Ice Cream, Medical Surveys and Gunsmoke – Totally NOT a Random Post at All

A few months ago I got something in the mail that said our family had been “randomly chosen” to participate in some kind of medical survey, which would involve us doing some stuff.  I really don’t know what stuff or how long it’s supposed to last or anything because there was a very crisp five dollar bill enclosed in the envelope with the information packet and instructional DVD, and as soon as I saw the cash I was all, “ICE CREAM!!” and pocketed it to buy some cold, delicious ice creamy goodness (with M&Ms, cuz that’s how I roll, yo), promptly forgetting about that other medical stuff or whatever it was.

Then a few weeks ago some lady showed up at the house with a little clipboard, and the Big Bean opened the door and was all, “Who the fuck are you?” and she was all, “I’m from the medical survey place” and he was all, “What the fuck is that?” and she said, “We TOLD you we were coming, we sent you an envelope with an information packet and an instructional DVD and everything,” and the Big Bean was all, “I have no idea what you’re talking about” and the lady got all flustered and said “We even enclosed a five-dollar bill in the envelope to get your attention” and then the Big Bean knew exactly what had happened. 

But because he loves me and also does not like admitting that he’s married to a greedy idiot, he did not tell the nice medical survey lady that I had stolen her money and ignored everything else.  Instead he just told her that I was away and I would be the one to handle all of the “stuff,” not him, and didn’t even bother to find out what the “stuff” was or even tell me that she had been there, because obviously he hates me and wants me to remain in a state of constant confusion and bewilderment.

Which, let’s face it, is not a very difficult goal to achieve.

So a couple of weeks ago  she came back with her little clipboard and unfortunately I was home this time, so I was all, “Who the fuck are you?” and she was all, “I’m from the medical survey place” and I was all, “What the fuck is that?” and she said, “Really?  We have to go through this AGAIN?” and I stared at her real hard for a second before asking, “What do YOU think?”

So she went through it again about the envelope with the information packet and instructional DVD, and I was drawing a complete blank until she mentioned the fiver and then I was all, “Yeah, that ice cream was DELICIOUS” and also vaguely remembered something about some other medical stuff.  And I said, “Well why don’t you just TELL me what was on the DVD” and she kind of mumbled something under her breath but I couldn’t understand what she said.

It sounded a lot like “Lazy bi**h” to me, but that would be really unprofessional so I must have heard wrong.

Anyway she said it really wouldn’t be that big of a deal, they just want to ask some questions about our family’s health and medical history, past illnesses, etc.  Oh, and also she wanted to see our medical records for the past three months.  And I was all, “Whoa, there, Nellie, Ah don’t thank Ah like th’ idear of everyone a-knowin’ my BIDNESS” and she was all “Why are you talking like you’re on Gunsmoke?” and I was all, “Was I?” and she said “Yes” and I said, “Huh. 

That’s probably related to my illness,” and her ears kind of perked up and she said “Illness?  What illness?” and I was all, “HA! Got you!  You thought I had some kind of ILLNESS that makes people talk like they’re on Gunsmoke!  Who ever heard of such a ridiculous thing?  You’re SO STUPID!  HAHA AHHAH HA HA!!”

She didn’t think it was as funny as I did.  Some people just have NO sense of humor.

Once I stopped laughing and calling her stupid, she went on to say that really we’d just have to provide the information once and then participate in three or four additional interviews, all of which sounded like a huge pain in the ass to me, but then she said we’d get paid 30 dollars for each interview — and that is a LOT of ice cream, yo! 

(Side note:  I really don’t know why I continue to use the slang term “yo” when everyone knows that I AM THE WHITEST GIRL ON THE PLANET.  It’s like I’ve got some ghetto streak inside that just HAS to come out, yo.  Things are HARD out here for a pimp.  Wait – what?)

So anyway of course I nodded and signed on the dotted line without a second thought because I do lurvs me some ice creamy goodness.  With M&Ms.

And I guess she told me she’d be coming back but I didn’t hear that part because I was already nursing an imaginary ice cream headache, so when she showed up again the NEXT week I was all, “The hell?  Why don’t you just leave us alone?  You’re like some kind of psycho stalker,” and she didn’t even get offended this time – it was like she was starting to get used to me or something.

Then she asked me for our medical records from the past three months and I was all “Huh?” and she sighed really heavy-like and said, “I guess you don’t remember that part from last week,” and I was all, “There was fucking HOMEWORK?” and she said yes and I was all “This S**KS” and she said “Well you agreed to it” and I was all “Fuck you, Gunsmoke, just gimme my 30 bucks and we’ll call it a day” but she just shook her head and said she’d be back the next week instead.  And she left with her clipboard and a really stern look on her face and NEVER gave me my thirty dollars.

So I’m trying to figure out if I can sue or something.

Anyway I think she’s coming back this weekend, I can’t remember but it really doesn’t matter because I STILL haven’t gotten our medical records and, if I’m being honest, probably never will.  So this poor woman is pretty much destined to a future series of increasingly frustrating trips to my house during which she will be cursed at, chastised, insulted, and ultimately leave empty-handed.

But at some point I’m hoping I’ll be able to buy some more delicious ice cream with M&Ms, because that s**t is DA BOMB for a pimp like me, yo.

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