Thursday, August 26, 2010

I know I love words and grammar more than the average American. In fact, I wish I had thought to write this book, However, bestseller or not, I despise the presence of unwelcome typos in my own life.

In the last two weeks I have received THREE pieces of mail from my health insurance with the wrong house number. Each time my neighbor graciously circles the number and puts a big question mark next to it before shuffling it back through the mail.

Thus far I have tried to change the typo online. Twice. No go. So today I finally called HR. (I always think of these things at 11 at night when there are no humans to be found.) I explained the situation. Got transferred to another department. Sat on hold. Got transferred again. Finally, got a real person in the correct department. The lady on the other end is "new at this and I'm not really sure what to do" as the person she is filling in for is "fixin' to have a baby." Fixin'? Seriously? One can be fixing to do a lot of things, but a baby is not usually one of them. So she bummed around on the system for a while before declaring she didn't know how to fix it. Then she suggests I call the insurance people directly.

So I called United Healthcare. Sat on hold waiting for a real person. Gotta love that electronic voice system and 80's power ballads. Went through my ID number, full name, birthday, SSN, mother's maiden name, favorite ice cream, blood type, and color of my toenail polish. Explained the problem. "Oh. We can't edit your address. That has to come from your employer for security issues. [pause] [half-hearted] Sorry."

Cool. Neighbor at 4717, please don't hate me. I'm trying, really. I promise...

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