Wednesday, March 15, 2017

When The Cash Price Doesn't Cut It

You'd think filling a prescription wouldn't be any big deal? Apparently that's not the case. There's more to it than that.

Is this something I should know as an adult? Did they teach it in school and I simply wasn't paying attention that day? Was there some aged wisdom my mother and father should have passed down to me about dealing with pharmacies? Or is it something else entirely? Because I don't remember anyone telling me there were specific rules or regulations when you first begin taking any sort of medications outside of noting how to take the stuff or consulting a pharmacist if you have questions.

But this story goes beyond that ...

There comes a time in just about everyone's life when age and all its wonders and annoyances begins catching up to you and starts fiddling with your delicate inner workings. Sometimes this is a good thing. More often than not, however, it isn't. 

In my case, I've finally succumbed to what's been passed down to me through genetics: Hypertension. Or, more exactingly, high blood pressure. My mother had it. A vast majority of my relatives on the upper limbs of my family tree had it. I figured I would have to deal with it sooner or later. Now? Firmly planted in my second 50 years of life its decided to rear its head and introduce itself.

It's a simple fix, corrected with a simple high blood pressure medication. No big deal.

So ... after a physical and consultation with my doctor, she prescribed such and asked me where I wanted the prescription filled. "Walgreens I suppose" I told her. "It's right down the street. That seems pretty convenient."

And that's where it was sent. I went in a few days later, handed whoever was helping me my insurance information and answered a few basic questions to get me in the system.

Now, mind you, this is the very first time I've ever had to take any sort of prescribed medication. I've been pretty healthy all my life, reasonably fit, strong and able-bodied. So this whole medication monkey business was something new I was going to have to work into my regular routine: One pill in the morning, continue for six months, then head back to the doctor to check on any progress. Refills are scheduled once a month.

"You're all set, Mr. Noble. We'll contact you when your prescription is ready" I was informed by the Walgreens lady helping me. A day later I had the stuff in my hands.

And then, about a month later, I refilled the prescription. And picked it up. And again. And again. 

But it was the fifth time, refilling it once more, when the confusion began:

"Okay, Mr. Noble ... I have your prescription right here. Hmmmmmm ... you know you're paying the cash price for this, right?" a lady in dalmatian scrubs alerted me.

"Well, yeah ... of course. What else would I be paying? My insurance affords me the best cost for the stuff, right?"

She looked at me with all seriousness. "No. Not when your insurance isn't accepted here."

"What?" I said with a start.

"Your insurance isn't accepted at Walgreens. You're paying full price for this medication. You'd probably get it for less somewhere else at a pharmacy that accepts your insurance."

I was flabbergasted. "Waitaminnit ... this is the fifth time I've come in here for this stuff, for 5 months. And this is the first I've heard that my insurance isn't accepted. Why wasn't I informed from Day One?" (I already knew the answer to this question, that they weren't able to tell me.)

"I can't tell you, I don't know. Has your insurance been altered? May I see your card to verify what you have?"

I dug out my wallet and handed her my insurance card. A moment or two went by and she confirmed: "No, we do not accept your insurance. I suggest your contact your provider and get a listing of pharmacies who do. Do you still want this prescription?"

"Yes, thank you," I told her and handed her the $16.00 I'd been forking over for the past 5 months per usual. She handed back my card to me with my pills. 

Of course as soon as I got home I was on the horn to my insurance. I explained the dilemma. "That's right ... Walgreens - and WalMart for that matter - isn't in our plan. CVS, Rite Aid and several others are. I see you have those locally ..."

"Can you tell me what I can expect to pay at those locations?" I asked her. 

"I'm not quite certain as it depends on the location ... but around $3.25 is my best guess" she replied. 

"Okay," I said. "So now what do I do?"

"You have a few options: You can go to either of those locations or you can start a mail order for your prescription. The mail order allows for a 90 day supply at zero cost to you if you decide that route," I was informed.

"You mean I could have been getting this stuff for free if I wanted?!?"

"Yes" the woman said cheerfully.

I thanked her for her time and set down the phone feeling a bit violated.

I immediately called Walgreens. "Who can I speak with about a problem with my medication?" I asked someone from the pharmacy.

"Jodi is the person to speak with. But she's not hear right now. Can I leave a message and have her get back to you?"

"Please do that," I requested.

