ABSURDITY AIN'T STRONG ENOUGH

ABSURDITY AIN’T STRONG ENOUGH

My dear readers. If we were to look up the word ABSURDITY in the dictionary we see it defined as “The act of being ABSURD”. Big deal. That doesn’t tell us much so we proceed to the next step and look up the word ABSURD. Ah ha now we’re getting somewhere. There it is in plain English, “The quality of being ridiculous or unreasonable". This definition is o.k for lightweight beginners needing to express some picky level of frustration but it is not suitable from my perspective to properly convey` the essence of the story I am about to relate . It lacks power. So I ask myself where can I find the right word with the necessary power? What a question— why invent one of course. All I need to do is to modify the existing word to give it more potency yet make it sound as if it was derived from Latin to give it credibility. And voila, that’s just what I did. And here you have it— ABSURDINSPADESUM — the definition of which becomes “The quality of being incredibly off the wall, over the top, beyond the pale, outragiously ridiculous, and way way beyond anything close to being reasonable”. Yes indeed, I believe this word with that definition defines our story.

And by the way this is a true story. Only the names and have been changed to protect some of the characters from ridicule. So here we go.

My wife and I live in a condo in downtown Toronto. It's 10:00 A.M in early December and my wife is out taking her morning walk, which she religiously does even in the coldest weather. So I am alone sitting at the dining room table sipping a cup of tea, and my cell phone goes off. I reach into my pants pocket to pull the damn thing out and it is stuck. So I pull real hard and yes it comes out but with a bang. That is I bang it against the table and knock over the tea cup. The hot brew spills out on to my lap. So the day is off to a good start. I give a howl, and somehow without me having consiously pressed any buttons, a voice comes out from the phone just laying on the table. “Mr Sherman its Nelson in the lobby are you o.k.?” Barely able to catch my breath I mumble, “I’ll be alright” just spilled something”. Nelson continues, “ Oh, well you have mail down here in the lobby. It’s been here for two days now, shall I send it up"? Normally my wife would pick up the mail on her return, but not thinking too clearly and squirming in my hot pants (no pun intended) I manage a simple “O.k. Nelson send it up”. In no more than two minutes the door bell rings . With hot water dripping down my pant leg. I limp over to the door and open it. It’s Malcolm one of the Concierge guys holding a bunch of envelopes and a couple of newspapers. He hands the stuff over to me. I grit my teeth as I am now feeling the pain from the spill and I just nod to thank him. He looks at my wet pants, nods back , breaks into a huge grin and turns toward the elevator. I instinctively know the reason for the grin and I yell at him , "Listen Malcolm, just because I’m over 90 it’s not what you think”. He turns, looks at me still grinning and says, “Whatever you say Mr. Sherman”.

So now to get into the guts of the story. Still standing and dripping I toss the newspapers onto the love seat by the door and one by one I open the letters. Obvious Junk mail except for one letter. It's from the Health and Benefits Center of my way-back- when last employer, the Radar Research Corporation (RRC for short) a major defence contractor headquartered in suburban Boston— in the town of Sudbury to be precise..

Now let me take a moment and backtrack 38 years to fill you in on some important details. My wife, a Canadian, and I a dual citizen— U.S and Canadian— had recently relocated from Los Angeles to Toronto. I had just started work as a systems engineer for a small sub division of RRC called RRC Canada, located outside the metro Toronto area. Two years later I was offered a job promotion to work at the company’s main office facility, and with my wife’s approval I accepted. This required us to move to Sudbury. After living and working in Massachusetts for another 10 years , we jointly decided it was time for us to leave the U.S of A and return to Canada. (The reasons for that decision are personal and not relevant to this story). So I took what was called “An Early Retirement” from good old RRC with meagre benefits. Namely. a very small pension (hardly worth mentioning as you do not get much after only 12 years), a paid up life Insurance policy to cover eventual burial expenses, and an offer to continue the corporations medical insurance coverage —by paying premiums of course. It is this last benefit offer that concerns us here. Why so, you might ask? Here’s why so.

When I retired, way- back- when, and feeling adequately covered with our Ontario health plan, I declined to accept the medical benefit offer.. However as a retiree in good standing (that is to say, still alive) I continue to receive a similar enrolment letter from the corporation’s benefits centre every other year, renewing their offer and encouraging me to change my tune and sign up. And each time after opening their letter and reading the latest terms and conditions (focusing on the cost of course) I routinely toss the letter into the trash..

So as usual I open the latest letter. After looking at the cost of the medical coverage, which didn't turn me on, I flip the page over and voila, on the reverse side is something new, — an opportunity to enrol in a Dental coverage plan. Now this gets my attention as teeth maintenance has become a big concern— physically and financially — in the last couple of years, so this looks like something to seriously consider. And the monthly premiums seem, ah how shall I say, reasonable. (Whoa, I’ve got to be careful with the use of that word in this narrative). So under such new circumstances what does a reasonable (whoops there I go again) person do. Why he goes into immediate action and calls the benefit centre to discus the details right? Right. So off I go to the dining room and there’s my cell phone laying on the dining room table where I left it after the spill. Still feeling discomfort from the wet pants but wanting to pursue this opportunity right now, I delay changing clothes and I dial the benefit centre’s number. This is the start of my Absurdinspadesum experience. Well not immediately because the first words I hear are, “We are experiencing a volume greater than normal. All of our agents are busy…”. You know the rest of the blah blah blah B.S.

