Usually I log on to tell you all about a recent misadventure. A tragedy. Something that’s really embarrassing. You know. Like my alphorn playing.
But today, I have good news.
I got into work and was dreaming up new ways to spin in my chair when the boss called me in. I didn’t really realize at first what this was so I immediately panicked out of a pained sense of tradition. The boss, let’s give her a codename, Lynn says, “Well, I have some good news for you.”
So I figure I’m fired.
But wait. She said “good news for you,” not “good news for me.”
Then she commenced to tell me that I have received a promotion I’d been working on for sometime to get. And by working, I mean brown-nosing and using false compliments. You know. The usual.
But seriously, this was great news. So I smiled. I was very happy.
So the rest of the day, I was thinking, “How, oh, how will I celebrate this momentous occasion?”
Well, I needed some money so I quickly sold some company stock. Once word got out that I was promoted, that stock was sure to take a dive (it was down a dime by lunchtime) so now I was plush with an addition $64.28. Now, we’re talking.
I already had a trip planned for the end of the month at the fabulous Kalahari resort in the Wisconsin Dells. So I figure this money could go for that.
But I had forgotten that tonight was Tuesday night. Which meant true entertainment.
I was sitting down in front of my best friend, TiVo, when the phone rang. It was Simon. The usual pause, “Mr. Krutchmen?”
I don’t know if his name is Simon or not. But he had a weird accent that reminded me of Simon Cowell on “American Idol,” so that’s what I always called the dude. “Simon?”
“What?” said Simon. Then he returned to the script, “Mr. Krutchmen, it has come to our attention that you have an unpaid bill from our company…”
“Oh, and who, Simon, are you calling from?”
“Liposcience,” said the bewildered man on the other side of the phone. “Who is Simon?”
My doctor is driving me crazy. About two years ago, now, I went to Dr. Pryba with this plantar fascitis thing in my foot. He kind of treated me for that for a week or two, but the past year or so, all he does is worry about my diet. He has my blood drawn every two months or so, puts it through more tests than CSI runs on a corpse, and I get a bill. Apparently, I’m not getting enough “good cholesterol.” Well, obviously. One look at me and you figure malnourished, right?
“But, Simon, I think you are misinformed…” I slowly take control of the conversation.
“In what way, Mr. Krutchmen?”
“You said I have an unpaid bill. I have no unpaid bill.–I have a remote in my hand. Which is an improvement…”
Simon, the jerk, cuts me off. “You need to pay for these services.”
“What services?”
“For the tests your doctor ordered.”
“I don’t pay for pizza my doctor orders, why would I pay for his tests.”
“But the tests are for you.”
“Which,” I counter, “is why I have insurance.”
“But your insurance company refuses to pay. You need to call your insurance company and tell them to pay us.”
“Doesn’t sound that way to me,” I admitted.
“But they owe us money,” Simon pleaded.
So I respond, “So get it from them. Should they be paying the bill?”
“Yes.”
“So call them up.”
“No. You must call.”
“I don’t think you understand. I don’t need to call anybody. If the bill should be paid by the insurance company, they should pay you. I don’t need to tell them that.”
“But you owe the money.”
“How do you figure?” I’m really enjoying this at this point. “I didn’t order it and you say the insurance company owes you the money. It sounds like I ought to stay out of this.”
“But it was for you.”
“Did I request the services? I thought you said my doctor ordered it. You should really get your story straight. Do you need a minute?”
“You need to call your insurance company,” Simon, winded, responded wearily.
“Why?”
“Because they owe us money.”
“Why would I call them? I’m not owed any money. You guys are awful funny. You call yourself collections and you collect by calling people that don’t owe you money and ask them to call the people that do.”
“But the tests are for you,” Simon said, triumphantly, “so you owe the money.”
“Could you make up your mind, please? First they owe you money; now I do. Kind of sounds like a double billing. I tell you what. Why don’t you check your records and get back to me…” and I unceremoniously hung up the phone.
I’ve had similar calls for two or three months. I would have paid long ago, but I just love these calls so much and I care about the bill and my credit rating so little that I’ve just kept this going.
But today, in celebration, I am writing them a check for $64.28. Isn’t that nice?
Of course, the bill is for $275.50. This ought to drive them crazy. Maybe I’ll get some calls on Thursday now.
The Captain