Passing the Buck

     I discovered that I was pregnant in February, and underwent six weeks of ultrasounds and exams before eventually losing the baby in April.  I ended up in the emergency room in June with severe abdominal pain, and discovered the pregnancy didn’t “resolve itself” and had to have medical intervention to end things.  Yes, I know this isn’t funny at all, but trust me...it will be. 

             I received this letter yesterday.

From: Big Clueless Health Insurance Company

            Dear Mary,

Big Clueless Health Insurance Company retains the services of Even More Clueless Recovery Systems to review claims when an illness may have been the result of getting hurt at work, on commercial premises, or a motor vehicle accident.  These are common causes of health problems where other parties could be responsible for paying your costs.

            I could no longer read the letter at this point because I was blinded by tears and accompanying paralyzing hysterical laughter.  Let’s analyze, shall we?

1.      Somewhere, someone who is human should have at least glanced over my case and seen the word “pregnant”.  Logically, the word “pregnant” should have sent up a red flag in conjunction with the words “at work, on commercial premises, or a motor vehicle accident”.

a)      “At work” – This is kinda icky, as I am a preschool teacher.  I’m sure that there are a number of people that get pregnant on the job, but I seriously doubt it can be claimed for workman’s comp.  We don’t even have any male employees, so it would have had to have been one of the kids’ fathers.  That could count as work-related, but on the job?  It would take Jose Baez to try to muddle through that one.

b)      “On commercial premises” – Almost as icky as on the job.  I wouldn’t be surprised if someone got pregnant at Walmart.  I wouldn’t be surprised if a Walmart employee got pregnant on the job and tried to file workman’s comp.  I, however, do not engage in pregnancy-inducing behavior on commercial premises, except for hotels.  If that was the case, I could sue the St. Augustine Holiday Inn for “injuries” resulting in my son Jared.  We probably shouldn’t analyze this angle any further, however, as I don’t want to give lawsuit happy ambulance chasers any more ideas.

c)      “Or a motor vehicle accident” – This has a myriad of possibilities.  Becoming pregnant while operating a motor vehicle could have caused an accident.  Someone else becoming pregnant and then hitting me could have also caused…wait…. no, it couldn’t.  I’m sure some teenager will try to use that excuse one day though.  Maybe being in a motor vehicle accident would have caused me to require consolation from my husband later, resulting in pregnancy. 

2.      I have to respond to this letter through a questionnaire either online or over the phone.  I’m leaning more towards doing it over the phone as that promises to be much, much more entertaining.  The questions are listed below in italics – my possible responses are bolded.

Why did the patient seek medical attention?

As I’m sure my medical records and insurance claim forms clearly show, I was pregnant.  With a human baby. (I include that as these people have already proved to be about as smart as a box of hair).

Were the patient’s injuries the result of a motor vehicle accident?

Unless the conception occurred in a junkyard, no.

Where did the accident or injury happen?

That’s getting a little personal.

Did you file a report of injury?

Not unless sticking my head out the bathroom door and yelling, “Two lines on the stick!  Flush my happy pills!” at my husband counts.

Was settlement or insurance money received from another party?

Don’t I wish.  If I could convince Antonio Banderas that the baby was his, I’d be all set.  Tell him I’m the one from Walmart.

Is the patient represented by an attorney for this incident?

Yes.  I’m suing my husband.  Nancy Grace will be covering the incident at 8PM and 10PM. 

            I’ll let ya’ll know how it turns out.

New Jersey Meets the South

     I was in the local nail salon I’ve been going to for nearly ten years for my monthly-ish (OK, sometimes it’s a bimonthly) pedicure.  The owners are there six days a week, twelve hours a day, helped by one other woman.  The salon is very clean and attractive, and the pedicure you get there for $20 is much more labor intensive with paraffin heel wraps and hot stone massage.  I realize that I have lost any male readers I might have had at this point but two; my husband, who is still choking over $20 being spent on toes, and my brother, who is lamenting over the state of his dry heels.

            While happily dozing through a luscious foot massage, the serenity was broken by the entrance of two women and a group of young girls.  After being cordially greeted by both owners, she announced in a loud and grating voice that she’d called the previous day to set up manicures and pedicures for a large wedding party.  Great, I thought, lots of business for some hard-working people.