I didn't hear back from Jodi after a couple days. The better part of a week went by where I left multiple messages for her. Responses to those messages? Zero. Zip. Zilch. So I schlepped my carcass down to Walgreens one morning. I knew Jodi would be working that day because I'd asked previously when she was in.

She was there. I spun my tale. She let me know she would pass it along to the store manager - Cameron - who would get back to me.

Another week went by where I left multiple messages for Cameron. (Tell me if you've heard this story before.) Responses to those messages? Zero. Zip. Zilch. So I schlepped my carcass down to Walgreens at the end of that week on a Friday to hunt him down. I knew he would be there as I had previously discussed his schedule with Jodi.

Face to face with the man, I explained my situation calmly to him and then launched into what I wanted done about the situation as I handed him a type-written sheet:

"I've documented the dates and costs of all my purchases and taken the liberty of doing the math had I paid what my insurance informed me I should probably be paying. The difference is almost $64.00. I'm looking for reimbursement for that amount for my time and effort," I stated.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Mr. Noble. I will look into this and discuss it with my regional manager and get back to you. One thing though: You purchased that fifth prescription at $16.00 knowing you could get it for less?"

"Correct. At the time I was running low and hadn't a clue when I got into this process how long the situation would take to deal with. I decided to bite the bullet and get it, even though I was paying an inflated price. I still expect reimbursement for that one in there in light of the fact none of my phone calls were ever returned by either you or Jodi," I explained. "Understand I'm not pleased with the service I've been given thus far, let alone the fact I wasn't informed from the outset my insurance wasn't honored here. That was what got the ball rolling. The only part I'm happy about is finally speaking with someone face to face about my position. Frankly, up until my coming in here and discussing this with you, Walgreens customer service leaves much to be desired. A resolution to this may redeem that position," I admonished.

He took my contact number. I stuck out my hand to shake his, thanked him for his attention and told him I looked forward to hearing back from him as soon as possible.

The next day I received a message. I could come down to Walgreens any time to pick up a cash reimbursement.

Afterward: The following day I put in the remainder of my prescription with Rite Aid. Cost of the stuff there? A mere $1.58 for 30 little pills.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Yes, I Had A Moment With Carrie Fisher


Carrie Fisher
October 21, 1956 - December 27, 2016

Years and years and years ago at San Diego Comic-Con I was walking about the main floor and, lo and behold, there is Carrie Fisher at a booth cheerfully greeting and autographing items for fans.

I dropped any plans I had and immediately got in line to meet her.


As a life long Star Wars fan having seen the original film in Hollywood its opening day, Fisher has always been a crush of mine. Through all the Star Wars films, her cameo in The Blues Brothers, co-starring in When Harry Met Sally and more. This was one of the first opportunities I'd ever had to meet her face to face. So I marched to the back of a lengthy line of people to chat her up. I discovered the wait time was in excess of an hour but that didn't matter to me: This was Carrie Fisher! Princess Leia Organa herself! I was every bit the excited fanboy as I anxiously did my time in line.

As the line snaked along, she looked up on occasion at the crowds around her. During one such peek, I caught her eye. Or at least it appeared I had. She did a double take when she saw me and I knew in that instant there was no doubt we had made eye contact! I felt my stomach do a flip and I steeled myself to appear aloof yet interested
as she looked my way. And then it was back to the business of the fans before her.

But for the next 45 minutes, she continuously gazed at me, sometimes craning her neck to see where I was. The across-the-room confidence I figured I'd better start showing might have done the trick, I thought. But with her obvious stares towards me every few minutes, I began to get nervous. And soon it got a little uncomfortable.

Why was she looking at me so intently I wondered? Was there someone behind me she noticed and I simply misread her interest? I checked at one point and turned when she looked once again but, when I swung back around, there was no doubt she was looking directly at me.

I had to get to the bottom of this. The next time we made eye contact I pointed at myself and mouthed "Me?" to her. I saw her smile and nod imperceptibly. I remember I began perspiring right then and there.

Minute by minute I moved nearer and nearer to where she was sitting, shaking folks hands and smiling and talking. As I got even closer I noticed the looks she was giving me became less and less frequent. Something was up, something unknown to me. This silent awareness was going to my head and I was mere minutes from finding out what it was all about.

