Whut up, Y'all?

So, that little Y'all ain't from 'round here, are ya? thing that many of you have done?

I scored 70%, AKA "Just under the Mason-Dixon Line."

So, it's going to snow today. Depending on which forecast you believe, it's going to be totally inconsequential and you might not notice, or the next Ice Age is approaching and we're all going to die terrible icey deaths. I'm up for either, really.

I suspect the reality is somewhere in the middle. The one concession I make to the threat of snow is that I fill the gas tank. I can't think of a worse way to end my day than to be sitting in traffic creeping home at 3mph and running out of gas. Well, I can, but while we're still in the realm of more likely than getting struck by lightning, this is somewhere up there when relevant.

I had something I wanted to talk about, but I can't remember what the hell it was now, so you get fluff this morning.

Whut up, Y'all?

So, that little Y'all ain't from 'round here, are ya? thing that many of you have done?

I scored 70%, AKA "Just under the Mason-Dixon Line."

So, it's going to snow today. Depending on which forecast you believe, it's going to be totally inconsequential and you might not notice, or the next Ice Age is approaching and we're all going to die terrible icey deaths. I'm up for either, really.

I suspect the reality is somewhere in the middle. The one concession I make to the threat of snow is that I fill the gas tank. I can't think of a worse way to end my day than to be sitting in traffic creeping home at 3mph and running out of gas. Well, I can, but while we're still in the realm of more likely than getting struck by lightning, this is somewhere up there when relevant.

I had something I wanted to talk about, but I can't remember what the hell it was now, so you get fluff this morning.

Whut up, Y'all?

So, that little Y'all ain't from 'round here, are ya? thing that many of you have done?

I scored 70%, AKA "Just under the Mason-Dixon Line."

So, it's going to snow today. Depending on which forecast you believe, it's going to be totally inconsequential and you might not notice, or the next Ice Age is approaching and we're all going to die terrible icey deaths. I'm up for either, really.

I suspect the reality is somewhere in the middle. The one concession I make to the threat of snow is that I fill the gas tank. I can't think of a worse way to end my day than to be sitting in traffic creeping home at 3mph and running out of gas. Well, I can, but while we're still in the realm of more likely than getting struck by lightning, this is somewhere up there when relevant.

I had something I wanted to talk about, but I can't remember what the hell it was now, so you get fluff this morning.

Dear Billing Dept: You fucked up the invoice to my insurer, and now you want money...

Too bad for you. You don't answer your phones. You only have a voice mail box in which I'm supposed to leave a half hour's worth of info, assuming I can remember all that you want, in the order you want it, and happen to have it handy.

You sent the claim to the insurance company using the wrong code. That's fine, shit happens. All you have to do is resubmit the claim with the proper code and you will get paid. Let me make this clear to you, however:

If you don't answer your fucking phones, and you don't return my fucking calls, YOU WILL NOT GET PAID. I will not give you a fucking penny. Fuck off, die. Send me to collections. I DARE you. I'll bring a fucking speaker phone into a courtroom and a record of my phone calls to your billing dept. showing that I've attempted to contact you, and that you couldn't be bothered to return my phone calls. I'll dial the number on your bill in front of a judge happily so he can hear for himself that you do not accept calls from actual people. I'll plumb the depths of your PBX (I can recognize Joyce the Voice at 15dB, so don't think I don't know how to traverse your AT&T/Lucent/Avaya PBX in my fucking sleep), demonstrating that getting to an operator still won't get me a human with a clue who can actually help me. But I will not fucking pay you. Not now; not fucking ever.

Dear Billing Dept: You fucked up the invoice to my insurer, and now you want money...

Too bad for you. You don't answer your phones. You only have a voice mail box in which I'm supposed to leave a half hour's worth of info, assuming I can remember all that you want, in the order you want it, and happen to have it handy.

You sent the claim to the insurance company using the wrong code. That's fine, shit happens. All you have to do is resubmit the claim with the proper code and you will get paid. Let me make this clear to you, however:

If you don't answer your fucking phones, and you don't return my fucking calls, YOU WILL NOT GET PAID. I will not give you a fucking penny. Fuck off, die. Send me to collections. I DARE you. I'll bring a fucking speaker phone into a courtroom and a record of my phone calls to your billing dept. showing that I've attempted to contact you, and that you couldn't be bothered to return my phone calls. I'll dial the number on your bill in front of a judge happily so he can hear for himself that you do not accept calls from actual people. I'll plumb the depths of your PBX (I can recognize Joyce the Voice at 15dB, so don't think I don't know how to traverse your AT&T/Lucent/Avaya PBX in my fucking sleep), demonstrating that getting to an operator still won't get me a human with a clue who can actually help me. But I will not fucking pay you. Not now; not fucking ever.

Dear Billing Dept: You fucked up the invoice to my insurer, and now you want money...

Too bad for you. You don't answer your phones. You only have a voice mail box in which I'm supposed to leave a half hour's worth of info, assuming I can remember all that you want, in the order you want it, and happen to have it handy.

You sent the claim to the insurance company using the wrong code. That's fine, shit happens. All you have to do is resubmit the claim with the proper code and you will get paid. Let me make this clear to you, however:

If you don't answer your fucking phones, and you don't return my fucking calls, YOU WILL NOT GET PAID. I will not give you a fucking penny. Fuck off, die. Send me to collections. I DARE you. I'll bring a fucking speaker phone into a courtroom and a record of my phone calls to your billing dept. showing that I've attempted to contact you, and that you couldn't be bothered to return my phone calls. I'll dial the number on your bill in front of a judge happily so he can hear for himself that you do not accept calls from actual people. I'll plumb the depths of your PBX (I can recognize Joyce the Voice at 15dB, so don't think I don't know how to traverse your AT&T/Lucent/Avaya PBX in my fucking sleep), demonstrating that getting to an operator still won't get me a human with a clue who can actually help me. But I will not fucking pay you. Not now; not fucking ever.