Fax follies

This morning I found a records request on the fax machine, with this written at the top.

My life of phone calls

Dr. Heller: "This is Dr. Heller, on behalf of Major Illness Insurance test authorizations. Who am I speaking to?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, this is Dr. Ibee Grumpy. I'm calling to get an MRI authorized."

Dr. Heller: "Okay, let me look at our file... It looks like we denied the MRI because it isn't clinically indicated."

Dr. Grumpy: "Well, this is a young man with memory problems, and I want to make sure his brain looks okay."

Dr. Heller: "Have you checked labs for metabolic causes? Have you ruled-out depression?"

Dr. Grumpy: "His labs look fine. Depression certainly could be the cause, but I want to make sure he doesn't have a tumor."

Dr. Heller: "Our policy is that he needs to be evaluated by a psychiatrist for this before we do the MRI."

Dr. Grumpy: "I tried that, but your company doesn't cover any psychiatrists."

Dr. Heller: "That's correct."

Dr. Grumpy: "So how do I go about getting this done?"

Dr. Heller: "You're his doctor."

He's dead, Jim

My car battery died on Saturday, so I took it over to Local Car Place.


Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, I bought this battery around Christmas, and it's dead now."

Counter guy: "Hang on, let me check it..." (connects a gadget to battery) "Hey, your battery is dead."

Dr. Grumpy: "Yeah."

Counter guy: "Were you able to start your car with this?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No."

Counter guy: "That's because it's dead."

Dr. Grumpy: "That's why I brought it in."

Counter guy: "Yeah, it's good that you did, because it's dead. Looks like it's under warranty. Did you want another one?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Yes."

Counter guy: "Okay. You'll need one, because this one is dead. It won't start a car."

Dr. Grumpy: "I'll just take a new one."

Counter guy: "Let me get you one. I wouldn't continue using this one, because it's dead."

Weekend reruns

The week after Halloween is the ideal time to prove the theory of evolution.

Certain species of bugs have developed a really bad taste so predators won't eat them (at least, that's what I've read. I haven't personally done insect taste tests).

Did they actually evolve in that direction? What is the evidence?

Let's look in Dr. Grumpy's break room:


Post Halloween day #1: Everyone brings their leftover candy to the office. We put it in a big bowl in the break room. We are too damn sick of candy to touch it.

Post Halloween days #2-3: Predators (okay, me, Pissy, and the staff) arrive. The choicest (i.e., chocolate) items disappear first. Reese's PB cups, M&Ms, Milky Way, Snickers, Kit-Kats, Twixt, Butterfingers, Three Musketeers.

Post Halloween days #4-5: Other stuff starts to go. Skittles, Laffy Taffy, Smarties, Runts, Starbursts.

Post Halloween days #6 and on: This is when we find the survivors. Just like the unpalatable bugs, some candy types will sit there for quite a while. Candy Corn, Tootsie Rolls, Circus Peanuts, and those horrible taffy things in black and orange wrappers (the latter, I suspect, were only made once in the 1960's and have since just been re-gifted. I think people who got them as kids now give them out as adults, and the cycle continues).


Granted, I have no evidence to suggest that Darwin's staff dumped leftover candy at the office. If they did, however I'd suspect that's more likely to have led him to the theory of evolution than a trip to the Galapagos.

For more background on truly horrible Halloween candies, read this.

Sports memories

Since the overpaid crybabies of the NBA have decided to indefinitely postpone their season, I thought I'd bring you a summary of my athletic career. Which I didn't get paid for at all.


In the mid-80's my college roommate suckered me into playing for the Catholic Newman Center's intramural basketball team at BSU. This was because he couldn't find a 5th Catholic guy willing to play. So I was a ringer.

None of us had any reasonable basketball experience, and had never even met before the first game. In spite of this, we put together an impressive record during the 5 game season:


Game 1: Lost, 83-10 (a record that I'm told still stands at BSU).

Game 2: Lost, 75-15 (obviously, we were improving on both offense and defense).

