"I'm sorry sir, but he's retired. We cannot do more than a 3 month supply."
"He's active enough to be shipping out to Iraq tomorrow. What exactly is the definition of retired?"
Silence on the line.
"Did you hear the part where I said he's shipping out tomorrow? Now, we've been going back and forth with this for days now. You need to fucking get someone on this line who is going to solve this problem. Now."
At first I thought the request was some sort of a joke. The pudgy, I'm guessing early-to-mid 40's man in front of me had indeed been in about a week ago to ask for a four month supply of his Levoxyl and Vytorin to see him through his deployment. The insurgents most certainly must be on the run if we're shipping over people with thyroid and heart disease. I thought of the old Saturday Night Live skit about the attack of the elderly-in-walkers brigade.
First claim. Rejected. Call to help desk. Told to file two claims. One for 3 months supply of meds today, one for 1 month supply tomorrow. Did as told. Second claim. Rejected. Call to help desk. Need to research the problem and get back to me. Never got back to me. Third call to help desk. You can't do two separate claims because that would be fraud. Hold for supervisor. Supervisor on the line. Go to the top of this post.
Here's the thing. I don't support the troops. You heard me, I don't. You're doing a bad thing troops, and you need to stop. Actually I support this troop. I support that troop a lot. And these troops, I support them. The rest, not so much. Except for the guy in front of me. I sure seemed to be supporting him.
His daughter was there with him as he spent his last day in the United States at the pharmacy trying to get his prescriptions filled. She was maybe nine years old. I saw her face and I said a little prayer to a God I don't believe in that her father would come back. The same.
He told me they wouldn't let him on the plane without a four month supply of his meds. I could have stopped fighting with Tricare and done a little something against the war I supposedly am so opposed to. "Not my problem. That's what they told me pal." Was it professional responsibility or lack of conviction to follow through on what I say I believe that made me keep going until I found the one person at Tricare whose head wasn't up their ass? I don't know. But Dad is in Iraq tonight, doing who knows what, and partially thanks to me, he had no trouble getting on that plane. He shook my hand and gave me a sincere thank you.
Maybe I should just get one of those fucking ribbons now.
