the Bitch is Back

I’m baaaack from hols. I had a loverly time away from work.

Remember that doctor who was so horrid? Super-mean and also completely a dolt? I’m going through my pocketbook and found all these papers… -in the meantime, I have an appointment for a new interview session for a GP Tuesday next

One wad of papers was lab requisitions Doctor So and So filled out (which I never went to get as I have ZERO intention of returning — I’d rather have a med tech at a nursing home work on me and that’s not meant as an insult, I have a friend who just got hired in that position and at least she can take a pulse and BP).

Where was I?

Of the 4 pages thick of requisitions, NUMBER ONE was? Celiac test.

Let’s scroll back a tic for the new readers: I have Celiac Disease. It’s a big part of my life since it means that I can’t eat anything I didn’t prepare in my sterile kitchen. It controls my life, as I need to eat.

Here’s the tricky bit that you may not know but a DOCTOR CALLING FOR A TEST SHOULD: one must ingest gluten daily for at least 2 straight weeks before having this test. I told the doctor that I’ve been gf for over 2 years, closer to 3 years. This stuff would be in my medical records.

But it would cost a lot of money for my insurance company to pay.

I would love to blame this doctor for gouging the insurance company, for bilking them out of hundreds of dollars, but I don’t believe it was on purpose. I believe this is one MORE example of incompetence.

Again: I do not expect everybody to know this. I expect a doctor who called for an expensive test to know it. My other doctors know it as soon as I mention Celiac. One even asked me if I’d go back to eating gluten so he could get a current marker on how high my antibodies go up.

He’s just asked me to poison myself for two weeks so he could satisfy an academic itch. I didn’t even have to say anything. From the look on my face, he said, ‘Oh. I don’t suppose I’ll ever seen you again.’

‘Why don’t you take this tablespoon of arsenic a day and come back to me in 2 weeks?’ Sound pretty fucking cuckoo, doesn’t it?

He knew better. Dr. So and So didn’t. Whether or not, you have to ask what’s going on with your practitioners.

Want to feel gratitude? Complain.

Man, am I a happy girl!

I used to just take crap. -still do, depending Now, I try to contact people and give them a chance to fix things.

I got another great offer from Keurig for supplies that included huge Me-Sized beverageware. After a couple of weeks, I was like, ‘Erm, where’s my stuff?’ It usually comes within a few days. After speaking to the lower-tier rep (we know how this plays), I got boosted up to the next. I should pause here. The problem — which I’d already sussed for myself before ringing — was …

Hold On To Yourself: FedEx. Remember the last time FedEx came and left me their truck?

I guess they don’t want to come at all now. They lied. They said an attempt was made at the residence but nobody answered the door. This is the family ranch. There were two adults there at the time and they’re lonely. They love nothing better than to answer the door or take phone calls from scammers trying to make a buck. They live for this.

No attempt was made. This was the real reason for calling. K needed to know that FedEx was lying. I know they’ll never stop using FedEx, it’s huge! But they need to mark down someplace that there’s an issue with a driver, a route or communication…something.

With living in the Ozarks, delivery services will hand off packages to the USPS. It’s called Rural Delivery. You can pay next-day all you want but it’ll get to El Rancho Reedo when FedEx, UPS and the USPS bloody well feel like it. This is Our Normal.

I’m not used to them lying and I’m not used to …

Needing to schedule a special delivery. Me? No, I don’t think so. You know where I live. I can write ‘Lily’ with a zip code and get something sent to the ranch. They know who I am and where I live.

Where was I? Oh. FedEx lied and now I have to schedule something with the local PO?

Back to my rep at K. ‘I’ve never seen this but it says you have to schedule, so I guess you have to–‘  -we had been speaking a long time by now, I was polite because I know it’s not K’s fault and they weren’t being rude by saying it’s my problem or anything, this was just how the discussion went

Me: My part is done. When I paid $60 for a box, that was my part. How about you refund my money and they can keep the box?

She laughed, again, we had been going back and forth over how crazy this was. I’m leaving out a lot of the crazy but in addition to lying, it had been ALL OVER THE COUNTRYSIDE yet missed our ranch!