Game 3: Forfeited, because we only had 4 guys show up.

Game 4: Forfeited, because we only had 3 guys show up.

Game 5: Disqualified because we'd forfeited 2 previous games.


And that was our season.

Gone phishing

Mary: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Mary."

Ms. Phish: "Hi, this is Cindy over at Dr. Weneverheardofhim's office, and we want to refer a patient to you."

Mary: "Okay, what's their insurance?"

Ms. Phish: "Hang on, to refer them we need Dr. Grumpy's address and Social Security number."

Mary: "Uh, you don't need his SS number to refer a patient. I can give his medical ID, which is what all plans require."

Ms. Phish: "No, this insurance requires the doctor's SS number."

Mary: "What insurance is that?"

Ms. Phish: "National Illness."

Mary: "We work with National Illness, and they don't..."

Ms. Phish: "LOOK! Just give me the doctor's SS number, or we will never send you another patient again!"

Mary: "Goodbye."

Attention Johns!

When negotiating payments with a hooker, it is not advisable to call the police to mediate.

Acronyms

I'm doing an online research survey on epilepsy patients, and it refers to Partial-Onset Seizures as "POS."

So one question says: "How many POS patients do you see each month?"

Dear Smith & Nephew Medical Supply,

On behalf of myself, and everyone else who's trying to diet, thanks for your new line of appetite-suppressing sacral bandage ads.





I don't really know what kind of salad I'd put sacrum dressing on, but right now it could be years before I'm interested in eating again.

Yours truly,

Ibee Grumpy, M.D.

Thank you, Jamie!

Tuesday afternoon

I'm heading to pick up the kids, and my cell phone rings. I recognize the number as another doctor's office, and answer it.

Dr. Grumpy: "Hello, this is Dr. Grumpy."

Phone Lady: "Hi, Mr. Lumbago, I'm calling from Dr. Beard's office. He'd like you to see a neurologist."

Dr. Grumpy: "Um, this is Dr. Grumpy, the neurologist."

Phone Lady: "Why, yes. Dr. Grumpy is who he wanted you to see. Are you familiar with him?"

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy. You called my cell phone by mistake."

Phone Lady: "No, we can't give you his cell phone number, but you'll need to call his office. It's 867-5309."

Dr. Grumpy: "This IS Dr. Grumpy. You called me! Not the patient."

(pause)

Phone Lady: "Is this Dr. Grumpy?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Yes."

(pause)

Phone Lady: "Why are you answering Mr. Lumbago's phone?"

Question

Dr. Grumpy: "Any other questions?"

Mr. Clueless: "Yeah, but maybe it's not related."

Dr. Grumpy: "What's up?"

Mr. Clueless: "My wife is having a baby soon. When does the doctor poke holes in her nipples to let the milk out?"

Bad omen

It is never good when the chart begins: "Patient suffered a head injury with intracranial bleeding when a fight broke out at his Bible study group."

Scary Halloween Visitors

I'd like to thank my SMOD for submitting this. He works for a drug company, and says this is an actual training video they use.

Return to San Diego, part 2

Our hotel had this thing near the light switch. I have no idea what it was. I tested it a few times, and determined that it wasn't a motion detector or light sensor. I asked everyone at the front desk, the maid, and the maintenance guy. None of them knew what it was, either.





After various family things Craig wanted to go to Sea World.

We were in line for the Sea Lion Halloween show. We actually got there first, followed closely by a deranged woman and her tribe. She immediately accosted the poor teenager standing at the entrance to ask what time we'd be allowed in. The girl said "about 15 minutes."

So, exactly 15 minutes later the woman wanted to argue about it.

Deranged woman: "Why haven't you let us in?"

Teenage girl: "Gates open at 2. It's 1:56, ma'am."

Deranged woman: "Well, at 1:41 you said 'about 15 minutes.' It's been that. I demand you let us in."

Teenage girl: "Sorry, but it has to be at 2:00. My boss will tell me."

