Toilet Seats, Lightbulbs, and Me.

I'm in the process of applying for health insurance. It's a very pleasant process. As an individual with absolutely no bargaining power I'm in a powerful position to dictate terms to huge corporations run by people with Phds in Advanced Evasion. The insurance companies are spending a great deal of time -- a great deal of time -- scouring my medical history to make sure that I don't have a condition that may cost them money in the future. That's their business model, of course: to make money.

But I can see their point of view; it would hardly be fair to learn that I had some rare form of bone disease (which I'm pretty sure I have, by the way and if I don't I'm going to catch it) and then try to sign on for their benefits. But is the hangnail in 1972 really that important? Apparently so. They're probably going to put an exclusion in place, assuming they deign to cover me, for any hangnail related surgery in the future.


We are using an insurance broker to do this. This kind and decent man helped us in the past, and I got to know him a little bit. He was going through some shit with an ex-wife and I always inquired after his well-being. He has been shepherding our application through the maze this time. Yesterday, he sent SuperK an encouraging note about his progress, adding: "I feel like you guys are family."

I just keep clumping all of this stuff under the heading of "being of service." I wonder how often he feels that way about his clients. I bet he hears a lot of bitching.

I was at my parents house this week and Dad asked me to fix a broken toilet seat. I thought of Shorty changing a light bulb at his father's house. I'm crouched on a hard tile floor, my face in my parent's john, thinking: "I am too important to be doing this." It took me like a half an hour. A normal guy-guy could have done it in like 5 minutes. I got the lid and the seat all fouled up. The lid pointed up, but the seat was pointing down. I had to take it apart and do it again. I closed the bathroom door so I could swear in peace.

It's not like I don't have any experience sticking my face into a toilet. At least I wasn't retching this time.