Shopping with Uncle Sam

 

(I'm a proud EBT scumbag, so fuck you.)

Yesterday, I had to call the Department of Health for Rice-Boy Larry. It turns out he’s missing a vaccination for chicken pox, and he can’t enroll for school without the jab.

I said, “I’m trying to get my son fully vaccinated, and he needs his chicken-pox shot.”

The woman on the line was very friendly. “We can help you with that. What type of insurance does he have?”

“He’s on Medicaid.”

“Can you give me his ID number?”

And that’s what I did. But nothing popped up on her computer. She tried and tried and tried…yet to no avail.

I said, “Don’t worry. I can just go ahead and pay for it. How much does it cost?”

“It’s free for children under eighteen. However, bring his Medicaid card so that we can get paid in the future.”

So Larry now has an appointment for next Tuesday. It’s only a twenty-minute drive from the house.

After that, I got into contact with T-Mobile. It turns out that they recycled the number of a dead man and gave it to me. Sadly, I can’t link the number to Amazon because the dead guy is still listed on the website. It’s all very confusing.

The man on the phone said, “Have you tried contacting Amazon?”

“I called them a few weeks ago. They told me to call you.”

He sighed deeply. “The only thing you can do is get a new number.”

But it really wasn’t a viable option. It would force me to call everyone to give them an update about my new information. Talk about a pain in the balls.

I hate to say this because it makes me sound unpatriotic. Yet I miss South Korea more and more every day. Everything seemed so much simpler over there. Maybe I’m a lazy fucker. I truly don’t know. But it was great just to hop on a bus and see a doctor whenever the fuck I wanted. Plus my phone number on the peninsula didn’t belong to a corpse. By comparison, everything in America seems quite half-assed.

Mom stepped out onto the patio.

I said, “You want to come with me to Walmart? I still have over $200 dollars on my EBT card.”

“Sure.”

“But we have to take my Hyundai Venue. I need to get gas.”

Mom hates my car with a passion. She thinks it’s a death trap on wheels. She’s probably right, but it’s nice own a brand-new car without a monthly nut.

Anyway, Rice-Boy Larry went along for the ride, too.

Mom pointed out the window during the journey. “Larry, that’s going to be your new school. Isn’t it beautiful?”

I said, “Just remember one thing, Larry. That place is teeming with violent hillbillies. Yet it’s only for a year, so do your best to be strong and try to avoid conflicts at all costs.”

The old woman let out a huge sigh. “Why are you always such a downer? He’s going to love it.”

I looked into the rearview mirror to make eye contact with my son. “Remember what I told you. It’s only a year.”

We arrived at Walmart ten minutes later and loaded up on meat. We bought steak, pork chops, chicken, and sausages. The final tally came to $185. Thank you, Uncle Sam.

It’s currently Friday afternoon, and I have to pull a ten-hour shift tonight. I still get the Waffle-House yips even though I’ve served nearly three thousand customers up to this point in my career. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about the place that’s a tad nerve-wracking.