And You Know Where You Can Stick It, Too
Apr. 3rd, 2008 03:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
exhilarationSo today at work I told Shaina off in a fit of rage.
Really, I don't normally get like that. And it was hardly eloquent. I've had so many things I've wanted to bite her head off about that I've been saving up for something spectacular, but it really wasn't all that spectacular. In fact, I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot. And a half.
But I can't stand the way she talks to me, like she has this fabulous life and of course I have a fabulous life too - oh, you're not feeling well? Go get a check-up! Go to the medical center in Princeton, they're so wonderful there, oh, you should see doctor so-and-so, he did blah blah blah for me last year when I had this health problem that has nothing at all to do with yours, so you'll call up, and you'll tell them I told you to call, and use my maiden name, not my married name, you know, because my parents are soooo important, blah blah blah -
I don't know how many times I have to flat out tell her point blank that my life is shit, and all these helpful "suggestions" she gives me don't even apply - no, I can't just call up the big medical center in Princeton and ask to see whoever because Shaina C. told me to, right, hello, how is that bill going to be paid, huh? I am not made of money. And I do not have medical insurance. I have medicare, and that means I have to go to their doctors and do everything their way, and no, I'm not "lucky" because it isn't actually free, you moron.
Because that's what really tipped me over the edge, see. I said I use medicare, and she called me fucking lucky.
Let me explain something to you, Shaina With The High And Mighty Last Name. How does a young, single person with no children who works two jobs and owns her own properties qualify for medicare? THE ONLY WAY THAT IS POSSIBLE IS IF YOUNG SINGLE CHILDLESS WORKING PERSON IS DISABLED.
Lets just break it down a little more, shall we? My shoulder hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts so much it makes me sick to my stomach when I get up in the morning. It hurts so much I am double-dosing on my painkillers, which I really don't want to do because it will land me in real hot water real quick, and I know that for a fact because I'm fucking irresponsible with painkillers enough as it is and I'm gonna run out of my prescription, have to get it refilled early, set off ten thousand red flags, and have to deal with the consequences of that, which could very possibly my doctor refusing to prescribe me more because I'm abusing them. Or I could not refill them early, meaning I'd be going without any at all, and I'm not fucking doing that. It'll make me sick I'm sure, and besides that I take them for a reason - I'm in fucking pain. Pain that I mostly had under control with minimal medication, UNTIL MY SHOULDER STARTED TO HURT COMPLETELY RANDOMLY.
Why does my shoulder hurt? Oh, I'm sure it hurts because I've been abusing it or something. You know, using crutches for, oh, eight years or whatever could probably do that. Repetitive motion, extreme stress to the joint, whatever. And why use crutches? Because I can't fucking walk. So, yes, I do qualify for medicare. I am so fucking lucky that I cannot walk and therefor get "free" healthcare, which is neither free nor good care in the first place.
She always has this stupid flippant comment to make every time she asks me something. Believe me, I don't just randomly spout this stuff off at work. But when someone asks me, hey, you don't look good, are you all right, what happened? Well, I answer. I don't tell this long drawn out story. I just answer the question. My shoulder hurts a whole lot, I don't really know why, I should probably see a doctor, but I don't really want to and I'm not quite sure how to get an appointment that isn't, like, three months from now. And then to get the response of oh, why don't you just go to the med center in Princeton, blah blah blah -
YEAH, WHY DONT I JUST DO THAT?
Oh god, I totally sound like I'm overreacting to this. When I go back and read what I typed - shit, yeah, Shaina is a dim bulb, is what it really amounts to. The woman is just a complete idiot, and by idiot I do not mean someone I don't like, I mean someone who is lacking in intelligence. She's unable to grasp the fact that everyone is not in the exact same class as her - we do not all have rich parents and all that. All the infuriating little comments she makes to me are evidence of that - she just can't process that little piece of information. That's really all it is.
And no, it wasn't a spectacular explosion in which I was witty and impressive, no, not at all. Probably it looked a little more like a nervous breakdown or something. Ending in me being sent home. So - maybe I don't even have a job anymore? I'm not working again until Monday - I guess I'll find out then.
Why do I have to be such a fucking mess? Why can I not get a handle on myself? Why do I let a forty-year-old woman who never grew out of the my-daddy-says-I'm-a-little-princess phase of life get under my skin like that? What kind of twenty-four-year-old throws a tantrum at her little coffee-shop McJob?
I could be all like, wah, wah, I didn't feel good, I was in pain, I was overmedicated, whatever, but I don't take excuses from other people so since when should I start taking them from myself?
