Offenses du jour

In light of other things . . . the greatest of the ooze that comes my way.

I got this lovely from Mount Sinai Queens Hospital:


So while my health insurance comes back sooner than not, I wouldn't go back here if someone paid me.  Aside from an asshat nurse, a doctor who borders on incompetent, a billing department that sent me a letter last fall saying they wanted me to call my insurance company and see where its payment was (for real!), and a lab that lost my blood-work and then the doctor called to say everything was fine (when two other MDs said it was not) . . . get the drift? I'll roll around in bloated Lupus hell first.  

Yet, what is so perverse is the underlying implication that either it is ill-willing my not being ill and falling down on its door or that someone there knows I have days to live and won't let the secret out.  I vote that these chumps are just greedy bastards with a piss-poor PR team.  

But, this is not my only encounter of the offensive kind.  Yea, yea . . . this is me, but here is some more.  JcPenney's sent me this lovely ad (notice the subject line):


Probably wouldn't be so bad if my ass didn't look like this:


That's a juniors 12.  From Express. Not anywhere near that 14W. See the problem? Even when I was largesque I didn't buy my pants from JcPenney's.  Nope.  Used a gift card, but for the largesque pants I bought Yoga pants from Old Navy.  True Story.  

Gets better.  On my way to the Manhattan campus a hipster something-or-the-other attempted to acoust me for a signature.  Okay, here's the deal.  A) I was in a dress and heels, B) even if I wasn't I wouldn't have stopped.  I protest, but I don't sign petitions on the street because you never know if some fool will change the first page to be for something entirely different.  And I might run for president one day . . . oh hell, I just posted a photo of my ass on the internet.  That's not happening.  Anywho . . . 

Twenty-something hipster wants to come up to me and say "I would like to talk to you." Me: "I have to get to work." You would have thought I killed his fucking puppy.  Seriously, I thought the kid was going to cry.  Did I stop? Nope.  I needed to get off to highly important matters of my Environmental History seminar.  

I'm a bitch, I know.  I'm a New Yorker, I know.  Hipsters need to grow a thicker skin and some PR campaigns need to be rethought.  





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