Death cab for chunky
I have been riding cabs between Union Station and work since I broke my foot. Usually it's a stoic middle-easterner mumbling into the earpiece of his cell phone, but occasionally there are those that don't ignore me when I say "Good Morning".
This morning was a little asian lady. Hold your judgement 'til the end, but one stereotype I've foind resonant is that asians, particularly asian women, are terrible drivers. The actual ride was not eventful, but our interaction was. She's had 3 moving violations this year and had the windows all the way up and all the way down more times than I could count as she regaled me with the tome of her latest court appearance where she got off with probation. My favorite quirk of hers was that when she got to the punchline of her story, she'd laugh a very high-pitched laugh, and a quick recount of the story with lots of profanity included.
example: "I can't beleive the shit mothafucka write me a damn ticket and don't show up to fukeen court!"
It was a good time. My second favorite quirk was a front seat covered with newspapaer, a martial arts baton, a blanket, and, on her lap, a huge acryllic cosmetics box that would have made a restroom valet jealous. She recommended Ben Gay for my broken foot. Well, she recommended something in a tube, and after I guessed my favorites, only ben gay and toothpaste remained. I don't think I'll run out and get some, since I'm not sure she was sure...
Speaking of ol' lefty, I had some shady dealings with a medical supply person of late, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. The doc said I might benefit from an electric bone growth stimulator (don't. I've already made all the jokes.) to help knit the broken bone. They said they'd put me oin touch with the guy from the company that makes them. Strike one, they only gave his first name, Oliver. Of course, that conjured up images of an orphan to me, or at least a balding guy with a potbelly and a comb-over/moustache combo in a soup-colored suit. When I met him nearly two weeks later, he actually looks like a thai kickboxer (Picture Bolo Yeung). Anyway, he'd claimed to have called my insurance and not heard anything from them yet, and told me we'd "work it out" if insurance didn't cover it, which was unlikely. In the RARE chance that it wasn't covered, he'd "take care" of me, either via an assistance program or he'd "find a way to take care of me". I said I didn't have the money to buy the device, so I wasn't comfortable taking it. He told me to take it anyway, and since I didn't sign anything, I wasn't liable for anything.
Today, I called my insurance company and they said the only calls they got about it were yesterday (he was supposed to have called 2 weeks ago). Shay-Dee!
It's covered up to 90%, after my deductible of $750, so it could cost me $800 all told.
I have an appointment Tuesday to determine next steps. If I'm not healing at all, I'm considering biting the bullet and paying for it. I want my life back. The prospect of that is worth $800 to me. If I am healing, I may leave it at the doctors office and tell Oliver to come pick it up.
I guess the worst part of this is knowing my doctor's down with all this shadiness. He'd have the machines, but putting me in touch with a supplier probably means they're getting a kickback, and may mean that's why he prescribed it in the first place.
Oh well, I'd rub ben gay in my eyes right now if I thought it would help me get better faster.
This morning was a little asian lady. Hold your judgement 'til the end, but one stereotype I've foind resonant is that asians, particularly asian women, are terrible drivers. The actual ride was not eventful, but our interaction was. She's had 3 moving violations this year and had the windows all the way up and all the way down more times than I could count as she regaled me with the tome of her latest court appearance where she got off with probation. My favorite quirk of hers was that when she got to the punchline of her story, she'd laugh a very high-pitched laugh, and a quick recount of the story with lots of profanity included.
example: "I can't beleive the shit mothafucka write me a damn ticket and don't show up to fukeen court!"
It was a good time. My second favorite quirk was a front seat covered with newspapaer, a martial arts baton, a blanket, and, on her lap, a huge acryllic cosmetics box that would have made a restroom valet jealous. She recommended Ben Gay for my broken foot. Well, she recommended something in a tube, and after I guessed my favorites, only ben gay and toothpaste remained. I don't think I'll run out and get some, since I'm not sure she was sure...
Speaking of ol' lefty, I had some shady dealings with a medical supply person of late, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. The doc said I might benefit from an electric bone growth stimulator (don't. I've already made all the jokes.) to help knit the broken bone. They said they'd put me oin touch with the guy from the company that makes them. Strike one, they only gave his first name, Oliver. Of course, that conjured up images of an orphan to me, or at least a balding guy with a potbelly and a comb-over/moustache combo in a soup-colored suit. When I met him nearly two weeks later, he actually looks like a thai kickboxer (Picture Bolo Yeung). Anyway, he'd claimed to have called my insurance and not heard anything from them yet, and told me we'd "work it out" if insurance didn't cover it, which was unlikely. In the RARE chance that it wasn't covered, he'd "take care" of me, either via an assistance program or he'd "find a way to take care of me". I said I didn't have the money to buy the device, so I wasn't comfortable taking it. He told me to take it anyway, and since I didn't sign anything, I wasn't liable for anything.
Today, I called my insurance company and they said the only calls they got about it were yesterday (he was supposed to have called 2 weeks ago). Shay-Dee!
It's covered up to 90%, after my deductible of $750, so it could cost me $800 all told.
I have an appointment Tuesday to determine next steps. If I'm not healing at all, I'm considering biting the bullet and paying for it. I want my life back. The prospect of that is worth $800 to me. If I am healing, I may leave it at the doctors office and tell Oliver to come pick it up.
I guess the worst part of this is knowing my doctor's down with all this shadiness. He'd have the machines, but putting me in touch with a supplier probably means they're getting a kickback, and may mean that's why he prescribed it in the first place.
Oh well, I'd rub ben gay in my eyes right now if I thought it would help me get better faster.
posted by Zach at 10:15 AM
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