Feel The Love, Baby!

I opened the first letter of a large stack that was handed to me this morning to read the words, "I can't tell you to go to hell because you're already there..."

 

 

Wooo!  I love working for a health insurance company!  The hate mail is incredibly entertaining.

 

 

Before I continue, I should mention that PR and sales is what I have been doing with my professional life for the last 25 years, and for some reason I only seem to take on the impossible missions, in which I swear I can perform a miracle and sew a sow's ear into a purse (a lot like my love-life, I might add), so, consider me a retarded optimist if you must, and let that be your guide as you continue reading.  I'm a bit of a blithering idiot who always looks for the best in a person, even when they don't deserve it.  Polly-freaking-Anna.  That's who opens the hate mail.

 

The truth is, as much as is wrong with health insurance, and, there is a LOT (don't get me started), I believe to the very core of my soul that they can be fixed.  How?  By hiring a whole bunch of people like me...people who hate health insurance companies.

 

 

(Yeah, you didn't think your hate mail would land in the hands of someone who thinks health insurance companies can be evil did you?  Surprise!  You didn't think your hate mail would land in the hands of a single mother who has to hustle just to make ends meet, and even though I HAVE insurance, still got stuck with a three THOUSAND dollar medical bill when my evil insurance company refused to pay something, even though they admitted it was a legitimate medical expense.  You think I'm OK with paying $400 a month in premiums that I can't afford, only to have them blow me off when I really need them?  I don't think so...I HATE health insurance companies.  Hate.  And for the record, I am not insured by the company for whom I work...)

 

 

I am not, and have never been, a Toe The Party Line type of person, and because of my long-standing feelings about health insurance companies, I can assure you that I look at every directive in my work day with a questioning eye.  Why?  Because in my opinion, health insurance is broken, and as the Queen of Lost Causes, I have taken it upon myself fix up my teeny little part of it in my own personal bullshit removal effort.

 

You might be thinking, Dear Hate Mail Writer, that you and I are not so different--after all, we both feel the same about this product I'm hawking every day--but here is the difference:  You got angry, and wrote a pissy letter.  I get angry, every day, and I go to work.  You want change?  I suggest you do the same.