Have you ever had those days or weeks when EVERYTHING is going right? Your hair looks like you stepped out of a Pantene commercial, your bus pulls in right when you get to the stop, you get all the crunchiest fall leaves to step on and your spinach cooks to perfection (if your definition of perfection is edible) …. Well, this was not one of those weeks.
This Monday I woke up with bed hair that made Medusa look like a Disney princess, the only clean clothes I could find were a pair of electric blue pants and my bus decided not to show up entirely. It was the kind of day where I looked like a walking Lady Gaga-inspired Starbucks commercial with a Venti and a crazy eye.
On the day`s agenda was surviving work and reapplying for health care benefits. Health care as it turns out is something I provide and yet not entitled to receive due to immigration reasons I wish not to discuss with the general populace at this time. And so in order to obtain these coveted health care benefits, I left work early. I had all my documents in order. I had an umbrella for the rain. I had an iPod to play rain music (Coldplay). Folks, if its one lesson I can teach you in this lifetime its this: No day can be good when there’s rain and electric blue pants involved.
For starters, my umbrella
broke gave up. It said “Screw you, you frightening-looking hellcat!”. In those words exactly. It took me an hour to get to the Service Ontario office. I took a number and was told my wait time would be 50 minutes. I must have looked like I just come from an audition for ‘The Village People: The Musical’ because I spent 50 minutes having new immigrants (mostly South Asian of some sort) staring at my blue pants and their South Asian immigrant children staring at my rain-beaten Gaga hair. I gave them all the crazy eye.
Finally my turn comes and the conversation with the old Indian man government worker goes something like this:
(Sarcasm, which is in italics, was clearly spoken although not made audible.)
Old Indian man: “What are you here for?”
Karen: “OHIP. Here’s my application stuff.”
I proudly slide all my up to date documents to him. Old man carefully peruses through the sheaf of papers.
Old Indian man: “All seems in order.”
Karen: ‘Of course its in order! Do I look like a disorganised person!?’, I think to myself while glaring at him with my crazy eye. *smiles*
Old Indian man: “Alright, do you have proof of address?”
Karen: “Proof of whaaa?…”
Old Indian man: “Proof of address. Do you have something with your name and address on it? Like a driver’s license?”
Karen: “I don’t have one. Why do you need it anyway? I have all the documents for the application here. They never asked me for this the last time I applied.”
I rummage through my purse. And by the mercy of the Good Lord Almighty I find my cheque book. I happily hand the cheque book to the old man. It very clearly showed my name and address.
Old Man: “Sorry lady, I can’t accept that. That’s not valid. Do you have a T4 tax form?”
Karen: (Author’s Note: For those of you familiar with my immigration situation, let not the irony of this question be lost on you) A T4 tax form?! Why, of course I have a T4 tax form! Hold on while I call the ‘Game Over, You’re Screwed’ department of the Universe because the last time someone asked me for a T4 tax form, that’s who had it. “I don’t have a T4.”
Old man: “What about your Notice of Tax Assessment?”
The man asked me this as if it’s the most common practice for people to carry around their tax returns in their wallet. I humored him by rummaging through my purse just to waste time.
Karen: ‘ “I don’t think I have it on me right now.” ‘I must have forgotten to put it in along with my nunchucks and mints this morning.’
Old man: *slides my papers to me*. Sorry, no address, no health care.
Karen: ‘You bastard! I hope your shirt gets caught up in your coat zipper and a pigeon comes out of nowhere and shits in your coffee.’ “But I took time off from work to get here. I have everything! Please don’t send me back. Please.”
Old Man: “Sorry. We are open here till 7pm. We are here to help you”
Karen: ‘I hope someone helps you to a generous face slapping and then steals all your paper clips.’ “Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”
Old man: ‘Anytime.’ “Anytime.”
What a moron.
I walked out into the rain. The upside to this was that I didn’t have to get my picture taken for this God forsaken health card. Because crazy eye pictures are only for mug shots, private drunken Facebook photos and Driver’s licences. It will be alright, I told myself. I’ll go to Shoppers, buy a new umbrella and then go home, have some tea and chocolate. That’s my solution to such problems. Trans fat and a nap.
I make my way to Shoppers. The sales associate looks at me.
Karen: “Do you have umbrellas?”
Sales Associate: “We did. We’re out of them at the moment”
What? I HOPE YOU ALL DIE!! Don’t look at me disapprovingly for saying that. Last time I checked, we’re all going to die anyway.
Moral of the Story: Never wear blue pants on a rainy day. Also, don’t drink 20 ounces of coffee.