I'm sure the new President will fix all this

Mark signed up for health insurance yesterday. He tried to do it online, but it wouldn't go through, so he called the insurance company. He put it on speaker phone so that I could help him if he needed any information that he couldn't remember.

"Okay sir, my name is Juanita. I'll need your name, address, and phone number."

Mark responds, and Juanita asks for more information.

"Okay, what is your effective date for Medicare part A? And what is your effective date for Medicare part B?"

Again, Mark responds.

"Thank you sir, I now need your Medicare number, Social Security number, and age."

Like a proper gentleman Mark gives her the information.

"Okay sir, please hold on while I connect you with an agent."

Cue the loud, scratchy, and irritating hold music. It might have been jazz, but then again it could have just been a recording of one of those Michigan Avenue beggars playing a clarinet. Hard to tell. About ten minutes later the music stops.

"Hello sir, my name is George and I will be your agent today. I'll need your name, address, and phone number."

Mark responds, and George asks for more information.

"And what is your effective date for Medicare part A? And what is your effective date for Medicare part B?"

Again, Mark responds.

"Thank you sir, I now need your Medicare number, Social Security number, and age."

Mark gives him the information.

"Okay sir, please hold on while I connect you with an application specialist."

Again the bad music blares out of the speaker.

Fifteen minutes later.

"Okay sir, I am connecting you with Shanice. She will be taking your application. Shanice?"

"Hello, I'm Shanice. I'll need your name, address, and phone number."

Mark responds, and Shanice asks for more information.

"Okay, what is your effective date for Medicare part A? And what is your effective date for Medicare part B?"

Again, Mark responds.

"Thank you sir, I now need your Medicare number, Social Security number, and age."

Again, Mark obliges. Now Shanice has all the information that she needs and she starts to read some information pertaining to the insurance for Mark.

"Medicare evaluates plans based on a 5-star rating system. Star ratings are calculated each year and may change from one year to the next.

Members may enroll in the plan only during specific times of the year. Contact us for more information.

The benefit information provided is a brief summary, but not a complete description of benefits. Additional information about benefits is available to assist you in making a decision about your coverage. This is an advertisement; for more information contact the plan.

For Medicare Advantage and Part D plans, benefits, formulary, pharmacy network, premium and/or copayments/coinsurance may change on January 1 of each year. Please contact us for details.

Blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah................................

Shanice went on and on for nearly twenty minutes reading the long disclosure statement. If we were on line we would have scrolled right down to the end and checked that little box that said we had read it. I suggested to Mark that maybe we should move a little further north, like to Canada.

Squeak

My dad had a booming voice. You could pick him out of a crowd if all he did was clear his throat. I did not inherit that voice. My voice is more of a nasal, high pitched whine that can't cut through if there is more than three people in a room talking.

On Thursday, Thanksgiving, Mark and I enjoyed the holiday with my family. It was much as I remembered past Thanksgivings with my family, even though at least half of them weren't there. What I had forgotten about was the sound. Imagine a flock of Canadian geese, joined by a gaggle of cackling chickens, and surrounded by a gang of turkeys, and you have an small idea of what one of my family's parties sounds like. And then there is me trying to squeeze a word into the clatter of all those voices. So I get half a sentence out before one of my siblings finishes that sentence and continues on to tell the story as they remember it. Which is why  I enjoy writing these little blog posts. I get to say just what I want, without interruption (Unless Mark needs me to open a jar, answer the door, fix the television, or listen to him bitch about something Trump said.) It's a nice outlet to have, this blog. I write my ideas down, then my siblings and anybody else who wants to chime in can do so, and I get to save my voice for talking to the dogs. They love to listen to me talk.

Happy Shopping Everybody

Moving to Chicago has been a bit of a mental wrestling match between me and Mark. Since Mark didn't want to move here, all he sees are negative things. Because I wanted to move here and I love living in Chicago, I see all things in a positive light. After a visit to the local Petco store though, I find I have to agree with Mark on one thing. The retail help you encounter at stores in Chicago are apathetic, unfriendly, and useless. I don't know if it's because they're paid minimum wage, or if the jobs are dead end with no chance of advancement, or both. All I know is that nobody cares. Nobody cares if you tell them you are done shopping at their crappy store. Nobody cares if you tell the manager that an employee insulted you. Nobody cares if you need help finding a product. It's like they wish that they could just get fired. They just don't care. Now Petco isn't the first to piss me off around here. Petco was simply the final insult that I needed to agree with Mark.