Control, Lara. Get some of that before you leave the house again.
Really, I don't normally get like that. And it was hardly eloquent. I've had so many things I've wanted to bite her head off about that I've been saving up for something spectacular, but it really wasn't all that spectacular. In fact, I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot. And a half.
But I can't stand the way she talks to me, like she has this fabulous life and of course I have a fabulous life too - oh, you're not feeling well? Go get a check-up! Go to the medical center in Princeton, they're so wonderful there, oh, you should see doctor so-and-so, he did blah blah blah for me last year when I had this health problem that has nothing at all to do with yours, so you'll call up, and you'll tell them I told you to call, and use my maiden name, not my married name, you know, because my parents are soooo important, blah blah blah -
I don't know how many times I have to flat out tell her point blank that my life is shit, and all these helpful "suggestions" she gives me don't even apply - no, I can't just call up the big medical center in Princeton and ask to see whoever because Shaina C. told me to, right, hello, how is that bill going to be paid, huh? I am not made of money. And I do not have medical insurance. I have medicare, and that means I have to go to their doctors and do everything their way, and no, I'm not "lucky" because it isn't actually free, you moron.
Because that's what really tipped me over the edge, see. I said I use medicare, and she called me fucking lucky.
Let me explain something to you, Shaina With The High And Mighty Last Name. How does a young, single person with no children who works two jobs and owns her own properties qualify for medicare? THE ONLY WAY THAT IS POSSIBLE IS IF YOUNG SINGLE CHILDLESS WORKING PERSON IS DISABLED.
Lets just break it down a little more, shall we? My shoulder hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts so much it makes me sick to my stomach when I get up in the morning. It hurts so much I am double-dosing on my painkillers, which I really don't want to do because it will land me in real hot water real quick, and I know that for a fact because I'm fucking irresponsible with painkillers enough as it is and I'm gonna run out of my prescription, have to get it refilled early, set off ten thousand red flags, and have to deal with the consequences of that, which could very possibly my doctor refusing to prescribe me more because I'm abusing them. Or I could not refill them early, meaning I'd be going without any at all, and I'm not fucking doing that. It'll make me sick I'm sure, and besides that I take them for a reason - I'm in fucking pain. Pain that I mostly had under control with minimal medication, UNTIL MY SHOULDER STARTED TO HURT COMPLETELY RANDOMLY.
Why does my shoulder hurt? Oh, I'm sure it hurts because I've been abusing it or something. You know, using crutches for, oh, eight years or whatever could probably do that. Repetitive motion, extreme stress to the joint, whatever. And why use crutches? Because I can't fucking walk. So, yes, I do qualify for medicare. I am so fucking lucky that I cannot walk and therefor get "free" healthcare, which is neither free nor good care in the first place.
She always has this stupid flippant comment to make every time she asks me something. Believe me, I don't just randomly spout this stuff off at work. But when someone asks me, hey, you don't look good, are you all right, what happened? Well, I answer. I don't tell this long drawn out story. I just answer the question. My shoulder hurts a whole lot, I don't really know why, I should probably see a doctor, but I don't really want to and I'm not quite sure how to get an appointment that isn't, like, three months from now. And then to get the response of oh, why don't you just go to the med center in Princeton, blah blah blah -
YEAH, WHY DONT I JUST DO THAT?
Oh god, I totally sound like I'm overreacting to this. When I go back and read what I typed - shit, yeah, Shaina is a dim bulb, is what it really amounts to. The woman is just a complete idiot, and by idiot I do not mean someone I don't like, I mean someone who is lacking in intelligence. She's unable to grasp the fact that everyone is not in the exact same class as her - we do not all have rich parents and all that. All the infuriating little comments she makes to me are evidence of that - she just can't process that little piece of information. That's really all it is.
And no, it wasn't a spectacular explosion in which I was witty and impressive, no, not at all. Probably it looked a little more like a nervous breakdown or something. Ending in me being sent home. So - maybe I don't even have a job anymore? I'm not working again until Monday - I guess I'll find out then.
Why do I have to be such a fucking mess? Why can I not get a handle on myself? Why do I let a forty-year-old woman who never grew out of the my-daddy-says-I'm-a-little-princess phase of life get under my skin like that? What kind of twenty-four-year-old throws a tantrum at her little coffee-shop McJob?
I could be all like, wah, wah, I didn't feel good, I was in pain, I was overmedicated, whatever, but I don't take excuses from other people so since when should I start taking them from myself?
Control, Lara. Get some of that before you leave the house again.
