I can be incredibly stubborn in that I don’t ask for help a lot of times when I really need it, thinking I can handle anything on my own, or at least try to before failing miserably at whatever it is that I’m trying to accomplish and having somebody step in and offer their help. I don’t know why I’m this way, maybe it’s pride, though if you’ve read about my fear of loud noises then you are probably aware that I don’t have much of that, but it’s something I need to work on, admitting I need help and asking for it, so here I am, down on both knees with my hands clasped before me, asking for help. Can somebody help me find Portia Triplett? Now admittedly I don’t even know if that’s the way to spell her name, maybe it’s Porsche like the car or Triplet with a single T at the end, but if anyone knows this person, I would forever be indebted to you for the kindness of letting me know how to get into contact with her. Here’s why.
When I moved to Memphis more than a year ago, I changed my phone number from the 772 Florida area code where I’d been living for four years to the local 901 code, putting the sunshine state in my past with Memphis as my future, but that is precisely when the trouble started. The day I changed my phone number I began receiving calls from unknown people, often from out of state, all of the callers with one thing in common, that they were looking for Portia Triplett. These weren’t old friends of Portia, looking to meet for a cup of coffee and catch up on their lives since they graduated high school together, but rather very angry people, eager to get back money that Portia had borrowed from them for a myriad of different things, school and credit cards among the two most common.
No matter how many times I talked to these people and explained that I had no idea who Portia was, the calls didn’t stop, like cockroaches that multiply by the dozens when you leave a pizza box sitting out, these debt collectors seemed to multiply each time I answered the phone, mistakenly thinking that since they got me to answer the call that they would eventually be able to get me to admit that I am in fact, Portia Triplett, or at the very least know who she is, but let me assure you that this is not the case. It’s becoming a daily annoyance having these calls, and nothing has happened over the past year to give me any indication that they will stop, so as I see it, I have two options. I can either change my phone number, and hope the new one will have once belonged to someone who paid their bills on time, or I can find Portia and ask her politely to inform the powers that be, that she has a new phone number. I don’t really want a new number because it took me long enough to memorize this one, so that is why I’m humbly asking, if anyone out there knows Portia so I can make my plea. If things keep trending in this same way, there’s a good chance my phone will end up at the bottom of the Mississippi River, tossed from my car window after one collection call too many, but at least then, I will be able to go about living my daily life in peace, which I believe is something we all strive for on some level.