Whenever I’m in the mood to strangle someone and don’t want to waste a perfectly good hissy fit on the next doorbell-ringing Girl Scout pushing peanut butter patties, I call my health insurance company. That way, my clenched red fists can be put to use beating hundreds of number, star and pound keys unconscious before any humans get involved.
The usual reason for my call is to find out why they don’t feel like covering some procedure, drug or lab test that a big-brained, board certified medical doctor with 17 postgraduate degrees ordered me to get.
Seasonal crud aside, I’m a pretty healthy person. My blood pressure is good, assuming the insurance company and I haven’t corresponded recently. But when you’ve celebrated more than 39 birthdays, providers want proof you’ll be around long enough to pay them. That means occasional creative poking and prodding that insurance may not feel like covering.
For example, if a professional vampire (some call them phlebotomists) stabs you in a vein, the insurance company will need proof that it wasn’t for recreational purposes, like the blood tests people get just for fun.
The insurance companies aren’t trying to be mean, just obscenely profitable. And they are. The industry always seems to be reporting big, juicy gains, so we might try applying their business model to mom and pop ventures struggling to survive in a bloodthirsty economy. My nephew is a plumber, so his business is pretty straightforward. When someone’s toilet is backed up, they call, he comes, they pay and everybody’s happy. But his bottom line would be stronger if he hung up his plunger and started selling plumbing policies. I’m not talking about some wimpy service contract. I’m talking about a big, fat “pay up front and we’ll talk about your leak later” deal. Here’s how it would work:
First, he’ll conduct background checks to see if your fixtures merit coverage or if there’s any hint of pre-existing drainage problems. (Actually, pre-existing conditions are good because he can charge more for the policy without actually paying for anything that backs up.)
Applicants will have to disclose whether any sinks or tubs on their mother’s side ever overflowed.
My nephew will check with all past plumbers, electricians and mold remediators, so if an elderly washing machine flooded the house in 1986, it’s best to confess that upfront.
With the new policy, you can chat with a synthesized female voice on a fancy answering system anytime. She’ll have lots of departments to transfer you to, so it will be a new adventure every time you call. You’ll also get a nifty card with 17 digits printed in 4-point type for your pre-approved plumber. Just flash the card along with your Social Security number, driver’s license, credit card and detailed info about your next of kin for prompt, courteous overbilling.
My nephew regrets that he can no longer make house calls, so you’ll have to bring your sink, toilet or tub to an approved in-network provider during regular office hours.
If you need help, just call. Those number, star and pound keys on the phone are available for punching 24/7. Of course, the call may be recorded so my nephew can laugh at you later.
JAN A. IGOE is a writer and illustrator from Horry County who would rather bring 10 bathtubs to a plumber than submit to a blood test, no matter how skilled the vampire is. Contact her here.