She offered a better solution. ‘How about I refund your money and I contact this post office?’

Me: Perfect!

I’m so thankful that Keurig has a good support staff waiting there. While this may have been an unusual situation, it nevertheless happened to me. I wasn’t going to die without these mugs and pretties but I appreciate them handling FedEx’s cluster.

Target not hitting the–

Normally, I’m a huge fan of Target. I spend over $100 a week there: I get prescriptions, my groceries and things like bathroom tissue and cling film. Hell, I wear a lot of Target clothing (pyjamas, tights, shirts). I like Target and I frequent two locations, one only a few times a year; the balance goes to the Target in the town where I work. 

Until last night…

Prior to teaching secondary school and working almost 2 decades as a graphic artist, I worked many retail jobs. I held 24 jobs by the time I was 22 years old. If a scheduling conflict arose between work and school? I changed jobs. I’ve been on the Other Side and I’ve been there At Christmastime.

Last week, I was texting with a friend and invited her to meet me at My Target to co-shop. We do this a few times a year as a way to squeeze in a visit whilst getting our errands done. Due to being distracted by my friend, I neglected to Oversee the Checker. He was meant to give me a $5 gift card for purchases on special offer.

When I got home, I noticed that I didn’t have my $5 gift card. Bugger.

While it’s not My Job to Oversee the Checker, had I done it, this wouldn’t have become A Thing. Also, had I rang the store right then and there, the manager on duty would’ve given me a name to write on my receipt and on my next visit, I could’ve gone to guest services and gotten my damned money. I didn’t do that because I was telling Mum about it and she said, ‘Nah, just stash the receipt in your pocketbook and show it to them next time.’ As Uncle Lou Reed said, ‘You can always trust your mother.’

Back to Target last night:  queues are insane — I hate to go in any shop, let alone a Target type place close to Christmas. I purposefully avoid them, which is why that made 8 days since my last visit. -a record for me!

Being Christmastime, they have extra personnel standing around to answer questions, which is lovely. I spotted one and smiled, then opened my mouth to–

She looked away.

‘Excuse me? Ma’am? Excuse me? Could you please help me?’

This is the Midwest. It is ridiculous to have to ASK once eye contact and an opened mouth to obviously ask something has been mimed.

-are the new readers gone yet?

I wasn’t annoyed at the time, though, I thought, ‘She’s tired.’ -I got annoyed about twenty minutes later

I walked over and showed her my receipt and explained that I hadn’t received my $5 gift card. I wondered if they could do that for me at the registers or if I needed to go to guest services. She gave me the stink eye, ‘We can’t do that. We only do it if it’s within a week.’

Are you with me here? 8 days=1 week plus 1 day. Oh! TheHilarity!

It amused me. Again, not irritated yet. I smiled and said, ‘8 days?’

I got the stink eye again. I reckoned she was thinking really hard, trying to figure out how many weeks 8 days makes. Hey, if she’s local, we may’ve gone to the same high school. –inside joke for the regulars

‘We’ll have to look at the security camera footage.’

Now. Roll back a tic. I’m blithe much of the time. This is not studied. It’s because a) I’m sort of dumb b) I truly never think about doing Evil Things or almost never and when I do, it’s mischief, never Crime.

I didn’t get her gist at the time. If you’re like me and don’t tend to stay in the shadows, she was implying that I was trying to run a Con Job. For $5. I am shaking my head as I write this.

My oblique response was, ‘Oh, gosh. I’d hate for you to go to the trouble of that. That’d take a long time wouldn’t it? Hrm… … … … Then again, I want my $5.’

She repeated it would mean reviewing security camera footage a couple of times. Finally I said, ‘Can’t a manager okay it?’ I’m still not irritated. I reckon she might be my age but she’s just doing what she was told to do, you know, like people have to do at their workplace?

She rang up the MOD. She comes over, harried. Doesn’t even look at me, only at Customer Service Woman, who explains, ‘She says she paid for 2 detergents–‘

I interjected, ‘It’s on the receipt.’ She continues, ‘And says she didn’t get the gift card.’

