| General Non-Fiction posted November 22, 2021 |
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Bureaucratic Follies: two hours in, over and OUT!
Running in Place
by Elizabeth Emerald
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
If you have followed my postings pertaining to my 10-day stint in corona-mandated isolation, you are likely to misconstrue the title. Certainly, a person less slothful than me would be literally running in place by now.
Yet, here I am, six days into my confinement -- with a case of corona presenting as mild congestion that only a pussy would bitch about -- and the extent of my physical exertion has been to open a manila folder. Moreover, I only deigned to do so after I got booted out of StoryLand, consequential to the crash of Comcast.
From the folder, I extracted the business card of the local senior resource center, where I'd been told I could apply for Medicare directly, and thus avoid having to contend with the torments of bureaucracy.
The woman who answered informed me they are booked through December 7th and are not presently scheduling appointments.
I asked for the number of the local office of the Social Security Administration, which -- as senior-resource staff are well aware -- oversees Medicare as well as Social Security.
Instead, she gave me the 1-800-number for the Medicare information line, which, per its name, provides information, not assistance.
I asked again if she had the number for the SSA, at which--before hanging up on me-- she retorted rhetorically: "What on earth does the SSA have to do with Medicare?"
Meantime, my internet access had been restored. I went to the SSA website, and dialed their number.
A chirpy, algorithmic "bot" inquired as to the reason for my call.
I enunciated: "I - want - to - ap-ply - for Med-i-care," after which IT told me to enter my Medicare number.
I patiently explained to IT that I don't have a Medicare number because I am not presently enrolled in Medicare, otherwise I wouldn't have had to call to apply for Medicare -- duh! -- they should fire the moronic d!(khead who programmed you!
IT cheerfully offered to connect me "momentarily" to someone of the pronoun persuasion HE, SHE, or THEY.
During the course of the following two hours, whilst awaiting to speak to a member of my species, I attempted to apply for Medicare online per the instructions.
At the very instant of my three-strikes-and-out boot from the tortuous application procedure, my call was put through.
As I was explaining how he/she/they could "assist me today," my phone died, having run out of charge after two hours on standby.
If you have followed my postings pertaining to my 10-day stint in corona-mandated isolation, you are likely to misconstrue the title. Certainly, a person less slothful than me would be literally running in place by now.
Yet, here I am, six days into my confinement -- with a case of corona presenting as mild congestion that only a pussy would bitch about -- and the extent of my physical exertion has been to open a manila folder. Moreover, I only deigned to do so after I got booted out of StoryLand, consequential to the crash of Comcast.
From the folder, I extracted the business card of the local senior resource center, where I'd been told I could apply for Medicare directly, and thus avoid having to contend with the torments of bureaucracy.
The woman who answered informed me they are booked through December 7th and are not presently scheduling appointments.
I asked for the number of the local office of the Social Security Administration, which -- as senior-resource staff are well aware -- oversees Medicare as well as Social Security.
Instead, she gave me the 1-800-number for the Medicare information line, which, per its name, provides information, not assistance.
I asked again if she had the number for the SSA, at which--before hanging up on me-- she retorted rhetorically: "What on earth does the SSA have to do with Medicare?"
Meantime, my internet access had been restored. I went to the SSA website, and dialed their number.
A chirpy, algorithmic "bot" inquired as to the reason for my call.
I enunciated: "I - want - to - ap-ply - for Med-i-care," after which IT told me to enter my Medicare number.
I patiently explained to IT that I don't have a Medicare number because I am not presently enrolled in Medicare, otherwise I wouldn't have had to call to apply for Medicare -- duh! -- they should fire the moronic d!(khead who programmed you!
IT cheerfully offered to connect me "momentarily" to someone of the pronoun persuasion HE, SHE, or THEY.
During the course of the following two hours, whilst awaiting to speak to a member of my species, I attempted to apply for Medicare online per the instructions.
At the very instant of my three-strikes-and-out boot from the tortuous application procedure, my call was put through.
As I was explaining how he/she/they could "assist me today," my phone died, having run out of charge after two hours on standby.
Yet, here I am, six days into my confinement -- with a case of corona presenting as mild congestion that only a pussy would bitch about -- and the extent of my physical exertion has been to open a manila folder. Moreover, I only deigned to do so after I got booted out of StoryLand, consequential to the crash of Comcast.
From the folder, I extracted the business card of the local senior resource center, where I'd been told I could apply for Medicare directly, and thus avoid having to contend with the torments of bureaucracy.
The woman who answered informed me they are booked through December 7th and are not presently scheduling appointments.
I asked for the number of the local office of the Social Security Administration, which -- as senior-resource staff are well aware -- oversees Medicare as well as Social Security.
Instead, she gave me the 1-800-number for the Medicare information line, which, per its name, provides information, not assistance.
I asked again if she had the number for the SSA, at which--before hanging up on me-- she retorted rhetorically: "What on earth does the SSA have to do with Medicare?"
Meantime, my internet access had been restored. I went to the SSA website, and dialed their number.
A chirpy, algorithmic "bot" inquired as to the reason for my call.
I enunciated: "I - want - to - ap-ply - for Med-i-care," after which IT told me to enter my Medicare number.
I patiently explained to IT that I don't have a Medicare number because I am not presently enrolled in Medicare, otherwise I wouldn't have had to call to apply for Medicare -- duh! -- they should fire the moronic d!(khead who programmed you!
IT cheerfully offered to connect me "momentarily" to someone of the pronoun persuasion HE, SHE, or THEY.
During the course of the following two hours, whilst awaiting to speak to a member of my species, I attempted to apply for Medicare online per the instructions.
At the very instant of my three-strikes-and-out boot from the tortuous application procedure, my call was put through.
As I was explaining how he/she/they could "assist me today," my phone died, having run out of charge after two hours on standby.
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