Overwhelmed By Life...
I talked to my mom today. A lady from the drug store named Judy called.
And it wasn't even the drug store that gave me the cow sedatives from the nineteen eighties. It was my family drugstore, where the friendly and pleasant and English speaking Dr. B greets me every time I go in, to ask about my grandparents and to ask me how school is going, and how I've been feeling lately, and did I know that So And So from my grade six class is back in town? Well, he thought that she and I were great friends back in the day and we should look each other up.
Little does he know how most people actually feel about sociology students who aspire to be fruit farmers -- regardless, his kindness and understandability is overwhelmingly comforting. There's nothing quite like being asked about cow sedatives in a language you don't understand, by someone you don't know, in a pharmacy that keeps the condoms directly beside where the non-condom buying people have to stand to pay for their cow sedatives and other happy pills.
The pharmacy called to ask about some billing information. My mom gave me a phone number and I immediately said "Ok, Mom, thanks" and made plans to call them the first second I saw a sedated cow with teased hair and a polka-dot cut-off sweater flying by my sixth story bedroom window. I simply don't call people who call my mother saying scary things like "Billing information".
My mom caught on and said "You know, you have to call them. They will be your pharmacy for the rest of your life." And that they will. Because once I get back to the comforts of the country I am never, never leaving them.
It was at this point in our conversation that I burst into a hysterical tirade on paying an institution thousands of dollars that I don't even have for services that they NEVER give. Like sand? On the sidewalks? WALKING TO CLASS SHOULDN'T BE A SAFETY CONCERN. Another thing I pay for is health insurance. I have to say that of all the many, many times I've needed drugs since being in this city, I have actually gotten to use my health benefits without some major hassle ABOUT three times. Maybe only two. But every time I leave the drug store, I'm in such a blinding fit of hysteria over the assholes who run my school that I am reduced to making incoherent syllables and my head turns that funny plum color, and all that leaves the number of times my insurance has worked hard to count.
Well, anyhow, so my mom wants me to return this call to the drugstore at home, and I'm thinking, can't I just send them a check for five hundred dollars with a caveat that states upon cashing it they may never contact me about anything ever again? Because the mere thought of having to go through something, and find a receipt for something, or give information about something, makes me want to jump off the wagon ride that is this insanity. There is only so much a person can take.
And so my mother was talking to me and I was talking to my mother, and I asked her "So, if this gets nasty, can I tell her that my insurance company blows rocks?"
And my mother says: "Of course"
And I said: "What if I need to tell them that my insurance company sucks donkey balls, can I tell them that?"
And my mother says: "You should do what you feel you need to do, just make sure to call them."
And so tomorrow? When my mom goes to the grocery store and hears Judy telling the whole town about this girl who called the pharmacy, and how she burst into a hysterical conniption fit on the phone and started screeching incoherent syllables pertaining to donkey balls?
At least my mom will know that the girl that Judy is talking about had permission from her mother.
Toonses
And it wasn't even the drug store that gave me the cow sedatives from the nineteen eighties. It was my family drugstore, where the friendly and pleasant and English speaking Dr. B greets me every time I go in, to ask about my grandparents and to ask me how school is going, and how I've been feeling lately, and did I know that So And So from my grade six class is back in town? Well, he thought that she and I were great friends back in the day and we should look each other up.
Little does he know how most people actually feel about sociology students who aspire to be fruit farmers -- regardless, his kindness and understandability is overwhelmingly comforting. There's nothing quite like being asked about cow sedatives in a language you don't understand, by someone you don't know, in a pharmacy that keeps the condoms directly beside where the non-condom buying people have to stand to pay for their cow sedatives and other happy pills.
The pharmacy called to ask about some billing information. My mom gave me a phone number and I immediately said "Ok, Mom, thanks" and made plans to call them the first second I saw a sedated cow with teased hair and a polka-dot cut-off sweater flying by my sixth story bedroom window. I simply don't call people who call my mother saying scary things like "Billing information".
My mom caught on and said "You know, you have to call them. They will be your pharmacy for the rest of your life." And that they will. Because once I get back to the comforts of the country I am never, never leaving them.
It was at this point in our conversation that I burst into a hysterical tirade on paying an institution thousands of dollars that I don't even have for services that they NEVER give. Like sand? On the sidewalks? WALKING TO CLASS SHOULDN'T BE A SAFETY CONCERN. Another thing I pay for is health insurance. I have to say that of all the many, many times I've needed drugs since being in this city, I have actually gotten to use my health benefits without some major hassle ABOUT three times. Maybe only two. But every time I leave the drug store, I'm in such a blinding fit of hysteria over the assholes who run my school that I am reduced to making incoherent syllables and my head turns that funny plum color, and all that leaves the number of times my insurance has worked hard to count.
Well, anyhow, so my mom wants me to return this call to the drugstore at home, and I'm thinking, can't I just send them a check for five hundred dollars with a caveat that states upon cashing it they may never contact me about anything ever again? Because the mere thought of having to go through something, and find a receipt for something, or give information about something, makes me want to jump off the wagon ride that is this insanity. There is only so much a person can take.
And so my mother was talking to me and I was talking to my mother, and I asked her "So, if this gets nasty, can I tell her that my insurance company blows rocks?"
And my mother says: "Of course"
And I said: "What if I need to tell them that my insurance company sucks donkey balls, can I tell them that?"
And my mother says: "You should do what you feel you need to do, just make sure to call them."
And so tomorrow? When my mom goes to the grocery store and hears Judy telling the whole town about this girl who called the pharmacy, and how she burst into a hysterical conniption fit on the phone and started screeching incoherent syllables pertaining to donkey balls?
At least my mom will know that the girl that Judy is talking about had permission from her mother.
Toonses
posted by Amanda at 21:43
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