Go with the Flow

Alright, I screwed up at the bank. My bride gave me an envelope with a few checks and a deposit slip. Somehow the checks got into the wrong account. Actually it was the wrong bank. I knew I was in trouble the moment I left and realized what I had done. To keep this from ever happening again, I quickly made my way home and composed The Husbands' Flow Sheet which I will carry with me from now on.

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A look under the hood

In my heart, I knew an excursion to the dealership for my Altima's 7500 mile check would yield something memorable to write about. I'd been putting it off for months. I had received the "friendly" reminder back in September, though with the reduced amount I've been driving (now that I don't run to the office most days), I hadn't even reached 7000 miles. Today's trip was also prompted by the fact that a few days ago I had collapsed the right front portion of the bumper by trying to occupy a space already spoken for by a big block of ice-'nuff said.. I needed an estimate for body work. When I checked in, I was told that my model had been recalled for reprogramming of the computer-Sounds serious! I was informed by the smarm friendly service manager that it would take "several hours extra". Hmmm...Reprogramming. Somehow I suspected that they hadn't tasked that gig out to a battalion of nerds. The same genius who changes your oil attaches an electrode or two somewhere or other and pushes a button on a black box which updates the software. Several hours extra. For God's sake- when we reprogram a pacemaker in the office, it only takes about 5 minutes.

Anyway, I was called back in the afternoon to come and get my vehicle, though they still hadn't performed the estimation for the body work. I did manage to convince them to take the car to their body shop (about 100 yards from the service area) before I got there so some of my time could be saved. I arrived about a half hour later and did the full 100 yards from service to collision without the "guide" they suggested accompany me. They still hadn't done the estimate. I was having a coffee at the courtesy bar and had shaved off another 15 minutes of my lifetime when a guy who looked suspiciously like Delbert McClintock (John Goodman in Arachnophobia) sauntered out. We walked over to the car and he gave it the old professional once over (with clipboard in hand and pencil behind the ear, naturally). I fully expected to hear:

Molly Jennings: Why is all the wood rotting?
Delbert McClintock: I'll tell you why. Bad wood.
Molly Jennings: So... what do we do?
Delbert McClintock: Tear out bad wood. Put in good wood.

Gentle reader, I kid you not. Here is what he actually said to me as he regarded my poor little disfigured Nissan:

Ouch..That musta hurt!

Halt! We really have to put everything aside for a moment and think. This fellow looked like he was in his fifties, though morbidly obese people tend to look older than their chronological age. Let's assume he's 45, so we can figure that he's been doing this for some 20 years. How many times do you think he's repeated that line and thought he was being:
1)empathetic
2)cute
3)fatherly
..and felt good about it?
Hey, I worked with the public for many years and frequently cringed when I found myself contemplating using a hackneyed phrase or invoking what I hoped was a spontaneous witticism, knowing full well (at some level) that little I had to say was either original or witty. I can tell you that I approached these moments with trepidation and humility. So was I then supposed to respond? It was suddenly very clear. Not only was he taking an estimate of the damage to the car, he was going to estimate my parry to his verbal thrust. Somehow this would give him enough info to make a true estimation of the entire situation and charge me accordingly. But he had caught me off guard. I was only able to muster a meager "Yeah, it sure did." Embarrassing. I will never let that happen again!

He scribbled a few things onto the clipboard and we walked back to the office. He then spent some time crunching numbers in an ancient adding machine complete with a handle on its side. It was so old that at first I thought it was one of those ENIGMA devices and he was doing some code breaking for the allies. It finally spit out a length of tape showing all of the calculations and the grand total. He handed it to me, gave me a moment to digest it, then whipsawed me with the disclaimer that the kids in legal had scripted for him:

Ya know, this only applies to what I can see.

The estimate for the bumper was about two hundred dollars higher than others I had received. I certainly wasn't going to let these guys do the work. As I drove home, I noticed that the windshield washer fluid light was on. I had seen this appear earlier in the week. It was a little annoying that they hadn't topped that off while I was being serviced. Once I got home I decided to fill it myself. I was amazed at the volume of fluid required. As I continued pouring, I noticed that my foot felt wet. Glancing down, I saw a stream of blue fluid nourishing the asphalt of Bonnie Road. Utilizing my powers of reasoning, it dawned on me that my interaction with the parked ice block earlier this week had resulted in a crumpled bumper and a ruptured washer fluid reservoir. One would think that might have been picked up by the "computer programmers", the damage estimator or others on the crack team at the dealership service department. I guess not.

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It's not over 'till the paperwork's done.

