Medicare

 I was in a hurry to leave the house one morning when my phone rang. When I said hello, a voice declared “This is Robert, from Medicare.”

 I hung up, as one does, because unless it’s the Robert from Medicare, I’ve got stuff to do today. I’m sorry I don’t have time to play, Robert. No time to ask you if your desk is next to Becky from Medicare, or if you ever get together with Jake From State Farm, and does he really wear khakis? Also-- I AM FAR TOO YOUNG TO HAVE MEDICARE, YOU EVIL PERSON. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME??? WHY??

Oh, sure—maybe you, Robert, were just innocently trying to scam my social security number. Maybe you heard from the other scammers about all the fraudulent activities my SS number was getting up to and wanted in on the action, I don’t know. What I DO know is that bringing age into the equation is the cruelest thing ever. Possibly in the history of ever. And I will never forgive you for that casual cruelty.

Take my credit card info, steal my identity, co-opt my tax refund—JUST DON’T CALL ME OLD, capisce?

 

Want to scam me by pretending to be a Nigerian Prince? Fine, bring it. I probably deserve a Prince or two. Want to convince me that several Doctors on FaceBook suddenly want to be my friend? Ok, fair enough, somebody has to be friends with Doctors, it might as well be me. But to try to trick me with something involving Medicare—which, as we all know—IS FOR OLDER PEOPLE, is the biggest sin imaginable! SHAME ON YOU ROBERT!

I miss the days when people would call my landline—yes I still have a landline, how else can I find my cell phone—where was I? Oh, right, landline. People used to call me up and offer to sell me aluminum siding. Or a surefire cure for septic tank troubles that also doubles as a preventative measure. I miss that.

I miss the days when you could prank call someone—not that I ever did of course, but I know people who did. You could ask them if their refrigerator was running, or if Prince Albert was—what was his deal anyway? Something about a can...Anyway, my point is this:

Whatever. I had a point. Which is I’m not old. Even if next year’s birthday is one of those that ends in a zero—I’m still not old. Robert from Medicare can go get stuffed. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go yell at some kids to get off my lawn.