I can’t effing believe this!

Date: Wed Jan 19 17:32:54 PST 2005
Location: home
Mood: PISSED

I can’t effing believe this. They effing hung up on me! Effing just hung up on me. Those motherfuckers, from the doctor’s office, called me, just now, about shit that’s been going on FOR MONTHS.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane, first, to get the background again:

Back in July, 2004, I called the moronic doctor’s office in San Jose to start the process of getting my records sent there from Michigan.
I’d had trouble with these assholes before, but they brought in more retarded people over the course of time.

This lack of grey matter then extended to Michigan, when the ball was dropped on their end for file transfer to San Jose.

In August, 2004, I thought I was making progress with my records from Michigan, but it turned out later that they never did find my records. I fully believe they never even looked.

Then, in October, 2004, I tried again with the doctor’s office in San Jose. They had received the x-ray info from my chiropractor but never notified me. At least one doctor in all of this (my chiropractor) was on the ball.

So then, at the end of November, 2004, I had horrific menstrual cramps again. I called the doctor in San Jose and tried to come in. They were booked up. I asked if I could just speak to the doctor directly, as she’s treated me for this before, and I just need a prescription refill. The receptionist said I’d have to make an appointment to even speak to the doctor.
I said, “All right, how much does it cost for an office visit for someone with no health insurance, then?” The receptionist said, “No health insurance? Ahh, $95.00.”

Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

Fed up, I said, “All right, lemme tell ya this, then. I want YOU to send ME my ENTIRE MEDICAL FILE.”
I gave my street address so they could send me a release form to sign, and said it would cost $35.00. The act of giving a snail mail address over the phone should not be an excruciating ordeal, but with these receptionists, who speak very broken English, it’s always a slow and painful process. In any case, they got my information right and sent me the paperwork, and on December 3, 2004. I sent them the check and the medical release form.
And then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.

I checked my bank account. My check had not cleared.

So finally this morning, in the midst of another medical issue which I’ll get to later, I remembered to call the doctor’s office to ask what the hell was taking them so long with sending me my file.
The receptionist took my name and number, which again was a painfully slow ordeal, and she said she’d call me back.
I spent the rest of the day Not Worrying About It.

So just now, the receptionist called back, and asked if I have a fax number they can send this to. I said no, not at the moment, but I do have a snail mail address and I’d prefer it be sent that way.

The receptionist says, “Okay, are you still at the same address?”

I ask, “What address do you have?”

The receptionist proceeded to recite my OLD address.

Raising my voice, I say, “No! I’m not there! You guys HAVE the address, I MAILED it to you.”

The receptionist says, “Well she [the doctor] didn’t give that to us.”

Impatient, I say, “Ok, fine, I’ll give it to you.”

This was a particularly SLOW and PAINFUL DEATH to have to give this woman my address. She had to keep reciting it, and even said my apartment as ALPHA. I had to correct her and say “THAT MEANS LETTER ‘A'”, knowing full well she’d really write out ALPHA on the goddamned mail.

After I finished giving her my address, losing precious minutes of my life once again that I will never get back because of her lack of grey matter, she then says to me, Okay, we’ll mail you a medical release form.”

I yelled “WHAT?!?! NO, you’re going to mail me my documents!”

The receptionist says, “We can’t do that until you fill out the form…”

Yelling again now, I said, “I FILLED OUT THE FORM! I SENT IT TO YOU! ON THE CHECK, YOU HAVE MY ADDRESS. IT’S RIGHT THERE ON THE CHECK. ON THE FORM THAT I SENT BACK, YOU HAVE MY ADDRESS.”

The receptionist, now with shaking voice action, says quiveringly, “Okay, okay, let me uhh, okay…”

at this point, I thought she put me on hold, BUT THE BITCH HUNG UP ON ME!!#@$#$@^

At that point I couldn’t see straight, I was so pissed. I had images floating in my head of rampaging through the office with a gun. I thought I’d pop an artery in my brain right there.

Since it was already after hours for that office, I didn’t call back. All I’d have done is more screaming, anyway. So I’ll call them again in the morning, the rat bastard bitchshitting motherfuckers.

I realise I’m going to have to go down there, myself.

But on Sunday, my car started to throw a belt, and made horrifying screeching noises. I knew the belt was gonna go Any Day Now, but I’ve not had moolah to take it into the shop. I fully realise this will cost me more now that the belt is going and it may fully slip while on the way to the dealership tomorrow. We’ll see. I have the evil MasterCard owned by the Saudis (Citibank) that I can use if need be.