I've been feeling kind of anxious and panicky and down, and I decided, after much procrastination, that I might want to deal with the situation.
So, after several days in a row where I wrote "Find a therapist" in my day planner but never actually crossed it off, I got the number for some therapists. I called around and made an appointment at one that sounded pretty good.
We have one of those FSA things, which are a monstrous pain in the ass. It's a Flexible Spending Account, which you can put money into blah tax implications who gives a shit, and use to pay for copays, etc. I'm sure you have one, too. Everyone does.
Anyway, ours is a bag of dicks, because that's how these things work, and every time I go somewhere new, I need a detailed receipt. Because Big Time Name Psychiatric Center might not actually be providing me with any covered medical treatment. Listen, assholes, it's not Joe-Bob's Bait and Tackle and Therapy. It's a place that has for real medical stuff in its name and is affiliated with a goddamn university. IT'S COVERED.
But, of course, that's not good enough. I needed to get a copy of a detailed receipt. I called the office and told them what I needed and they said they'd have it for me at the desk. Great. Since I was out running errands, I decided to pick it up before my next scheduled appointment.
I get there and this happens:
Me, standing on the other side of those sliding glass windows which are ostensibly for privacy, but obviously offer none, because I can hear them talking and can see them so maybe it's bulletproof? I don't know. I wait a few minutes to be acknowledged, then give up and say: Hi, I'm here to pick up a detailed receipt for my FSA.
Two ladies behind the glass, continuing talking about who knows what, until one stares blankly and the other finally stops talking and says: Oh, sorry, can we help you?
Me, still smiling because I hate people: I'm here to pick up my receipt for my FSA. I spoke to someone here and they said it'd be at the front desk. My name is Suniverse.
Talking Lady: Ok, let's see if we can find it.
Blank Starer: What's your name? For FSA?
Me: I'm Suniverse. Yes, a detailed receipt for my FSA. I saw Dr. TherapyLady.
They start looking around at the desk.
Blank Starer: I don't see anything. Why don't you have a seat and we'll call you when we find it.
Me: I spoke to someone yesterday and they said it would be at the front desk. It should be right there.
Blank Starer: Just have a seat. We'll find it.
Me, getting pissed, but going to sit down, because what am I supposed to do?: Ok. Thanks.
I sit down and check email, etc. I can hear these people talking, but only am able to make out some things like:
What's her name? Suniverse?
I can't find any paperwork.
Is it supposed to be here?
Should we call Dr. TherapyLady?
Yes, so she can fill out the paperwork.Many more minutes pass and I'm getting more and more frustrated. I'm not sure what to do, besides tell them to just let me back there and I'll look for the goddamned receipt. I continue to sit and get madder and debate just leaving, except I know we need the stupid receipt or our stupid account will be frozen.
Suddenly, Dr. TherapyLady comes into the reception area and says, "Hi. Am I supposed to be seeing you today for something?"
Me: Hi. No. I'm just here to pick up a detailed receipt for my FSA. I'm not sure what's going on in there.
Dr. TherapyLady: Oh, a receipt for your Flexible Spending Account. Sure, come on back here.
We go back into the office and I see that there are now FIVE PEOPLE involved in trying to get me a receipt.
Dr. TherapyLady: She just needs a detailed receipt for her Flexible Spending Account. Just print her out one.
Me, more than a bit pissed off but trying to keep my cool: Thank you. That's what I told them in the first place. I don't understand what's happening here. How is this so hard?
Blank Starer: Well, you said FSA, and I wasn't sure what that was. We deal with a lot of three letter acronyms.
Me, incredulous: Seriously? Why wouldn't you ask me if you didn't know? I could have explained it and gotten my receipt without all of this mess.
Blank Starer: Well, I didn't know. I thought it was like Social Security or something.
Me: Obviously you didn't know. I don't understand how this became such a problem. If you don't know what something is, ask.
Random Other Lady: Here's your receipt. Do you need an envelope?
Me, thinking, oh, yes, an envelope will make everything better: No, thank you. I'm just stunned that this was such a problem. I don't understand why this became such an issue. If you don't know something, ask. I can explain it.
Dr. TherapyLady, as she's walking away: We're sorry. I have to get back to a patient.
Me, as I leave, thinking three letter acronym this, you twats: Thank you.
Obviously, I called a few days later and cancelled my next appointment, because we all know I was being talked about FOREVER after I left. That kind of environment would be detrimental to the healing process.
Also, I would probably have to explain the following three letter acronyms next time I came in:
DAB = Dumb Ass Bitch
AYS = Are You Stupid?
SBS = Stop Being Stupid
YKR = You're Kidding, Right?
NFW = No Fucking Way
IDH = I'm Done Here
*Ah, the Three Letter Acronym. Many thanks to my sweet friend Alexandra, who laughed at my story as it unfolded and suggested a post could make it all better. It did. She's right. Blogging as a mental health tool is highly underrated.