Deranged Woman: "This is ridiculous. I demand you refund my park admission RIGHT NOW!"

Teenage Girl: "You'll have to discuss that with the office by the front gate, ma'am."


Deranged Woman turned away to mumble under her breath for about 30 seconds. During that time a park employee came over with an older couple. Both were using walkers, and he clearly had Parkinson's disease. Teenage Girl put them at the front of the line.

Deranged Woman: "What are you doing?"

Teenage Girl: "These people are handicapped, ma'am. Therefore we allow them in early to give them extra time to find seats."

Deranged Woman: "That is grossly unfair! I demand you make them go to the back of the line (which by now was the size of the Queen Mary)."

Teenage Girl: "Sorry ma'am. Our policy is to assist those with disabilities."

Deranged Woman: "That is discrimination against the healthy. When I go for my refund, I'm going to report you."


At this point Deranged Woman noticed my Grumpyville Faceplants cap.

Deranged Woman: "Oh! Grumpyville. My sister lives in Grumpyville. She's a surgeon. Do you know her? Are you a doctor?""

Dr. Grumpy: "I clean fish tanks." (this is true)

She turned away and pretended I was invisible. Obviously aquatic habitat maintenance people were beneath her caste.

Mercifully, Teenage Girl let us in at this point. While we were waiting the guy doing the pre-show, Biff, sprayed Deranged Woman with a squirt gun, and she dragged her kids out of the theater. Apparently she'd had enough.


Over at the Pets Rule show Craig noticed me staring at a fire extinguisher, and asked why. In a true sign of how bad a neurology geek I've become, I realized I was staring at the "In case of emergency break glass" hammer and thinking what a great reflex hammer it would make.






Craig was hungry, and I got him some chicken fingers (which should be dipped in gold for what they charge). I lost my appetite when I looked at the table across from us.



You'd think they could keep the crack dealers out of the park.


After Sea World we went down the street to Belmont Park, a small amusement park by the beach.

Craig loved the place, because he could run amok without interference from his siblings. They have a cool, older, roller coaster there, The Giant Dipper (he called it "Giant Diaper) which he dragged me on 14 times. By the end of the day I thought I'd need a giant diaper myself.


They also have a ride that sends you up in the air and flips you around. I personally DID NOT find it reassuring that they have a large ladder attached to the fence surrounding it.






While we were waiting at the "Beach Blaster" line a homeless guy (wearing nothing but sneakers and spandex shorts) came over, and tried to earn some change by singing the 1980's Kim Wilde song "Kids In America." Unfortunately for him, the 80's were 21 years ago, he had no singing voice, and he only knew the chorus. So he repeatedly belted out:

"We're the kids in America! Wa-ho!
We're the kids in America! Wa-ho!
We're the kids in America! Wa-ho!
We're the kids in America! Wa-ho!
We're the kids in America! Wa-ho!"

Until finally security led him away.


They had some prize games on the midway, where, as usual, you could win stuffed animals. I'd hate to win one of the whales. They were doing a chain hump, and I didn't want to interrupt them.




On the way back to the hotel I stopped for some artisanal Mexican food at Taco Bell, and we sat in the lobby to eat it. While Craig watched TV, I downloaded a few EEG's to my computer to read them. Behind me the front desk phone rang, and I heard the polite clerk have this remarkable discussion.

"Front desk, this is Mike, can I help you? No sir, sorry. We don't have safes in the rooms. We have safety deposit boxes at the front desk, and you can use them at no charge. Just bring down your valuables and... No, there's no way I can move one up to your room, sir. They're built into a concrete wall for security. Um, well, uh, I really have no idea what local companies install safes, especially at 9:15 on a Saturday night. But it's a hotel room, sir. You can't just have someone come up there and install a safe in the wall. Because it's against hotel policy. I am the night manager, sir. I'll be happy to lock up your valuables down here, but there's no way you can install a safe in your room. Okay, sir. Have a good night."

I was impressed. Mary couldn't have done it any better.