A Bunch of Crooks - My Insurance Company

I called my health insurance company the other day because the quarter was up and I needed to pay the premium. I have nothing against paying monthly, but unless I want to give them my bank account to just pull the premium out whenever the bill comes due, I have to pay an extra $10 a month processing fee. If I pay quarterly, the insurance company gets only $10 in processing fees, not $30. That’s $20 they DO NOT need.

Sure, I could give them my checking account, no problem, and have them then deduct the money at no extra expense to me, but you’re operating on the idea that these people are not crooks. I’ll get there in a minute.

So I call the insurance company to pay the premiums for my sister’s policy and my policy. I tell the little customer service guy (If they’re charging me $10 to process something, SOMEONE is going to do some work). He tells me he’s not sure if I can pay my sister’s account.

“Ok, time out,” I say. “I don’t want access to her medical information, I don’t want to know what happened on her last pap smear, I just want to pay her bill.”

“Yes, Ms. Hobgood, I understand, but we can only let those authorized by the insured pay.”

“So, let me get this straight. If someone calls you out of the blue…a wealthy benefactor, an admirer, or my sugar daddy, you’re going to tell them that they cannot pay my premium because…why exactly?”

“They are not authorized.”

“Okay,” I say thinking this over. “So, people offer you money to pay bills and before you accept that money, they have to be an authorized person?”

Maybe I’m a little patronizing here, but honestly, when I worked at the bank and someone wanted to pay an overdraft or a loan, the bank could care less who gave them the money as long as they got the money. Sugar daddy, actual daddy, guilty married lover, boyfriend, secret admirer, pimp, friend, the bank didn’t care so long as they got paid!

“That is correct.”

“So, not everyone’s money is accepted here. Because I thought money was money, accepted everywhere.”

“Well…”

“What kind of crooks are you to say who can and can’t pay a premium?” I asked and yes, I did say crooks (Andrea loved this part of the conversation).

“Ms. Hobgood, before you get upset (Well, too late for that buddy) let me see if you are an authorized signer on the account.”

“I better be. I paid her initial premium. She doesn’t have checks or a debit card or a credit card. She strictly deals in cash.” This is due in part to an unfortunate miscalculation back during her freshman year of college that my father ended up paying (pre-divorce; pre-douche bag). “Our insurance broker will tell you.”

“Yes, but he is not authorized,” the poor unsuspecting customer service guy says to be cut off.

“I thought you were checking!”

Guess what. I am authorized to pay my sister’s health insurance.

“I’d also like to say that whoever in the world calls to pay my health insurance, I don’t care if they’re the president, Castro, my guilty married lover (I’d never do that, but I’ve got a point to make), or Carmen San Diego, if someone wants to take this ridiculous burden out of my hands for a quarter, they are authorized.”

He gets the point and takes my payment. Then he makes the mistake of saying, “You do realize that we are charging you with processing fees, processing fees that we wouldn’t have to charge you with if you had this deducted out of your account monthly.”

You know how you see a cat react to a dog? It arches its back up, the fur along its spine standing ramrod straight, to accompany the vicious hissing sound and flying spittle? This little phrase was my dog. Had I been Wolverine, my claws would’ve came out (well, regardless of my non-mutant status, claws still came out).

“And give you access to my checking account?” I ask passing patronizing and petulant. “Give a bunch of crooks who charge someone over $100, $100 that you guys just take and have a party with because the odds are good I’ll never see this money, give you access to my checking account to just deduct and deduct at will?”

“Ma’am, we wou-“

“Shush, shush, shhhh! I don’t care. I worked for a bank. Odds are good I’ll be with another insurance company next year because you’ll raise my rates more than I want to pay. When I switch, I do not want you taking my money out citing computer errors. I worked for a bank, buddy! I’ve seen this happen. And I know exactly how screwed I’d be then because you guys don’t simply return the money.”

“Then you could send in a check. We prefer a check or automatic deduct.”

“I prefer to use my credit card. They’re crooks I can handle.”

Yes, pretty much everyone got called a crook today. I don’t know what got in to me. It had been awhile since I’d uttered the word “crook,” let alone called everyone within an arm’s length of me one. Nevertheless, it was fun calling people a crook. Maybe that’s what happened. I used it once and realized how fun it was.

“Like I said, we prefer-,”

“I’m the customer, I prefer a credit card.”

This man obviously had no idea who he was messing with. I’m still holding grudges against people from sixth grade (let’s just say, that’s more than ten years ago). I don’t argue unless I know I’m right, and if the tragedy ever occurs and I happen to be wrong, well, it pretty much takes an act of God to convince me of my wrongness.

“Ma’am,” he says “It’s just what we prefer.”

I’m going to be honest here, it had been awhile since I’d had a willing participant in this kind of back-and-forth play. I was enjoying my position as the “always right” customer. Plus, there’s my fetish for taking out my frustrations on unsuspecting customer service people: the cell phone company, the Limited credit card company, and my credit card company. However, there’d been no more broken phones and no need for me to get crazy with anyone from Verizon, I ditched my Limited card because the I had to continually fax in receipts for proof of payment, and my credit card company is actually being good (I believe I’m in a small minority of people happy with their credit card company…of course this may be because I don’t use my card and when I do, I have a compulsion to keep it paid off).

But no…a new, willing even, opponent emerged. My insurance company. From it’s policy of not all money is accepted here to it snubbing my credit card (with a zero balance, for crying out loud!), to its general crooked nature.

“It’s not what I prefer. Am I going to get some receipts? Even if you didn’t, the nice thing about paying with a credit card is that we can always get my credit card company on the line and they can explain how you took my money even if you didn’t credit me with it.”

“I can email them,” he says, but makes no mention about my preferred choice and of payment. It’s rather sad, but I realize he is ending this little tête-à-tête. Right when I was having fun too!

I relay my email address and received confirmation. Then I put the confirmation in my “saved” folder. Like I’m really going to trust those guys.

I hung up the phone with a big smile plastered across my face, then snatched it back up and dialed my mother.

“I called my insurance company crooks!” I squealed a bit gleefully because I knew, come November, I’d put that ten dollars I was being charged for processing to work and wear someone’s nerves down!

As a side note: I’d like to add that the biggest crook, bigger than my insurance company, all of the mobs in this country, almost bigger than Charles Manson and that nasty kidnapper that had that Kaycee girl for nearly twenty years, is the government. They claim to have best interests at heart, but let’s examine the origins of Superman, shall we…to fight against tyranny and crooked politicians!

There’s that word again.

Furthermore, even if the people in government were as pious as the metatron (not to be confused with Megatron), the amount of excess fat and blatant in efficiency is enough to make me cringe thinking about them handling my health care. And costs? We can’t afford for the baby boomers to start claiming social security, yet we’re going to offer a public option. Right…

I think I’ll save my frustrations for my private insurance company.