            The loud woman, whom I’d by now identified as having both a thick New Jersey accent and even thicker New Jersey diva attitude, began trying to intimidate the owners into doing the mani/pedis with French tips and four designs for only $15 instead of the $42.  The owner obviously didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry.  “You kidding me?” he asked in his Asian accent.  “You want me to do for two-thirds less?  Why I would do that?”  I could see her thoughts plainly – because you’re foreign you must be stupid…therefore I can bully you into doing it for almost nothing.  “Because seven more people are coming and it’s a lot of money.  Can’t you count?”  To my disbelief, she started counting on her fingers like she was giving a two year old gummy bears.  “One, two, three…”

            “I can count,” the owner replied.  “We don’t do nails for free.”  The Jersey Diva became irate and began to shout that she could do the nails much better herself at home.  “Then why you here?” he asked in exasperation.  Finally, after seeing that the dumb foreigners would not sing and dance for a couple of measly bucks, she shouted at the top of her marinara sauce and Jack Daniels coated voice, “You want me to take my money somewhere else?  Huh?  Do you?” 

            “Yes!”  The owner’s wife exclaimed, “Out!  Don’t come in my salon and yell in front of my customers!”

            The owner moves to the door and opens it, hoping Jersey Diva will take a hint.  Seeing this sends her again into hysterics.  “You want me to take my money somewhere else?” she screeches again, looking as if she might have an aneurysm.  “YES!” the clients shout in chorus from the spa chairs, the nail stations, and the drying table.  Jersey Diva spins around and stomps out to the spontaneous applause of the clientele.  The small Divas-in-Training suck their teeth, roll their eyes in disgust, and saunter out behind Queen Entitlement.  The owner shuts the door firmly after them and asks aloud, “WHAT was THAT??”

            That, folks, was New Jersey.  To this day I am amazed at the dramatic differences in regional cultures.  What make some areas prone to the loud, dramatic, and intolerable, while others produce those that are laid back and soft-spoken?  While I realize that I cannot judge an entire state by the behavior of a few, but geez…stereotypes don’t just build themselves, do they?  Bridezilla temper tantrums may be a common sight in the Northeast, but I’ve never seen such a display anywhere but on TV.  My sisters called me a Bridezilla because I cried in frustration over some decorative bows while running on three hours sleep.  You just don’t see this kind of junk down here unless you get a Cuban and a Puerto Rican in the same room and they start debating the proper way to roast pork.

            I guess I just don’t get it.  As a born and bred Southerner, I would rather have my toes buttered and deep-fried than make a public scene over the price of something.  Reputation and family name just seem to something we like to preserve in small town Florida.  Maybe I’m just a dumb Southerner – maybe all transactions in Jersey are conducted in ear-splitting screeches.

            There is a funny end to the story though.  The next time I was in, I asked about the Jersey Diva.  She actually had the nerve to come back in later that day with her entire mafia…err, mob…err, posse trailing behind her.  Having apparently been turned away from all the other nail salons in town (including “Nail So Happy!” – I love that one) she came back to try to strike another deal.  Jersey Diva got shot down quick – even though the salon was empty at the time, she was told that her business wasn’t needed.  Somewhere in central Florida, a New Jersey woman with a hopefully much smaller attitude got married with naked nails and dry heels.

            There is one Southern trait that crosses race, language, and nationality lines…self-respect. 

Mormon Tabernacle Choir Has Their Own Physician? OR Funny Craigslist Scam Emails - You Decide!

My brother Matt is selling his XBox or Playstation or some other vacuous time-sucker on Craigslist.  The following is the exact emails he exchanged with a totally legitimate and trustworthy individual...I mean, I'd give all my bank information out to Dr. Jennifer Thompson...

 

Matt Elmore to Jennifer

It's in perfect condition, and my final asking price is $275.

Thanks Matt,
I got your mail.
The price is ok by me,I reside in Utah but needs to purchase for my Son that traveled to West Africa for his international studies,he is with his Father who was transferred to work at the United States Embassy in west Africa and i want to send him a birthday gift because his birthday is coming up soon..I would have come to pick it up myself but because of distance and nature of my work as a medical doctor at Mormon Tabernacle Choir extension in South Utah,my days are always busy.Please if you do have a paypal account,provide it to me so that I Make the payment to you Or your Full name,Full contact Address,City,State and Zip Code if you wish to receive the money through money order,i can send it straight to your residence.I will be paying you the total of $400 for both the cost price and the shipping...[Please i need the information fast so that your payment will reach you before tomorrow to enable you ship the Packages fast.
Thanks for your understanding.

Dr Jennifer...

