Evidently I make too much money to get assistance with my health care. You want to know how much money I take home each month? Just enough that I could afford a soggy cardboard box underneath a bridge. That’s a bit of exaggeration. I could afford a soggy cardboard box next to a dead body half buried somewhere in the woods.
I’ve been trying to find affordable health insurance like the rest of America. I was on the phone this morning with a woman who had her little calculator and was punching numbers into it. I could hear it along with what I could only guess was her “I’m doing hard math” sigh. Ends up I make too much money to qualify for help with my insurance.
I told her that starting January 1, 12:01am, I’d be going from 40 hours a week to 29 (because my employer felt she had no other option (or just didn’t give a shit) but to drop several of us to shorter hours because she didn’t want to pay benefits). I asked the woman if she calculated what I actually took home instead of my gross income. She said they had to follow guidelines and they had to go with gross income.
Yeah. Pretty gross.
She went on to tell me that there were plans as low as $10 a month. Why on earth would you not say that first instead of having me go into instant panic mode? I almost went into full hyperventilation mode thinking I’d have to rob a bank or roll some old people for their pension money to pay for my premium.
I have a broker-which is a fancy name for somebody who knows what’s going on, knows how royally screwed up this whole thing has become and will hold your hand through most of it, I told her what happened, the phone call from the chipper lady who told me I made too much to qualify for help. She emailed me back and said some people were using the exchange system to pull off scams. Well fuck me. I can’t win. I just want insurance that will give me my happy pills that calm me and keep me from going crazy in public. I’m paranoid enough as it is and now I’m afraid you-don’t-qualify-for-help lady and my broker are in on something together. They’re going to fleece me for my Bee Gees cd collection and my life size cut out of David Tennant.
So I make too much money to get any help. I’d like to see this dough I’m rolling in. Maybe I can upgrade my soggy cardboard box to a crumbling Styrofoam rambler.