WARNING this post contains offensive language.
A couple of weeks ago, my iPhone 11, which I had purchased on a two year payment plan 13 months prior, malfunctioned. It had a “system failure.” The facial recognition stopped working first. My thought was that my smart ass phone didn’t know me because I’ve lost too much weight. I’m not bragging, it’s not a good look. To be honest, I barely recognize myself. But, unlike me, the phone was hot, (to the touch.)
After several phone calls and two in-person visits to the Apple Store, the best they could do was sell me a replacement for the low, low price [sarcasm] of $399, before tax. “But what about the $250 balance and the monthly payments I am making for my burnt out phone?” Not their problem. I must keep paying for the fried phone.
Side note—my burnt out phone is not the same thing as Eric Trump’s “burner phones,” which he used on 1/6 during the attempt to overthrow the government.
I bought the replacement because they blacklisted my phone in their computer system and I could not use it as a trade in. They did not give me a new box, charger, or 12-month warranty. Lucky for me, this event is so far down on my list of concerns that I can let it go. Son of a bitch, and fuck my life, are not thoughts that crossed my mind. I am Zen. I laugh at life’s hiccups. Not only that, but I can snort at anything.
Since we are speaking of system failures, let me just say that chronic pain is no joke.
This topic is in want of a limerick.
My back has robbed me of my verve
L5 is compressing a nerve
My legs and my butt
Control every thought
Karma, why? Is this what deserve?
Here is some background information for those of you who are not me. I was injured in 2017. Between then and now, I’ve had surgery twice, physical therapy and painful steroid injections. My employer retired me because they didn’t want to cover the cost of what, I believe, would have been the last surgery I’d need to return to work. Because this is America, without employment, I lost my health insurance. Not to worry, after a two-year waiting period, I am on Medicare.
This is like a church sermon, right?
Despite having workman’s compensation attorneys who had no fucks to spare, the settlement states that when I have that back surgery, the evil empire will cover a good chunk of the bill. I asked my lawyer why the company fought me so long and then set it up that way. He said that they hope I die before the money is spent. I shit you not.
Well, I thought, the joke is on them because I have no intention of dying. In fact, I chose to receive a small monthly pension payment rather than a lump sum because I’m not even close to retirement age, and I’m going to stick it to the man and live forever.
Haha. The joke may be on me.
After letting COVID-19 scare me off for two years, I took the first step to having my spine dissected and rebuilt. I had a physical with my general practitioner. My blood work came back abnormal. I was told to stop taking supplements and return for another blood test a month later. I did. Some markers moved a skosh in the right direction. Yeah, baby. My doctor said come back in six months and, son of a bitch, fuck my life. Now, six months later, I’m scheduling an appointment with a hematological oncologist. Oops… Zen…
They offered me a choice of three such specialists. After extensive online research, I went with the sexiest Dr., based on that alone. On our first date I plan to wear a blue paper dress. Hot doctor had Friday off, (probably dating related.) I expect a call on Monday, after he “reviews my markers and decides on the course of action,” said the ‘infusion center’ nurse. I won’t lie, I’m nervous. And now I have the entire weekend to Google my symptoms, and blood markers, what a hematological-oncology infusion center is and find out what afflictions are treated there. I’ve also looked at wigs, how to get my affairs in order, and a searched unsuccessfully for a dating website that is exclusively for people with anxiety and blood disorders.
*WebMD is not helpful for hypochondriacs. All worst-case scenarios have been noted.
With luck, on Monday, I’ll find out I need a simple treatment after which I will schedule my back surgery and resume human activities. We shall see. In the mean time, I’m going to focus on the iPhone injustice.
Okay, it’s time for some relevant jokes.
A woman runs into her doctor’s office says “doctor, I’m shrinking!” The doctor says, “well, you’re just going to have to be a little patient.”
I thought I’d wasted all my savings on an expensive wig. But I decided it was a small price toupee.
Give a man a match, and he’ll be warm for a few hours. Set a man on fire, and he will be warm for the rest of his life.
This guy tried to sell me a coffin. “Buddy, that’s the last thing I need.”
These are jokes, people.