want to pay you your money, I just can't until we fiddle with this paperwork. Also, stop calling at the crack of dawn, I don't deal well with people on three hours of sleep...it's in your records not to call before noon...most people respect that.
Grr.
To American Claims Management-
Give me my money. Stop trying to find the arse who stole and destroyed my car (though I don't see how hard it is to find him as he's IN JAIL!) and gimmie my money for a new car. It's been three months now, Gimmie!
(side note for those who remember: Mum's death has been officially ruled an accidental overdose, so I can't do anything legally to the...women who gave mum access to the pills she wasn't supposed to have. Thankfully though, they released my mother's remains to me promptly, so the mortuary did not in fact, hold her hostage like I feared)
