May 03, 2005

A great big batch of Frinklin-hatin’

Yes, it does happen. Yesterday in fact. On the way home from work the Missus and I decided to stop to pick up her prescriptions. Now, if you’ve ever stopped at the pharmacy on the way home from work, you know it can be a nightmarish mass of people. We got lucky. We waited in line for about 2 minutes and when we got to the front of the line there was only 2 other people behind us. I decided this would be the perfect time for me to update my insurance. Now that I’m at Comhugeco instead of the Sinking Ship I’m on Ensie’s health plan. You may remember that Comhugeco is a well, huge globe-spanning insurance company. It is. A huge health insurance company that gives its employees really lousy health insurance. So I switched to being a dependant of the Missus. This is also through Comhugeco.

But I digress.

I requested that the blank-faced, presumably high-school educated girl behind the counter to change my information. I’m sure her name was Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani or some other name with too many “eee” sounds. First she proceeded to misspell my name several times. I have a very easily spellable last name, but I do sneakily add a silent “e” in my name. That’s easy to miss.

Meanwhile, the line was growing.

Now that we have found me in the computer, Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani then proceeds to tell me that I am listed as having insurance in their computer. Through Cigna… only she pronounces it with a “K” sound… Kigna. I’m now beginning to doubt that this girl has a high school diploma. I tell her no, that’s my old information. I’m now on my wife’s policy with Comhugeco. The girl’s nervous eyes dart between me and Ensie. I feel the need to reassure this girl that yes, I pick up my prescriptions with my wife. The mistress only comes with me when I pick up the dry cleaning.

Meanwhile, the line was growing.

I hand over my insurance card to Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani, who takes it, furrows her brow in a charmingly frustrated way and proceeds to tap away at her computer. I take a furtive glance back, and realize that the line –just two people a few minutes ago- is now about 16. Ensie and I exchange nervous glances and wait. Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani has now stopped clicking away on her computer and is now concentrating so hard and has her brow furrowed so much we’re beginning to wonder when her brain starts getting squeezed out her ears.

Meanwhile, the line was growing.

She looks up from her screen and asks if she can keep my insurance card overnight and I can pick it up tomorrow.


She bites her lip and thinks hard for a second, then asks me brightly, like she’s coming up with a startlingly original idea. “Can I take a copy of it?”

Absolutely you can. This was a miscalculation on my part. See, I thought there would be a copy machine behind the desk with her. No… The Missus and I watch Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani come out from behind the counter, walk all the way across the store and out through the back entrance. This is when I realize that the line behind us now seems to be comprised of about half the population of San Diego County.

And they’re glaring at me. I try to pull the Missus close, either to protect her or use her as a human shield, but I notice she’s edged away from me. She’s just far enough to be the first to point at me and scream “Get him!” should it come to that. Such loyalty from my human shield. I try to look casual, mutter something about Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani being slow, but they continue to glare and mumble curses under their breath. I turn back toward the pharmacy desk, wondering how hard it would be just to get a new card –and a new pharmacy- if it becomes necessary for me to scatter Tic-Tacs across the floor and escape in the commotion.

Meanwhile, the line looks less like a line and more like a mob complete with torches and pitchforks and rifles they gained while serving in the Austro-Hungarian Army.

Magically, Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani reappears behind the counter. She’s got that blank smile on her face again. She tells us that she’ll put this in tonight, and we need to verify the phone number they have for me. In case there is a problem. Don’t even ask: Of COURSE they have the wrong phone number.

Meanwhile, the line-turned-angry mob has now begun chanting “Kill the bastard! Kill the bastard!” They’re beginning to march towards us.

Brittany or Wendi or Tiffani looks at us expectantly, like she deserves congratulations for all this. “Ummm… can I have my insurance card back?” I ask her.


“My insurance card? Can I have it back?” The Missus is now pulling farther away from me, but she has grabbed a hold of my shirt.

“Oh yeah here you go”. Brittany or Wendy or Tiffani hands me the card back. Ensie and I sprint to the back of the store and hide amongst the dog food while the mob disperses. We end up staying the night there. We finally busted through a window and climbed out the back at around 2AM.

Brittany or Wendy or Tiffani had only called us three times. Turns out her name is Renee.

Just isn’t the same.

Posted by Frinklin at May 3, 2005 05:07 PM
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Posted by: beautiful at August 13, 2005 12:48 PM
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