So I hold on for about 7 or 8 minutes, having to suffer through someone’s idea of pleasant rock music to soften the effects of the delay, until finally a voice comes on. “Hi this is Miles . Can I please have your first and last name”? “Sure” I respond,” My name is Harold Sherman”. Mr. Sherman, is it alright if I call you Harold? “Sure no problem”, Miles”. Thanks Harold” he says, “So how can I help you”? “Well I am a long time retiree calling about the health plan offer letter that I just received.” O.K.Miles says, “But before we proceed we need the last four numbers of your social security number and your zip Code. So I spout off “7266 and my zip code in Toronto N6T 3Y7”. Then the trouble starts.

“Thanks”. Miles says,” But that’s not the zip code we have on record. Can you give us another code where you lived in the U.S”? I ask him, “ Are you talking about the Zip code when I lived in Boston? That was nearly 40 years ago — look I am over 90 and there's no way I can remember that zip code”. “ Well sir we cannot Identify you without that information” comes his response. I am quick to fire back as I have been down this U.S. versus Canadian zip code incompatibility problem before — like when in the U.S. I am unable to buy gas at the pump using a Canadian Credit card. “Well Miles, can’t you ask me some really hard to answer personal questions like my mother’s favourite cousins maiden name or the name of my pet rattlesnake when I was 12 years old or some other personal stuff to make sure it’s me you are talking to. Nobody else would know the answers”. He comes back with, “No sir I’m sorry we need to verify your zip code to allow me to make the identification”. So then I tell him, “Look Miles, you sent a letter to me which I have in front of me and it has my name and my full and correct mailing address, so how come that is not evidence of who I am and where I live , along with my Canadian Zip code.” He says, “I am sorry sir but that is not the answer I need for verification”. So I counter, “How about the fact that RRC sends a monthly retirement payment to my Bank of America checking account. I can give you the account number and the balance and the date of the last deposit. Surely that info is unique to me”. “Well again Mr. Sherman that will not do”, comes his reply. Now I am beginning to get upset so I ask, “Can I speak to a supervisor”? Miles hesitates and then says, ” Yes I suppose you can but I assure you that will not solve this problem”. So I said, “Well let me speak to someone PLEASE". Fast forward another 7 or 8 minutes for the supervisor to come on line. He begins with, “ Hi Mr. Sherman. I am Gerald and I understand we are having some difficulty”. “We sure are”, I snap. “I am trying to follow up on an offer letter sent to me by you guys to sign up for medical and dental benefits. Miles insists he cannot proceed to discuss this without me giving him a zip code that I have no awareness of and he gives me no other option to validate my identity. How can you send me a letter to my current address and then ask for a different zip code? And by the way, the letter says I have less than 10 days to respond. and that my response has to be mailed in. That is not nearly enough time to get through both the Canadian and U’S. postal and customs inspection process. It took 11 days for your letter to arrive”. Gerald says, “Well I can give you an extension of 20 days to take care of the time problem, O.K”? “Good”. I respond , “But what about the ID issue”. “Well Mr Sherman give me a moment to check our computer file on you, so hold on I’ll be back shortly”. So he puts me on hold and I wait — accompanied by the usual irritating music. This “on hold” takes another increasingly irritating five minutes. Then Gerald comes back on line. “Well Mr. Sherman I checked our records and I cannot find anything in your file that gives us a different zip code for identification purposes other than the one we have”. Now I am more than upset, I am pissed and I repeat to Gerald what I said to Miles about them having enough info to be able to send me a Benefits offer letter to my Canadian address. Gerald responds with, “ I do not see that info on our file for you”. “This is crazy”, I said. “How can you send me a letter and not have that info available in your files.”?“ That’s a good point”, answers Gerald “We will look into that”. Trying to show a little restraint, I politely continue, “Gerald, surely there must be a way to get me identified”. “Yes there is”, answers Gerald. “I can send you an 8 digit code through the mail. You can then send that code back to me by a return letter to accomplish the necessary ID”. “Oh no”, “ I mutter , “We are back to the mail delay issue again — If we have to go through that two way round trip mailing process we would need an additional extension of time to allow us to receive the code, and mail it back,— all of this before we even have had an opportunity to discuss the merits of the offer with your rep. Why can’t you E-mail the code to me just like my bank does when I need to verify myself if I can’t remember my password”? He comes back with, “ I am sorry Mr. Sherman but we cannot do that. Our procedure is mail only”. “Uh Oh”, I respond, “That’s a real problem. We won’t even be here to receive your letter. My wife and I will be departing for an extended stay in Florida in two days. So we will need you to send that coded info to our Florida address that I will give to you”. “Well no” he replies. “We can’t do that. We can only send that sensitive information to the address on record”. I came back with, “But you just told me that you cannot recover that address from my file on record. But o.k. Gerald to stop beating a dead horse here and to put an end to this insanity and my misery , if you are able, go ahead and send this code to our Toronto address . Then I can have it relayed down to me by a young man, an American from Pennsylvania who is living with us . He is a PHD student studying music at Toronto University. He’s like a son to us. When I am away he opens all my mail and we go over it together, on the phone” . Gerald gives a gasp and says, “Oh Mr. Sherman I’m sorry to hear that. We cannot allow an unknown third party to access the 8 digit code without verifying his ID. Can you give me the last four digits of his social security number and his zip code”? I am so stunned that I stop breathing . There is silence for about 20 seconds. Finally, Gerald speaks up, “Mr. Sherman, are you there ”? I do not answer, still unable to catch my breath and beginning to feel that I am about to turn blue. The desperation sinks in. I stare into my cell phone contemplating hurling it against the wall— but I don’t. I simply hesitate for a moment longer, take a deep breath and then slowly press END.

Dear reader: As I said in the intro, the above dialog for the most part is genuine. I wound up spending over a half hour on the phone with only intense aggravation and torment to show for my efforts. So I say to you point blank, in all fairness , surely you must agree with me that this episode without a doubt, absolutely positively qualifies as a first class and worthy example of ABSURDINSPADESUM.