She looked over at me one final time - I was a dozen or so people from her - and she concentrated on everyone before me. No more looks came my way. But you could see it in her demeanor; there was some kind of electricity in the air between the two of us and I was caught up in it, trying to control my excitement. For all I knew she was focusing on doing the same.

I gave the guy in front of me space to make his acquaintance with her before it was my turn. I was patient, unassuming and pressuring myself with an overall calm, hoping my elation wasn't showing.


Then, the guy moved away and I sauntered up to Carrie.


She kept her head down as I approached, waiting until I was directly in front of her. I saw her snap the cover of a Sharpie back onto the pen she had in her lap then slowly look up at me, a huge grin on her face, her eyes wide.

She looked at me for a moment, smiling ear to ear. Then she spoke: "Bruce! What are you doing here ... ??!?"

Naturally, I stumbled at her question. I smiled back at her and confessed: "Uhm ... I'm sorry, I'm not Bruce ..."

"You're not?!?" she blurted, somewhat taken aback.

I recognized the opportunity and jumped on it. "Would you like me to be?" I offered.


She was obviously embarrassed. She blushed, laughed and apologized. "All this time, seeing you standing in line, I thought you were an old acquaintance of mine I haven't seen in years. You look exactly like him. I'm sorry I was staring at you all this time ..."

"Not a problem ... and no apology necessary," I said. "Your looks were somewhat disarming but in a rather agreeable and exciting way."




I told her my name and talked to her a few minutes. Not long afterward she pulled out a color glossy of herself as Princess Leia in slave garb. "Well, I have to sign this 'with love' to you for my embarrassing behavior," she told me.

I didn't argue.

Thank you for the wonderful memory, Carrie. Rest in peace.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

There's A Difference ...


This is a sprinkler riser ...

When I moved to Northern California, things were rough employment-wise. It was incomprehensibly difficult to land a job.

In the midst of hunting and searching and submitting resume after resume after resume for months on end, I worked countless odd jobs. Gutting houses, building walls, jackhammering sidewalks, pouring concrete, clearing brush ... anything to keep busy until something solid finally came my way as a result of all my pursuits.

One job I landed was rebuilding a backyard deck, a job that took the better part of a week for a little old lady - Mary (not her real name) - I still help out to this very day. That deck job I did for her, turned into basic upkeep of her house and yard, from gardening and lawn care right on down to digging beneath her front patio and driveway in search of a plumbing leak. (That was a nasty, dirty, thankless job, let me tell you.)

We have a great relationship: We both respect each other while giving each other healthy doses of what-for because that's our natures. She's a little fragile, often falls down because her legs aren't what they used to be. Often, I go to her house to find she's got some new sort of bruise or another. And ... she's a bit ditzy. Naturally, our affiliation has led to some interesting moments. Here's one of them.

The phone rang one morning before I had scheduled to run over to her house and I answered. She wanted me to run by Home Depot (which she interestingly refers to as "Home Deah-poe" for some reason) and pick up some sprinkler risers she ordered before I came over. I told her no problem, that I'd be happy to. "It's under my name" she informed me. "They came in. I already paid for them, too."

I got to the store and went to the will call area, asking for an order under the name of Smith (again, not her real name). a few minutes of digging around in a holding area did not produce any fruit. "What name is it under?" the clerk assisting me asked. "I'll look it up on the computer."

I old him and he searched. Nothing came up. "What was it that was ordered?" he asked.

"Sprinkler risers" I answered. "The person who ordered them said a 'Matt' was the one she ordered them from."

More searching and squinting at the computer. "What was the name they were ordered under again?"

"Smith" I stated once more.

"I don't see anything under 'Smith' ... it's not under some other name, is it?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Can you pull up 'sprinkler risers' or 'plumbing' and look it up that way?"

"Nope. How 'bout a phone number?" I gave the guy her home phone number as well as her cell number just in case. "Nothing there, either. Let me scrounge around in back once more. I just don't see anything that looks like sprinklers or sprinkler risers. Give me a sec ..." and he was off to search once more.

Three minutes later he was back. "Sorry, sir ... I can't find anything. No Smith, no sprinkler anything ... and I checked everything."

All right. Let me give her a call and see if I can get to the bottom of this ..." I rung her up.

"Really? They just called me this morning and told me they were there. That's strange ..."

"Who did you talk to here?"

"I don't know ... but I remember ordering them the other day from a 'Matt' ..."