So I decided to go through the document. 63 pages. I wondered how large a team it was that hunkered down at the big conference table over at Headquarters one morning over coffee, bagels and doughnuts to forge this tour de force on the anvil of creativity. (Honk if you liked that image.) Do you think there's one guy (or gal) whose job it is to take what everyone writes and then translate it into something unintelligible?.. Hold on, folks- we can't start this until the specialist from 3-O (Office of Obfuscation) gets here. They certainly earned their money on this one. I learned a new word: Offerer. When I first saw this neologism I thought..this is how a drunk addresses a policeman: "Excuse me, Offerer..." In any case, there were many sub-paragraphs defined by number/letter combinations sprinkled liberally with decimal points. There were hyperlinks to documents that I'll need to fill out. The rules and regulations for confidentiality were outlined with great precision. I believe I'll need to be fingerprinted. I'll need to decide if I'm a minority applicant or not. I wonder if they do a background check? About 37 years ago, my friend Lee and I were exploring an abandoned underground missile base when the police suddenly appeared- making me wonder (in retrospect) if it was a truly deserted facility. Think there's an FBI file on that? You know, even if there is, I bet FBI and SSA computers can't talk to one another, so I suppose I'm safe. There were instructions on how many copies (both paper and electronic) need to be included. And there was a deadline-something a procrastinator desperately needs. Fortunately my bride is heavily invested in my getting this retirement job and will make sure I finish all the paperwork in a timely manner. Also one of the docs I know who works there called and offered to give me a hand with the application. Here we go..First I'll need my resume-Haven't had to look at that for 25 years...more to follow, I'm sure.

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Fedbizopps

The amazing part wasn't that I heard from my lady friend at Social Security (I knew she would eventually get to me with the proposal for the position). It was that she called me at 4:45 on Friday afternoon. I've often had the misfortune of driving on I-695 which passes by the on ramp from Social Security Headquarters on Fridays at 3:00 pm. The exodus of vehicles leaving is impressive. I asked her what in the world she was doing there at that hour. It turns out she's on flextime and comes in late in the mornings. I was impressed. The oxymoronic concept of an honest government worker (?cheerfully) serving her time and not gaming the system gave me pause for thought. Anyway, she told me it (whatever it is) was "finally out." and she gave me some code number with which I would be able to go to fedbiz.opps "on the web" and find some questions I needed to answer "..but they made a mistake and it's listed under mental health rather than cardiology." Perfect. I suspected that the mental health listing was a bad omen though I quickly suppressed that thought. Of course when I got home and tried putting fedbiz.opps in my browser, I was taken to a Google search page that listed sites offering contracts for producing boots for the Navy or for fabricating modular homes in St. Louis. Plugging in the number she gave me did not reveal any listing for my position. SSA is closed on Monday for MLK Day so I won't be able to even try to call her 'till Tuesday. I'll keep looking.

Well, I still couldn't find it, but my bride did-sort of like 9 years ago when I'd written a speech to give at my daughter's wedding reception. I passworded the document and promptly forgot the secret word. I tried everything I could think of and even had my Aussie cyberpal Baudwalker send me a cracker program that worked on it by brute force for about 8 days. While it was still chugging along, I confessed to my wife that I couldn't get to my speech. She sat down at the keyboard and within 5 minutes came up with the password, proving once again that she knows more about what goes on in my mind than I do.

So, we found the paperwork online and it's a 63 page document written in governmentese with all kinds of clauses and subclauses, regulations, rules, policies, etc. that I'll get my attorney to go through. Maybe I should just take that Walmart greeter job.

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Clean up day

A little bit of nostalgia today. Went to the office with some large cardboard boxes, emptied my desk and cleared my room. I lugged it all home and spent several hours sifting through it. I certainly had accumulated a lot of garbage over 24 years of practice, but there were a few gems. There were prescription pads displaying the many iterations of our group over the years. There were applications for privileges at various hospitals along with letters of support from colleagues. There was abundant drug company swag and there was a copy of one great letter of rebuke I had composed and forwarded back in 1993 to one of the major drug companies who had sent a flier inviting our group for a night of "male bonding" at the ball park. We were supposed to bring our "Skoal or Redman" and bring an "appetite for ball park junk food." Somehow I felt that excluding women, chewing tobacco and eating junk was not the right message to send to a group of cardiologists. Particularly stupid for a drug company, no? I expect some of you (that is if anyone actually reads my rant) are saying, "Get a life-Don't be such a tight-ass." Well, I can't help it. That's me. What else was in the desk? There were lots of notes about things I intended to do but never got around to, tons of slides sent by drug companies (anyone seen a slide projector lately?), VCR tapes of echocardiograms, old interesting EKG's, letters (mostly nice ones) from patients, etc, etc. Throwing 95% of it away didn't hurt one bit. I left most of my books. Old textbooks are basically worthless. We already laugh at some of the things we were doing just a few years ago. I took down my diplomas and certificates. I removed the bronze cast of Gandhi that one of my patients (a 90 something Optometrist who had worn stereo earplugs piping in classical music almost constantly for the last 4 years of his life so that he wouldn't have to listen to his wife nag him) had crafted. From the wall opposite my desk I removed the physician's Oath of Maimonides-a simple prayer which I read most every day I saw patients. BTW, it was probably not written by Maimonides but it's inspiring, nonetheless. I took them all down and packed them away. My secretary (excuse me---Administrative Assistant!) looked sad as I left. But I wasn't.

