Health Insurance- apparently it’s a big deal if you don’t have it. I thought it was just one of those things that people get all amped up about but doesn’t really matter. Like for example “Masters degrees” “filing taxes” or “regular dentist check-ups.” I was way off base on that one.
When I got laid-off I hadn’t really looked too far past the awesomeness of the situation. I was leaving work at noon, never to return. I was now able to sleep-in on a Wednesday, go out on a Thursday night and lay out in the sun EVERYDAY. What didn’t cross my mind was that I’d no longer have health insurance handed to me on a little silver platter ( I did have to pay for that platter believe it or not), nor would I have dental, vision, 401k (knot gonna have it) or a secure paycheck. On that Tuesday (and then four Tuesdays after) the only thing that crossed my mind was that I wasn’t going into work and wanting to poke my eyeballs out with unraveled paperclips. When I got my Cobra notice, I literally shot milk out of my nose like I was over-acting for a show on Disney Channel. Not really, but I mean it was $440! NO THANKS COBRA. Ya d*ck. I’m not paying $440- the state of California and I- are not paying $440 for some stupid health insurance that we never use as we are the pinnacle, picture, epitome of health. Shove it, SnakeSurence.
Cut to me signing up for a triathlon a few weeks later, getting my first road bike which involves clip-in shoes, and then proceeding to eat shit in the middle of a busy road because I couldn’t get my foot off the pedal in time to catch myself. A very concerned homeless man wheeled his shopping cart by me with a little “Whoa- is you ok? Got a dolla?” I love San Diego.
In said accident, I had landed on my elbow, drawn blood and was convinced it was broken. I knew I had at the very least cracked off my elbow bone and it was now floating around in my arm, which in turn would then become infected because of the extra bone mass all up in there, then I’d get a growth or gangrene or something and eventually have to have it amputated. But that surgery would have to be performed in the back ally of my apartment by the other homeless gentleman who explained to me yesterday that he has a masters degree in Chemical Engineering. Yea, right. Chemically engineering meth, maybe. Why don’t you chemically engineer yourself the rest of your missing teeth, sir?
Phew. Ok. So that’s where I find myself- uninsured and really only a few bad, rubber rent checks from spending all my time with the masters degree homeless man, who also told me to never milk a cow from the back. Probably a good tip considering if I got kicked I’d be screwed.
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