Jennifer Thompson to Matt

Matt Elmore to Jennifer

Well let's see. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, also known as the "Mormons". So I'm well aware that being a "doctor at the Mormon Tabernacle Choir" doesn't make any sense at all. It's a singing group, not a place. Also, their headquarters aren't in South Utah. I'm well aware of what you're doing here. This is a scam, and you are a lazy, piece of trash. If I'm wrong, then please, email me you're husband's full name and exactly which American embassy in Africa his works for, and as an American citizen, I will be able to get in contact with him to ensure his actual existence. But as I'm already sure, you are just scum trying to steal from hard working people. I don't even know why I'm wasting my time since you probably won't be able to understand this. From the looks of the grammar, spelling, punctuation, and overall incoherent nature of the email you sent, you can't really speak English anyway. If you have any dignity left after this, then please, I eagerly await your response.
Sincerely,
Please Go Die

I for one am completely shocked that the good doctor hasn't returned his email.

Ten Rules of Jordan

This is kind of a knock off on a tshirt I've seen a few times...I'm sure you've seen it too.  Jordan has recently picked up the word mine, and it's usually screeched at the top of his little lungs.

1. If it's yours, it's mine.
2. If I see it, it's mine.
3. If I want it, it's mine.
4. If I don't want it, it's still mine.
5. If it's on a shelf in a store and is breakable, it's ALL mine.
6. If you take it from me, your sanity is mine.
7. If it actually is mine, I probaby don't want it. Yours is better.
8. If it's not mine THIS INSTANT, I will run to Grandma and cry on her leg.
9. See? Grandma said give it to me. Mine!
10. Veruca Salt has NOTHING on me. It's mine. Trust me.

Crime and Punishment

     A groundbreaking new sentencing guideline for carjacking may soon be considered in Polk County.  You want to steal a car?  Be our guest.  There is one stipulation, however...the sentence for this crime is to be driven by a Federal Marshall from Pensacola to Key West with a toddler, a preschooler, and a CD of nursery rhymes in a Ford Fiesta.

     First time, non-violent offenders will be given a standard set of children who have been given copious amounts of liquids beforehand to assure numerous shrieks of "I gotta pee!", but only in areas where no restrooms are available for miles.  Both children will have been prepped by being extremely well-rested but ravenously hungry.  The sentence will require gas station stops at least every fifty miles for high sugar drinks and chocolately, smeary candy bars, with at least one slushy-type drink being spilled the moment it has been paid for.  Repeat offenders will be provided with a toddler suffering from both a nasty cold and a stomach virus, complete with explosive diarrhea.

     The aspect of the sentence which will be most effective in discouraging future crimes is the intensive, repetitive nature of the toddler's communication.  Very small children have endless persistence and can crush the will and sanity of even the most hardened career criminal.  The constant barrage of screeches..."MINE! MINE!"  "All done!  All done!  All done!"  "Out! Out! OUT!!" can only be drowned out by the relentlessly cheerful perkiness of the nursery rhyme CD.  The choice between the ear-splitting shrieks and enduring one more rabid rendition of "Hickory Dickory Dock" is like being asked to choose between waterboarding and electric shock.

     By the time the thief reaches Tallahassee, he will be begging to be sent to a nice, quiet jail cell.  By Jacksonville his hair will be full of Goldfish crackers and the Slurpee that someone "accidentally" spilled down his back.  I-95 South will be nothing but a redundant stretch of green and brown.  A-1A must be avoided for the protection of the torturers (i.e. children) lest the convicted be driven completely mad, overtake the driver and attempt to drive the Fiesta into the ocean.

   Once the vehicle crosses the Seven Mile Bridge and is met by the Department of Corrections at the Southernmost Point, the carjacker must generally be extricated from a fetal position on the floor of the car.  With shouts of "BYE BYE! BYE BYE!" from the sugar-crazed children, he runs frantically for the safety of the bus filled with rapists and murderers awaiting transport to prison.

     This sentence should not be considered a punishment, but a form of rehabilitation.  Test subjects showed a deep-seated fear of not only anyone under five feet tall, but of all vehicles in general.  It is expected that rates of car theft will fall dramatically, and that theft of cars occupied by children under the age of twelve will be nonexistent.

     Polk County is also considering a pilot program to require that all convicted drug dealers be accompanied by a two year old twenty four hours per day, based on the theory that it is impossible to participate in the sale of narcotics with a small, version of a piranha screaming "MINE!! MINE!!" throughout the transaction.