The manager got a little more Serious looking and asked, ‘How much?’

CSW, so seriously, ‘Five dollars.’

MOD’s head visibly flipped back, like she’d been slapped. Hilarious! She got through 3/4 of an eye roll when she caught herself. ‘Give it to her.’ She tried to leave.

‘But–‘

‘It’s only five dollars.’

‘But–‘

‘Get her a coupon or have the checker take it off today’s purchase.’ I’m still standing there with my groceries.

CSW stomped off for I don’t know how long. During my wait, I realised that she had been implying (through multiple recitations of ‘security camera footage’) that I was a Criminal.

When she came back, ‘We don’t have any $5 coupons to give you.’

I said, ‘For the amount of time I’ve put into this today, I’m grossly underpaid at $5–‘

‘So am I.’

Wow. Now, I have to say, I was at that point irritated, hence coming out with the snotty comment but dude. Seriously. I could’ve LEFT and not had to deal with PEOPLE in QUEUES at CHRISTMASTIME. Do you think anybody in America would do this for $5?

‘I’m a regular shopper here. I don’t know your face but I can spot several workers who know me. Would that make you feel better to have them vouch that I’m here all the time? Because I don’t think a regular would come in here and try to steal $5 from Target, let alone go through This Whole Deal for it.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ She stopped off. By the way, no I wouldn’t. Twenty-four shite jobs, lady. I know how idiotic people are and sometimes I’m the idiot. I should’ve watched the teenager checking me out but I was hopped up on the fun, talking to my friend who also spent money here. Hell, look at that receipt and today’s, not for proof that I’m telling the truth but the BOTTOM LINE. I’m spending dough here. Five bucks?

When she returned, ‘I have to close down a register for this. Go over to number 6.’

I went to number 6 and the checker didn’t make eye contact. This is unusual; in the Midwest, they’ll talk about what you’re buying, the weather, your coat, whatever. I guess CSW had prepped her that I’m a Traveller.

Towards the end of ringing up my day’s purchases, she said, ‘Remind me to take $5 off. I don’t want to forget.’

In the Midwest, that’s a barb. And I do not believe I’m being Sensitive here. That was what it was.

I did the Midwestern thing and ignored the barb but went into happy-go-lucky blathering about how it had been such an ordeal over such a little thing. I wished that I had watched that young man who checked me out and shoot, had I thought, I’d have rang that night but I was talking to my friend here and then my mum at home and there you go. It’s easy to forget.

By the end, her attitude was Midwestern politesse. I guess she’d tested and found a Criminal, I’m not.

However, even though I’ve shopped there a bazillion times since it opened (Fenton) and this is ONE BAD THING, it makes me want to avoid Target. I mean, twenty minutes of BS implying that I’m a Criminal for $5 when I spend $5,000 there a year? Leaves a bad taste.

Stepping back, the whole thing is ridiculous. The proper response is what the MOD did: a head loll and eye roll.

It’s $5. I had the receipt. The gift card would’ve been on the receipt if I’d received it and it wasn’t on there. Target Missed.

 

You can check the bloody security camera footage. I’m still not a Criminal.

Poor little Rich Girl

Okay, I’m not rich. As a matter of a fact, I think that I’m currently 1400USD from the poverty line. How in the world do I have such nice things, make so little money yet not carry debt?

My mammy grew up during The Great Depression. In my region, it’s still going on from then. So, ya know. Decades of practise? -plus, I have friends who have nice things

Where was I?

I’m the only human who could complain about having to drive a Cadillac. Let me explain. -sort of

First and foremost: I do not like driving other peoples’ cars.

