February 15th through the 21st will forever live among my select memories as “The Lost Week of 2021.” Karma also kicked my ass. I no longer enjoy most time travel movies, so the sudden loss of all the amenities that contribute to life in the 21st century, fetched my daily survival back to the 19th century with remnants of contemporary life there merely to mock me.
In addition to the burdens of staying warm, clean, hydrated and relatively sane, I worried about not working. No matter how much civilization had collapsed, bill collectors would still collect the bills.
First up, the rent. Once I took refuge a friend’s house because I no longer had running water nor electricity at my place, I used her WiFi to email the leasing office. I didn’t outright beg, but I explained that without an ethernet connection, I couldn’t work, which put rent in jeopardy. Since the leasing office also didn’t have electricity, one of the agents didn’t respond until a few days later when the situation had been already resolved.
Turned out, my roommate handled March’s rent. On top of that, my parents and one of my sisters sent monetary relief. An act that reduced me to tears. Never had I ever asked my family for money, but the confluence of bad circumstances motivated them to offer assistance.
The next worrisome bill, health insurance. I hadn’t seen a doctor in years. Nonetheless, since I’m a half century old, I won’t dare be without it. I overlooked the glitchiness of their payment portal, which manifested as messing up my date of birth until I found a work around the issue. From there, I paid my premium.
A few days later, I checked my bank account online and nearly pissed my pants. The health insurer had charged the monthly premium three times. Fortunately, my bank account hadn’t been overdrawn, but still.
I immediately logged out of work to call the carrier. Either the customer service representative was new to her job or she was borderline incompetent. Either way, when I explained the situation to her, she suggested that I’d mistaken an invoice for a bill. I corrected her. “I’m looking at the deductions from my bank account online.” Throughout our conversation, she repeatedly suggested that I hadn’t been charged three times, just invoiced.
I was about to lose it. Say “invoice” one more ‘gain. See what happens. Instead, I changed tactics. Adult temper tantrum averted.
I told her that when I paid January’s premium, I had only been charged once. She checked the date, which was the day after the money had left my account.
I asked her to make a note of my complaint, so when I called back the following day, I wouldn’t have to start from scratch with the next customer service rep.
Then, I worked off my angst in my Inferno Hot Pilates class.
Afterwards, I called my bank. That customer service rep sounded far more competent. She explained that the fastest way to deal with the duplicate charges would be a refund from the vendor. In the meantime, she instructed me on how to dispute the charges online.
I encountered another glitch. First I changed browsers from Safari to Chrome. Then, I switched laptops to use a hardwired connection on Chrome instead of WiFi. Bingo! At that point, I disputed the two duplicate charges, which could take up to 90 days to resolve.
The following day, a Friday, I started my weekly ritual of cleaning my apartment. In actuality, I merely killed time until I felt the health insurance company’s customer service had opened. I put on my handsfree headset and started the waiting game on hold while cleaning my apartment. As I listened to hold music, I pulled up my bank account. Lo and behold! the money had been restored. I hung up.
Then I read messages on my phone. My coworkers were discussing work platform malfunctions. Of course. 2021 won’t allow me a few moments of inner peace between crises. At least these problems were from the 21st century and not the 19th.