I stepped up to the Blue Buffalo dog food aisle looking for Blue Buffalo Wilderness. If you buy Blue Buffalo you know that they have around fifty different products. So I asked the man who was stocking the aisle, "Where's the Wilderness Blue Buffalo?" He didn't even look up, but raised his arm and waved it back and forth, up and down the aisle. I stood there looking at the long line of various colored bags of dog food. "Thank you. You were very helpful." I told him with sarcasm dripping out of my mouth, onto the floor. Now he looked up, "What? It's right down there to the left. I pointed down there." Yes he did, sort of, when he waved his hand back and forth. At one point it was in the direction of the product. I picked up a large bag of the dog food and took it up to the front of the store to check out. For some reason I felt compelled to tell the guy checking me out about my experience in the Blue Buffalo aisle. He looked up at me with a dumb look on his face, "Uh.. ahuh.. ". He nodded a little as if he had actually understood what I said, but didn't really give a shit. Which he didn't.

If this was the first time I had encountered lackadaisical, disinterested retail people in Chicago it wouldn't have bothered me. But this happens in just about every store I go to. It's so damn bad that I can't even get pissed and storm out while yelling "I'll never shop in this shit hole again.", because at some point I'll have to come back. I have no choice, they're all the same. Just yesterday I had to sheepishly go back to a supermarket I had stomped out of while yelling that they would never see me in there again. Well goddamnit, there I was, right back there. I'm sure I heard one of the cashiers snickering.

But of Course Sir, I'll Bring the Car Around Immediately.

For the last week Mark has been reminding me that he had a doctor's appointment at ten in the morning on Monday. So yesterday morning, after walking the dogs at six thirty, I put it into gear so that I'd be ready. I ate my breakfast early, Corn Chex with a banana. I took an early shower and put on my taking Mark to the doctor clothes. By eight I was ready so I let Mark know that the bathroom was all his. Yes, I was early, but Mark's doctor is halfway across the city and it takes nearly an hour to get there during the morning rush hour. It was almost nine in the morning when I inquired if he was ready, "Mark, we have to go soon. Are you ready?"

"I'm still in the shower....   Oh, and the doctor's appointment is at eleven twenty, not ten....  sorry."

Fine. I got Mark to the doctor at ten fifty in the morning. A little early, but I was tired of waiting around. Unfortunately my waiting was just starting. We sat in the waiting room for about thirty minutes before somebody came out and called Mark's name, so I told him that I would wait down in the car. One hour later I was awakened by the car telling me that it was turning itself off to save the battery. I went back inside, and there was Mark sitting in the waiting room.

"I haven't seen the doctor yet. They just wanted to take my blood pressure earlier."

So I sat down with him and waited some more. They called him in and thirty minutes later he came walking out, "Now I have to go for lab work."

Again, I told Mark that I would wait in the car. By the time we were pulling out of the parking lot it had been four hours since we left the house and we still had to get Mark some lunch, he had fasted all day. After lunch he had to run into The Gap. You never know, there might be something in the store that he positively had to have. And just when I thought it was all over he told me we needed to stop at the Jewel supermarket. Five hours, five damn hours of my very valuable retirement time wasted.

Mark is perfectly capable of driving himself to all these places. He just doesn't want to. He keeps telling me that he's terrified of driving in the city, but I think it's something else. Like his way of punishing me for ripping him out of his warm and familiar Florida, and dragging him to Chicago.

I Can't Put My Arms Down!

Twenty seven degrees and windy Sunday morning. Now I remember what it was that made me hate winter in Chicago. Now I remember why I liked Florida in January. No, it wasn't the cold. It was the goddamned clothing. Every time I want to go outside I now have to put layer upon layer of clothes. Undershirt, long sleeved pullover shirt, sweat shirt, and then the big bulky coat over all that while the dogs whine to go out. I almost got a hernia bending over to put the harness on Scout this morning. The cold out there doesn't bother me, because once I am ensconced in the thick layers, I am toasty warm. The problem is that I can't move with all that stuff on. It's like I'm in a cocoon. The dogs poop in the neighbor's yard and I am truly tempted to not pick it up. Just stooping to the pooping requires a lot of contortions. God forbid I fall down, odds are it would take a crane to lift me back up. If getting all those clothes on my back isn't hard enough, sometimes getting them off can be even more stressful. During Scout's very special afternoon walk yesterday (Chandler considers that to be his quiet time, when she's not around.), I was about two blocks from home when I got the cramps. I got a serious case of the, I gotta go right now, cramps. So I hurried Scout along, dragging her away from all her favorite smelly spots and dissuading her from chasing squirrels up the trees so that I could make it to the bathroom in time. We hurried down the street, up our stairs, and into the house, leaving a trail of coats, sweaters, and shoes behind. It seemed to take forever to peel all that off and I almost didn't make it. At least when I lived in Florida I was always wearing only a pair of shorts and I had the option of my neighbor's shrubbery.