If I hear one more God damn Bing Crosby Christmas song this place is going up in flames. My co-worker seems incapable of listening to holiday music without it traveling to every area of the library’s basement. I’m going to blow my Feliz Navidad off if I hear anymore.
Sorry. I’m kinda cranky. For the last week I’ve been trying to sort out getting health insurance. I’ve been emailing with this insurance broker named Charlotte. We were getting downright chummy there until I said that I might qualify for Medicaid because I make jack shit at the library. I could almost hear her shaking her head at her end of the emails. I think I also heard her dusting her hands off like she was saying “You’re dead to me.” She informed me that if I qualified for Medicaid she would step out as my broker. Maybe she didn’t want to get the stink of a struggling worker on her.
I found out that I qualify for a tax credit and that I would be choosing from the Silver Level of the health care system. They really need to rename all the plans: Gold: You ain’t gonna die on our watch; Bronze: Well, maybe it’ll be touch and go; Silver: We hope the driver slows down the car in front of the ER and shoves you out as gently as possible.
Charlotte emailed that she was happy to help me sign up for the silver plan. We became buds. I’d email her and get a response half an hour later. Pretty good when you consider brokers are probably stressed as hell and over worked. I emailed her and told her I needed to get started on my Silver Level application.
I haven’t heard from her in 3 days.
What did I do, Charlotte? Did I say something wrong? Did I forget our anniversary? Was it that inappropriate joke I told you about the Puerto Rican and a Fleet enema bottle? You’ve been so cold and distant with me for the last 72 hours. If I get hit by a bus and need health insurance it’ll be all your fault. I have 2 weeks left on the health insurance I have right now. If I get hit, thrown across the intersection and require a lengthy hospital stay it’ll be all your fault for not helping me get signed up for the Silver Plan. My family will have to take me off life support (even though I’m awake and breathing fine on my own). At 12:01am on January 1st I’ll be without insurance and there will be no money for the months of physical rehabilitation, not to mention the mental therapy I’ll need since the years stretch ahead of me and I’ll go apeshit every time I see a bus, even a commercial for the casino bus that takes everybody in their 80s gambling. I’ll be in that hospital bed and my oldest brother will have to put a pillow over my face. My nephew will be scrolling through texts on his phone. My mom will be gazing out of the window of my room, cursing Charlotte for never getting back to me.
You know what, Charlotte? Fine, bitch. I’ll contact Todd or Shannon. Both of them have emailed me, eager to help me through the process of choosing the right insurance. Todd enjoys campfires and long soaks in a bubble bath and Shannon breeds Maine coon cats with her life partner Nikki. I don’t need you Charlotte. I have others to get me through this difficult time. But please, when you think of me, I hope they’re good memories.