"I'll see if that trips a trigger," I said and hung up.

Nuh-uh. 'Matt' was called and didn't remember anything about any plumbing supplies requested or ordered. I was at a dilemma, there was nothing further the guy helping me could do. I called Mary back once more.

"They can't find anything? How can that be when they called me this morning and told me they were in? Try 'Wesson-Smith' ... my married name. I might have ordered them under that ..."

"That information would have been handy to begin with, Mary," I chided her.

I went back to the will call area and a new employee was behind the counter. I brought her up to speed and gave her the new name it could be under. More ruffling about in the back and she came out with a box. "There's nothing with any plumbing back there but there is a name 'Wesson-Smith' on a package. Could she have gotten what she order wrong?"

"I don't think so. She was adamant it was sprinkler risers she ordered. Can I see the package, just in case?"

"Sure," I was told and she disappeared in back a final time. She returned with a rather large box, one too big to hold sprinkler risers I noted. She opened it and showed me the contents.


... these, on the other hand, are not.

Inside were four nestled together, white conical pieces of plastic that were the furthest things from sprinklers or plumbing supplies you could get. The 'riser' moniker, however, fit perfectly. Because what they were, what had been ordered, was a set of four BED risers ... not sprinkler risers. I had to chuckle to myself. I told the clerk that was what was ordered. "These aren't sprinklers" she said.

"Well ... I'm well aware of that now" I replied.

I headed out of the Home Depot parking lot with thoughts of semi-scoldful reprimands being launched Mary's way when I got there as to what she ordered and under what name she ordered under ...


.......... Ruprecht ( just STOP confusing plumbing and bedding )


Thursday, September 29, 2016

Frustration Ad Nauseum*

But wait!

There's more! (More from yesterday, I mean ...)

How do you explain this quandaratic mini flyers from Chick-fil-A?



Their normal operating hours are 6:30 a.m. - 10:00 p.m. So why not simply say something to the effect of "During the fall, with exciting high school football action dominating the season's Friday nights, Chick-fil-A will be open until 11:00 p.m. on Fridays" ... ???

Nope. Instead they say "Every Friday 10:00PM - 11:00PM" How does that work exactly?

I'm confused. Do they close at 10 p.m. and reopen at that exact same time? (I'd like to see that trick.) Or is it just a roundabout way of this location's marketing to confuzzle the hungry masses? A covert message to be unraveled, perhaps? 

I haven't a clue ... 

*It's not really frustration. It's a puzzle, really ...
 


Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Frustration




Look: I don't go out of my way to create monkey business. 

(Well ... that's not entirely true. I'll do so in the spirit of amusement. And often. More exactingly I'll do it in the spirit of self-amusement if it gives me a personal chuckle. But I like to share my experiences as you well know. The more the merrier, after all!)

But monkey business in and of itself is rampant everywhere. It's all over the place, often a daily occurrence. You can find it at home, at work, on the street, on the radio, in the news, at that fast food joint you frequent.

It's that last item where monkey business is constantly looming I've chosen to discuss today. Specifically at the largest quick-service chicken restaurant chain in the United States, Chick-fil-A. And let me tell you something ... there's a lot of it going on at these restaurants, I figure. I know there is at the one I walk into on occasion in bustling Folsom, CA.

Now, I can't honestly state I've ever said or thought to myself "Self? You know what I'm craving today? A Chick-fil-A chicken sandwich." And there's a reason I haven't ever thought that. Because I'm simply not thrilled with the restaurant. Sure ... their chicken sandwiches and other fare are fine if you like that sort of thing, but their foodstuffs aren't must haves for me. The place is just okay, nothing more. It's others I'm with who suggest we head to a Chick-fil-A when we're out and about and we're looking for a quick meal on the go. It's never me making that suggestion. I'll rarely counter the decision to eat there but, deep down, I'll wish there was an alternative choice offered. (But I'm realistic. It can't always be about "me." I'm giving and fair and I know the importance of "going along for the ride" when the need arises.)

But over the course of the last handful of times I've been to a Chick-fil-A (two of which I've documented here and here) I've come to the conclusion the staff of the place is on a mission to drive me over the edge. Case in point ...

My usual was ordered: A spicy chicken deluxe sandwich.

