“What is the name of your pet?” the efficient-sounding woman on the phone asked me. I had called my insurance company because I misplaced my card. Actually, I misplaced several cards, but I’ll get to that later.
Pausing a moment before responding, I thought about my last and final kitty, Lark, and looked at the inbox on my desk where she would curl up and watch me work every day until she died suddenly and unexpectedly.
“Lark,” I responded. “Actually, Lark kitty,” I said, near tears. “I really miss her.”
“No,” the phone lady said.
“No, I don’t miss her?”
“No, that was not the name we have on file.”
Suddenly, I realized that George had set up the identity code and I didn’t adopt Lark until months after he passed away. The pet name must be Gomar, the cat George named when she crawled up our driveway and decided to make it her home.
Phone lady was sorry but explained that I don’t get a second chance. The computer screen had locked her out, so I couldn’t request a new card. I promised her that Gomar was the cat just before Lark and I had made an understandable mistake. I only got one chance. It was for identity purposes. I had just given her my Social Security number; surely that identified me more than the name of my cat. I made another appeal. Gomar was the name of my late husband’s cat. George was the reason we were eligible for USAA insurance because he had served in the Air Force. He was a pilot. Shouldn’t that count for something?
Phone lady continued to be sorry, and I continued to be astonished. I’m sure if she had known both cats, she would have understood why Lark was the first one who came to my mind. She was sweet and gentle while Gomar was feisty. She barely noticed me as she was besotted with George, who didn’t even like cats until she ingratiated herself with him. Really, it was a love story.
Phone lady gave me a phone number to call back on another day when I might get another chance at the pet name. I’m thinking my security code should be the name of someone I’ll never forget, like my mother.
Since my Medicare card was also with the little bundle I had misplaced, I braced myself for a call to the Medicare hotline. As some of you may already know, that is not always the easiest place to communicate with. At least I wouldn’t give them the wrong cat name. I made a cup of tea, as history has taught me there is no such thing as a short phone call to Medicare. My first surprise was that I actually got a person on the phone after only one recording.
“I seem to have lost my Medicare card,” I replied to the polite lady who asked how she could help me. She said she was sorry I was having a problem and asked for the card number, which, of course, I didn’t have since I didn’t have the card. And finally, someone asked me a question I could answer correctly: what was my Social Security number?
The new card will arrive in a few weeks, but I needed the card number sooner for a medical appointment. Could she possibly give me the number over the phone? I only had to state that I requested and approved the action. Polite lady gave me the card number and wished me a nice day. The entire phone call lasted less than five minutes. My tea was still hot. I love it when unpleasant expectations are proved wrong.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com.