Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in, if I may quote Al Pacino in Godfather 3.
If only doctors were as good with service as they are with their billing. I am still, after five weeks, waiting for the results of a test. I’ve called, emailed…even pestered the lab who, with a mouthful of lunch said, “I’m not allowed to say.” How’s that egg salad by the way, asshole?
Last month my crown fell out…no, not off, though God knows what that would have cost since I do don a tiara now and then (a joke), and though he was able to glue it back on, I still owed him 75 bucks, already paying 25. I received three bills in one month…3. I called there and said, “Tell me something, is Dr. Levine going under? Are they repossessing his X-Ray machine? Why on earth am I getting so many bills?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” a woman said, “and billing’s out to lunch.”
“They certainly are.”
The thing about me is, I pay everything…eventually. If I could I’d pay it all up front, but money doesn’t pour in like in the old days at 300 bucks an hour minus a modest agent’s fee. Now it’s, if you hire me I’ll paint and mow the lawn.
The upside of course is my credit. I could buy Nebraska it’s so good.
What happened to the days when you could sell blood on a monthly basis for ten bucks a quart. Now you get Orangina, a couple Lorna Doones and some fat woman saying, “Can you walk yet honey?”
I have nothing else to sell except for my shearling coat my ex gave me. I’m not a fur wearer, but it’s so, so beautiful. Like having sheep in the closet. And the day it was given to me was a great one. My friend Nancy was still on the planet opening up a bottle of Tattingers to celebrate me finally finding a nice, generous man.
She didn’t live long enough to watch him turn into Hannibal Lecter, but her moment of optimism is still felt.
Wonder what I could get for my crown? I bet billing would know.
There is my Monticello piggy bank.