Now ... for illustrative purposes, I've provided an actual screen shot of the item for your perusal, taken directly from Chick-fil-A's website. I want you to take a gander at it for a moment and read its description (click on the image to enlarge):





Simple question: Can you tell me what's on the sandwich? I bet you can. But just in case you don't read English (in which case I don't know what you're doing on this blog other than looking at various color schemes and pretty pictures) let me humor you - the sandwich, in short, consist of a boneless breast of chicken with dill pickle chips, lettuce, tomato and pepper jack cheese.

So riddle me this: Why in the world would the following conversation take place?


Chick-fil-A Dude Behind The Register: "And you sir? What can I get you?"

Me: "I would like the spicy chicken deluxe sandwich, please."

Chick-fil-A Dude: "Would you like American, Swiss or Pepper Jack cheese on that?"

Me, confused: "The pepper jack ..."
 
Chick-fil-A Dude: "And it comes with lettuce, tomato and pickles. Is that all right?"

Me, holding back several sarcastic comments: "That will be fine, thank you ..."

Why? WHY???


Why, when I order anything at a Chick-fil-A, am I continuously bombarded with questions about my selection that make no sense whatsoever? The description of the item is as plain as day, right there in front of me. I see what the sandwich is, I see what's on it. Why do the employees of Chick-fil-A feel the need to talk me into something different? Are they bored? Do they get incentives or some sort by doing so?

If I wanted a different kind of cheese on my selection I would have asked if it was possible to make a substitution. If I had an aversion to pickled cucumbers, I would have requested they be stricken from my sandwich. If I preferred eating my choice sans lettuce, I would say so ... right? If I wanted an opt-out on commonly sliced fruit I would make that information known forthwith.


I mean, let's take it a step further: Why offer the bun at all? Why not ask if I'd prefer the item without the bread it goes between? Maybe I prefer my tomato on the bottom of the sandwich, nestled underneath the chicken breast instead of atop it. Wouldn't it be helpful if they suggested all the individual pieces to the item be handed to me unassembled so I could put the thing together to my liking? We could go on like this for hours ...

For criminy's sake ... I CAN SEE WHAT'S ON MY PREFERENCE! JUST RING UP MY PICK AS IS, PLAIN AND SIMPLE! Cripes and cripes ... how difficult can it be ... ??!??!?

And the answer to that question is: Pretty damned difficult, as it turns out ... 


Tuesday, June 28, 2016

I Miss My Gorilla


I miss my gorilla.

Well ... he really wasn't my gorilla. I had him but a couple of days.

I saw this gorilla on the floor in one of the main hallways at work, partially hidden beneath a set of cabinets. Someone probably dropped him and didn't realize it. For all I know he could have been part of a waste pile destined to be dumped.

So, I picked him up and made him stand guard on a rack in a utility closet ... where I promptly forgot him.



Not the gorilla I had guarding the closet ...


I stumbled on him once again when I went back into that closet and decided of a sudden it was probably best to set him out near where I found him. With a note attached:


"Is this your gorilla? I found him on the floor a few days back. If no one claims him he'll become my mascot.
... Michael"

There was an outcropping where all passersby could see him, especially that person who might have lost him in that particular hallway.

Within a few hours of putting him out, someone had nabbed him.

I just hope it was the person who "lost" him in the first place ... and no one else.

I'll just have to find a new gorilla ... 'cause I miss him already ...

*sigh*
 
.......... Ruprecht ( might never STOP missing that little guy )

Friday, May 13, 2016

Complete And Utter Bullshit

  


<rant>

It's going to take me a bit to get to the "bullshit" part so bear with me.

Monday, I puttered on down to the gas station to get some gas for the riding mower. I had time to mow the property, the overgrowth was threatening to take over the household and the backyard could hold a family of mountain lions and we'd never know it because nature was out of control.

Gas cans filled to the brim and packed away, I got back into the Camry, turned the key and ... zippo.

Not a single thing. No turn over, nothing.

Now, the car's been a little temperamental of late. Once in awhile at a stop sign it will die. But it will start right back up again. I figured that was a fuel line thing, something that simply needed to be cleaned out.

This time, however, I didn't even get a turnover of the engine. And in my experience that usually means one of two things: Dead battery or an alternator gone bad. And I knew it wasn't the battery.

Now, to be fair, the car does have better than a quarter million miles on it. It is getting a tad cranky. But it's a trooper. Toyotas are made that way. I've owned a few and they bip and bop along pretty reliably. I gave the vehicle a brief respite while I counted to 10 then keyed the ignition once again.

