I gave Broos a recap of my latest visit to the doctor’s office and figured I’d share it with the rest of you, too. We can commiserate on the Dumb and Dumber state of the people in the medical profession. Yet again.

I barely reach the office in time because there are three campuses on the same bloody road. While I’m checking in, they inform me of my co-pay. I tell them to bill me for it (I still haven’t received my new checks from the bank yet). The receptionist nods, then says, “Did you know you had a balance with us?” “Yes,” I replied, “I’m pretty sure I do.” She calls a woman from the other side of the desk by asking, “Have you seen this account?”

Now…that asking part was fine, except she asked at roughly 90 dB. The waiting room was full; people looked up from their magazines.

The other woman calls out for my record number. The receptionist shouts them to her. I’m standing at the counter knowing full well at this point that not only have my privacy rights just been violated, but I’m about to be fiscally raped.

The second woman is about twelve feet away from the counter.

“Were you aware that you have a balance of $566.00 with us?” the second woman asks.

“Probably. I’ve been in a lot lately.”

“Most of this is counted towards your deductible and co-insurance.”

“I don’t have co-insurance. Do you mean the insurance company from Michael’s?”

“If you don’t have a co-insurance then this counts against your deductible.”

“What?” (This is an incredulous what, not a what what).

“YOU DO KNOW WHAT A DEDUCTIBLE IS, DON’T YOU?”

“Yes,” I say, after a slight pause. “I also know what a cheeseborough is but I try not to be smug about it.”

She taps at her keyboard and furrows her brow. I lean on the counter and drum my fingernails on its surface.

“There’s a charge of $135 for a chest X-ray and another for $232 for an opthalmology visit.”

“Yes. I had an accident. I expect those charges would show up.”

“Have you seen these bills?”

“Not these. When were they incurred?”

“March X…and March X for these two. The balance is on a bill from February X.”

“And I am supposed to have…seen them…already?”

“You don’t see your bills?”

“Not until they’re mailed to me, no. These don’t sound like they’ve been mailed yet.”

“No, probably not. But they’re charged against your deductible.”

“I got that part, thank you very much. Can you tell whether or not there is an insurance contact for those charges?”

“No, I can only see what’s outstanding.”

“Will this prevent me from going to my 4pm appointment?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then if you could kindly print me those charges so I can send them to the accident insurer, I will follow the nurse who has so patiently been waiting while you’ve divulged my entire fiscal history with the Sharp medical system to all the good folk assembled in your waiting room.”

“I can of course do that,” the woman replies, not missing a beat. The nurse snickers into her (well, my) chart. The receptionist gets up from her chair and follows the other woman to wherever the hell she went.

Sigh.

I should send them hearing aids for Christmas or something. I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t demand that I pay those bills off right then and there. That would’ve been a much more intestering shouting match!