Let me be totally honest,( I say that for my own benefit, because, let's be completely up front, if I weren't, then you would be left without knowing what you could believe). The experience with the Social Security Administration that I recently had on the phone was the perfect end to what has been a two-and-a-half year pleasant journey. The years were enjoyable, much in the same way that being pushed over a cliff is enjoyable. I swear to you that I must have struck every rock and tree root on the hillside as I pick up speed while hurtling head-over-heels towards the bottom. After picking myself up off the ground, and dusting myself off, I had a few questions, so I made a phone call. What I experienced was pretty close to the same, I imagine, as having a paramedic present at the bottom of the fore-mentioned hill as I came tumbling down. He doesn't so much as rush to my aid, however. Instead, he stares, and continually reminds me, that although my visible lacerations, bruises, and broken bones are important to him, he is very sorry that I am experiencing a long wait time and, he assures me, he will be with me just as soon as possible.
I waited and waited for assistance, but when the wait time became too long, I opted to leave my call back number so that the next available paramedic could tend to my wounds. After an hour, in which I almost bled out, I finally received a callback. Unfortunately, my pure rapture at the immediate thought that the wait was over was short lived. I had been misled into believing that I could simply answer the phone and begin talking to, and have a polite and helpful conversation with a human. Oh no, that would be expecting too much, because what actually happened at this point was very reminiscent of a situation that I have found myself in often when I have gone to see my doctor. I am sure that this is a universal experience, one in which finds me sitting in the main waiting room while dodging numerous air-born virus clouds, flying phlegm, and at the same time, leafing through germ infested old issues of Field and Stream and People magazines. I do this for what feels like at least an hour, but in reality, has really only been fifty-seven minutes and forty-five seconds. Then the moment arrives. The nurse calls out my name. I have never heard anything sweeter. I am having visions in my head and remembering all the times I scoffed and made fun of the overly exuberant people on The Price Is Right. The ones who would shoot out of their seats, begin jumping up and down, screaming, and waving their arms as they ran down the aisle much in the same way as I would imagine a lunatic to do. Because it just so happens that at that exact moment I feel like joining them and becoming one of those lunatics. This, of course, is all done in my head, but one of these days, after an unusually long wait, I am going to do this. When my name is called I will spring straight up, begin waving my hands above my head in a frantic pattern, and alternate between shouting gibberish, laughing and crying. Because who among us isn't more deserving of witnessing a spectacle or to enjoy a truly good laugh, like your ex-former doctor's office detainees.
I am, at this moment, very excited because the nurse has finally picked me, and I fall in behind her as she leads me towards my important meeting with the Doctor. The first item on her agenda, though? I have to take my shoes off and step on a scale so she can record my weight and height. I can only imagine that this is done in the eventuality that a prize fight breaks out in the office. I mean, if this does happen then they will need to first announce my qualifications and stats over the loud speaker. And so, just like when I received the call back from Social Security, I assumed that my waiting was over and that my next encounter was only moments away. This, of course, was wrong as all that actually happened was that I was shown into the next little waiting room. But I draw your attention back to my present situation.
Finally, upon receiving the return phone call from the Social Security Department, I am greeted by a second automated voice that needs to confirm who I am, if I am currently available, and would I mind waiting while the next available agent is located? I want to scream that, yes, actually I would mind! Why can't you wait to call me until you ACTUALLY have someone first that is ready to talk to me? However, since I had invested so much time already, and as arguing with an automated attendant has not been posted on my agenda for that day, I put the call on speakerphone and began to enjoy the soft rhythms of hold music. Within a few short minutes, I was greeted by a very charming voice, that produced in me an instant flashback to my childhood and my father starting up his old chainsaw. All my questions did eventually get answered, however, and afterward, I had such a feeling of warmth and caring.
Shoot, I just remembered that I didn't ask for the lady's name so that when I call again I can ask for her. Oh well, I guess I can just ask for chainsaw girl.
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