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Rejection

Well, their people wouldn't talk to my people so I'm back to square one and still waiting to hear from Social Security.

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License to Shill

So, I did speak with the lady from Social Security last week. She assured me that they were still working on my contract and "It should be finished soon...I know I told you that two weeks ago..but this time I mean it." I feel much better now, knowing that the vast, efficient machinery of the SSA is firmly behind my application to review cardiac disability charts.

Also found out last week that the cardiac rehab program will be moving to the hospital in mid-March instead of February. So they'll need me for another month. Thus, I'm obligated (more or less) to additional time drinking coffee, reading, Internet surfing, and watching members of various shapes, sizes and ages (some more pleasing to observe than others) exercise.

Actually, I was useful several times over the last week. A few of the rehab clients had bona fide heart rhythm disturbances (Atrial Fibrillation, Atrial Flutter with block , and PSVT) which needed quick evaluation and disposition (as opposed to datposition). Sent one to the office of what my group lovingly refers to as "the others" or "the dark side" (a rival cardiology group in the next building). Sent one to the hospital via ambulance without doing much to him since he was quite stable. The third one was in a rhythm with a rapid rate and I ended up gently touching his Carotid artery to "break" the arrhythmia (Don't try this at home unless your doctor says it's OK). So much for trying to reduce the drama in my life.

I see in one of the medical news publications emailed to me several times per week that Pfizer is being questioned by the FDA as to why they used Dr. Robert Jarvik as a spokesperson for the anti-cholesterol drug Lipitor since, though he is a physician, he is not licensed to practice. He appears to be giving "medical advice" in the commercials. Pfizer has no need to worry. If they can't use Jarvik but they feel they need a doctor/inventor, I'm their man. I take Lipitor, I have a license, and I have plans for several devices designed to improve life and ease human suffering: NagAtroN- Fully Programmable GPS /Auto Navigation system incorporating the voice of the driver’s (D) significant other (SO) and utilizing SO’s pet phrases for pointing out the inability of D to follow directions properly, keep to the speed limit, signal turns, etc, etc. Default VOX files are female, directed at male D but may be modified for alternate lifestyles. This device saves wear and tear on SO's voice and allows SO to relax while feeling confident that all mistakes made by D will be promptly pointed out and properly logged for printout and future reference; Sticky Bunz-industrial strength velcro panties one wears during a bath, adherent to its velcromate (I just made up that word)- a matching pad placed in the tub below one's buttocks, allowing care-free relaxation while soaking/reading and thus eliminating the constant fear of sliding into the water; and Reflect a Bowl- an oval shaped mirror one may affix to the underside of a toilet seat cover, allowing beard and moustache trimming by kneeling in front of the commode, eliminating the necessity for husband-based sink clean up (a universally unsuccessful enterprise), and therefore a boon to marital harmony. I'm having my people call their people today.

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Your Government (In)Action

Well, It's been since September and I'm still trying to arrange that part time job at Social Security. I had originally contacted them last spring and was told that they didn't need cardiologists. In the late summer, one of my former partners (who had left the practice years ago) told me that he had a friend who worked there, they probably did need a cardiologist, and that his friend would speak to them on my behalf. He did. So I called a woman at the Woodlawn office (the main Social Security complex) about the position, and she began to gear up to send my information through the system. I tried not to annoy her (I'm Shy, remember) but, like many things in life, you have to make some of your own luck. I spoke with her in September and was told they had to finish up their "year" and couldn't start the process until October. Spoke with her again in October, then in November. At some point she had me speak with another person who arranged for me to get a special number that allows me to contract with the government. Did that and now have my unique "D-U-N-S" number. She then sent all my info to someone else who was supposed to do God knows what to it and then get back to her. I called the original woman two weeks ago and was told I would be hearing something soon. Soon is a word that has no precise meaning. It's more of a concept than it is a measure of time. I'm thinking it's like the word day as used in the biblical creation story-where one day may have represented millions of years of evolution (we're not gettin' into that debate here). Well in my universe, soon is less than 2 weeks. So I tried calling back yesterday but got no answer. I'll try again today. I'm hoping to hear from them before one of those giant asteroids hits us and wipes out all life again.

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Start Saving for the Wedding

So my daughter and son-in-law had a little girl who appears healthy(Thank God) and (so far) pretty placid. That's her big brother holding her in the first pic.The baby will be named this Thursday in Synagogue and there will be an Oneg Shabbat/Simchat Bat at their place after Shabbat dinner this week. We'll have the entire family there and my son and daughter-in-law will come down from Manhattan. Our daughter is doing fine and will be in the hospital only one more day. Of course all of this excitement gave me more reason not to do all of the things I've been meaning to do. Back to the gym tomorrow.

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