1. the risk involved with effing up YOUR shite
2. most cars aren’t built for my diminutive frame; when I buy a car, no matter how much I otherwise like it, if I can’t easily arrange myself to SEE and steer? I don’t buy it
3. due to #2, I probably can’t see, reach the pedals or steer your car
4. this is dangerous
5. if I’m borrowing your vehicle, it ain’t for no joy ride; my car is broken and that means…
6. now I have to wait however long to see however much money it’ll take to pay for my car to be fixed
7. fuel is dear; my car is a ‘sipper,’ yours is not
8. I forget what 8 was for but
9. since I’m borrowing your car, I’m burning at least $25 a day to run it
10. your car smells of smoke and cigarettes
11. your car doesn’t play nicely with my sunglasses, phone charger or purse
12. there are no tissues for my allergy schnoozle and I normally don’t have to think about this and the 27 other things including…
13. I have to transfer my shopping bags from my car to yours and back and probably will leave them in the wrong place
14. out of habit, I pull up to fuel pumps on the wrong side of the vehicle, get out, swear loudly and have to move the car, scaring small children and old ladies

I could go on.

My car’s electrical issues have reasserted themselves. I haz no lights. In winter — especially in a remote, forested area with no street lights, we’re lucky to have ‘streets’ -sort of — it’s impossible to see or be seen without lights.

So! I’m kvetching when I’m perfectly fine, driving a borrowed Cadillac or the largest 4×4 GMC makes, depending on which vehicle I have access to on which day, other than aggravated by having to pull a Mr. Magoo on the world til I get my car back at an undisclosed time for an undisclosed price.

ambulance ride

Friday, I tweeted that my 2 week old cold with fever was rounding a bend–towards health because I was beginning to look and sound even worse. There’s a local colloquialism about illness that follows the ‘darkest before the dawn’ mentality: ‘when it seems worse,  you’re actually on the mend.’

How’s that for positivity/ self-deception?

I had more energy, though, and that was encouraging, until a few hours later, when I half-fainted (desk rising up to meet my face) at work. I pushed through and got home. A few hours even later, I started emitting chunks of red along with the green. It was like Christmas in September! I had rounded a bend but it wasn’t towards health.

At 11PM Friday, I acknowledged that I was well and truly Sick and needed to go to doctor as soon as possible. When I get this level of infection, it has twice gone into bacterial pneumonia. Pneumonia is not fun but it’s Friday freaking night! Not a lot of options.

An half hour later, Spike said that his heart is acting funny.*

Having gone through 5 heart attacks and stents for up-propping, we knew to go to hospital. It got worse on the way (dad didn’t want to dial 911/ get an ambulance — don’t even bother trying to make sense to him) and we stopped at the nearest-to-us ambulance outpost. They pitched him in the bus, him likey or no.

Saturday, upon virtually no sleep, fever and emitting clots of blood myself, I drove to town and back three times. This equalled 6 hours commuting. At least I got an RX out of the deal.

I slept 3 hours last night (double what I’ve been getting), with the longest episode clocking in just under an hour. This is good because any sleep is good. I’d be in bed still but again, I’m afraid of getting pneumonia again.

Spike? He’s out hunting with the boys.

If I weren’t so sick, I’d have had the brain power to say, ‘Get Brother to do it.’ He lives 25 minutes interstate drive further than the hospital. The only thought I gave towards him: ‘he’s trying to get a promotion. He has to be at work.’

I may not go into my job tomorrow — which is too bad as that means I don’t get paid.

Brother? He’s enjoying his Sunday.

I’m trying to get oxygen into my blood stream.

 

* It was atrial fibrillation, which a friend recently dealt with — about 15% of people round about 80yo have it. It’s electrical, by nature.

They were able to medicate him (slow the flutter), dosed him with Coumadin to avoid clots (your big concern with a fib) and kept him til Saturday afternoon (we got home a little after 18:30). He’s on an RX newer than C. that starts with an X. It doesn’t require frequent blood tests (as C does) yet keeps blood from clotting.

The doctor gave Spike crap about having CAD, a history of heart attacks and still smoking: ‘You’re too old to not know right from wrong.’

Dad: ‘Can’t wait to get home to drink some beer and smoke.’

Lily: ‘And listen to loud rock and roll.’

‘It’s complicated.’ There are no easy answers.

Somebody jacked my iCloud email addy and started opening up Facebook accounts. That’s funny! -regular readers are groaning, I’m sure

In fairness, over the past 20 years, I believe that I’ve only changed my password once or twice. I suppose it was time.

