Yesterday I got a call from someone at my health insurance company (“the home of the whopper deductible”). She pussyfooted around describing how their team of nurses helps manage chronic conditions without saying which one, but would I be interested in participating? Hmm, are they talking about my combination skin? My distaste for people who write checks at the supermarket? I’ll bite.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Uh…we see you’ve sought counseling in the past.”
“Well, I’m not actively depressed now, believe it or not. I’m slowly killing time until a baby is old enough to do my taxes, but unless you’ve got a time machine, I think I’m all set.”
Silence…scribbling…”We see you entered counseling again this summer.”
“Yes, having a child tends to throw one for a loop and require at least 3 therapy hours. Did you know babies are kind of passive-aggressive?”
“But I assure you, I know the drill about the depression business. It’s about as exciting as coming down with a cold for me. When I feel bad, I get help. I don’t enjoy being depressed.”
“Oh! That’s great! Some people do.”
Silence on my end….
“Well, the initial interview for this program takes twenty minutes.” A baby began to shriek violently. No, I did not pinch her. She probably needs mental health help more than I do. I think she must be bi-polar. I caught her emptying my savings account and buying tickets to Moscow last week.
I hustled the lady off the phone by putting the mouthpiece right by a baby. Yell your way to privacy! Maybe I will write them a nice letter suggesting that if they really want to help improve my life, they will opt to cover more of the crap that costs me money. No, clearly that is batshit nuts! Calling and poking around for personal information about non-critical situations is obviously far more effective.