Nothing. I sighed.

I called my better half to get our AAA card number and the roadside services number (I gave up my AAA membership a year ago - no sense paying for two of them in the same household) and asked her to be on standby in the event I needed a ride back home if AAA couldn't accommodate me. "They may not let you order a tow with my card" she informed me. "I may have to call them myself and be there."

"I've never had a problem with them previously in this situation. I'll call back to let you know ..." I said and hung up. I immediately dialed up the AAA.

"I need to arrange a tow back to my house, please." I informed the gentleman who came on the line.

"What seems to be the problem with your vehicle?"

"It won't start. Pretty sure it's an alternator issue."

"Can I get your card number and name, please?"

I gave them both, telling him it was not my name on the card.

"We won't be able to schedule a tow unless the card holder is at the location of the vehicle, sir," he informed me.

"Where I want the car towed is barely 2 miles distant to our home," I told the guy. "The card holder works out of the house and couldn't come down here to attend to the situation. When the car is towed back to the residence, she'll be more than happy to present the card and sign anything that needs signing," I explained.

"I still can't schedule a tow, sir. The towing company won't allow it and AAA can't authorize it. The card holder must be present."

"Even though the vehicle is being towed to the card holder's location?" I asked. "As I mentioned, she is unable to be with vehicle currently as she she works from home."

"I'm sorry. The card holder must be present."

"And there's no way you can schedule this based on what I'm telling you? I guarantee she'll be at the location when the car arrives."

"I'm sorry sir. I can't do that."




"Tell you what: I'll personally guarantee her presence and give you $100.00 if she's not there when the car arrives. I'm not trying to pull anything over on you, I'm just trying to facilitate the situation being I'm between a rock and a hard place right now."

I got the same song and dance. "I still can't do that. The towing company won't allow it. We won't allow it."

"I've done this previously without any problem," I told the dude. "What's changed?"

"Sir ... we simply can't do it. If the card hold is there, we can arrange a tow."

"If it's a question of the towing company having a problem with it, I'll guarantee the tow place $1,000.00 cash money if she isn't available when the car is dropped off."

"Can't do it, sir."

"And this is policy?" I asked, frustrated.

"Yes, sir."

"Fine. Thank you for your time." I said a bit huffily and hung up the phone.

By coincidence it just so happened I was parked directly across from a AAA satellite office so I ventured in to plead my case. The helpful woman I spoke with gave me the same story, albeit with an apology and a heaping helping of sympathy. I thanked her, telling her I at least had to try.

I was defeated. We'd just have to come back later when we had time to deal with the situation.

As mentioned, I've been in this exact same scenario before. I've used my card for relatives and friends when their cars needed a tow and I was present. I even had my ex make the call when she was stranded and she used my card number without issue. It was on my account, no big deal. But, obviously, AAA's policies have changed. (Or so I thought.)

Later that afternoon when we were free, the call to AAA was made yet again and a tow was arranged, simply by providing the card number. Nothing more.

When the truck arrived, "Glen" was extraordinarily helpful. He tried a few tricks to see if he could coax the car to life to no effect. He had no problem towing it but if there was a way to get the vehicle started without putting a report on the card's record that would be the better option.

His bag of tricks exhausted, Glen backed up the truck and hitched up the car. He had the address it was going to and said he would meet us there.

15 minutes later the Camry was tucked away exactly where I requested. Glen waved and told us to have a nice day.

"Hold on," I called. "Don't we need to sign anything?"

"Nope. It's all done electronically. Just needed the card number and I already got that from AAA."

I felt my temperature rise slightly at the thought I had been given the runaround along with a load of crap from the guy I originally talked to earlier that morning. Glen didn't even verify who we were. The card used could have been from the other side of the country for all anyone cared and it didn't make a bit of difference.

You see ... I wasn't attempting to pull one over on anyone. I just wanted to get done what needed to be done in a timely manner with a minimum of downtime. The AAA guy on the phone that morning decided it was a better idea to unload a bullshit story on me. And that pissed me off.

Time to write a letter to The Powers That Be at AAA and get huffy. If it truly is policy, I understand that. But that's not what took place. don't lie to me. If it's not policy, where was the harm in doing it my way?

I'll be finding out soon enough ...

</rant>

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP bullshitting me )