I changed the password but noticed there are these security questions. I’m looking at them thinking, ‘Who the hell knows those answers?’ I was afraid that I’d get locked out but tried anyway. I came up with every possible answer that I could (in intervals between logging out, then in again to avoid locking my account). After about 18 attempts, I began trying to reset my questions. That’s a laugh! You have to get the answers right to the bollocks questions in there first.

I rang Apple. After a few steps and questions about my CC#, birthdate, generated authentication codes and the like, we rest the questions. I started looking at the only questions Apple allows (which is also bollocks and the cause of previous bolloxy questions).

I have no easy, direct, ever-able-to-recall-because-my-answers-would-be-make-believe answers.

 

I know most people must look at these and have pat answers. I don’t. In most cases, it’s because I simply don’t recall. Any answer I’d choose is bollocks on my part and I’ll not remember which answer I gave. In the case of a couple that do have answers, it’s always like, ‘Do you mean where I flew to or my destination?’ Cos in my mind it’s the latter but the DIRECT answer is something else. AND that something else answer could be answered three different ways. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. BOLLOCKS.

First food? I was cooking when I had to stand in a chair to reach it. Hell, I don’t have a first language (not really, I learned pidgin as a kid). Friend’s name? I don’t recall a first friend. I’m a friendly sort. I can tell you where my first SCHOOL was but that’s not one of the questions. Favourite actor…in school?! How about asking me my favourite current actor? Guess what that answer would be?

None. I don’t HAVE a favourite actor for eff’s sake! Band? Eff off. I don’t have a favourite BAND.

I’ve been on sites (like banking, which is rather important) where they allow you to choose your questions. I have answers to questions but I don’t have answers to this bollocks. I told the Apple Tech, too. ‘Look man, I’m too old to remember let alone to ever have given a rip about these answers.’ He suggested that I write down the questions and my bollocks answers to them (which is always instructed for security sake, to never do, btw).

I opted for plan C. I just came up with bollocks answers and reckon I’ll ring them again in future for it to be reset. Shame. If they’d trust me to choose my own questions, I’d be good to go. It’s ridiculous to not allow this as the provided questions cannot be answered by Apple anyway. It’s personal.

Trying to fit this square peg through a round hole ain’t working.

better than a white line

-title inspired by the following story of an ahole on a heavy bike and this fantastic Midwestern Rock Band

In the future, I hope that I’m not the one who runs over the ahole who has decided to grace my drive times. He has a death wish or simply doesn’t know how to drive but will try it with massive amounts of aggression.

Last Friday, on my way home, everybody was rocking along, doing the speed limit or better. How rare is that? Loverly.

Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, a man on a heavy bike (and I keep fixating on this because it’s usually the Young Bucks on Crotch Rockets who act this stoopid) breaks the line for about one mile — a rare, straight stretch of the highway.

What I mean is this is a divided highway. There are two, clearly delineated lanes heading in the same direction. It isn’t a double-line (‘do not cross’). It’s a regular, two lane. However, in the state of Missouri, it is not legal for a motorcycle to make his own third lane by driving on the lines!!

It’s legal in Cali, as when I was hanging with Sheila, some dude did and I nearly crapped myself.

He chose to make his own lane by driving between two columns of traffic. This, again, is not legal and is mental.

It scared me so badly, that I was shaking twenty minutes later, when I got home.

This AM? Guess who I saw? ShitHead. He don’t need no stinking lines on a highway! ‘I do what I want.’

Today, he wasn’t breaking the line. Instead, he was weaving in and out of cars without a turn signal or hand signal. At one point, I yelled at him, ‘You better not make me run you over, you ugly mfer. I’ll be scarred for life!’

He couldn’t have heard me but he must’ve read the ugly mfer part. At the next light, he spent a good minute turning his head around, yelling at me.

Dude. Just go kill yourself where it won’t involve others. Seriously. If he’s a day and night commuter with me? I’m going to lose my mind. He’s too damned crazy for me. Reminds me of what Gram used to say:

‘That makes me nervous as a whore in church.’

Yup.