A semi-private room, a collection agent, and $37.50

I noticed that things got to sounding a bit serious yesterday so I'll do a bit of fast forwarding, about a year and a half's worth and 50 (or so) surgeries later, to share this humorous piece of truth with you. It's from a short story I wrote called "It's a Dick Thang". And it is absolutely true. I’m giving you a pass through a lot of grueling operations, hospital chow, pain meds and sponge baths to share this particular story concerning a random collection agents failed attempt with yours truly. I realize she was just “doing her job” and some of you reading this might whine about that particular aspect, but her approach with the author left much to be desired.

It began with a ringing phone.

“Hello” I answered. “Is this Mr. James Thomas Hall, Room 375?” “No” I answered “This is Jim Hall, room 375, I don’t recognize your voice so this must be either the IRS or my Mom disguising her voice. I’m only called by my formal name if I’m in trouble…is that you Mom?” I said whimsically (Yes dammit, it was whimsical). “Sir” she said with the tone of a person that hated the profession she had chosen, especially on days dealing with whimsical types, her displeasure oozing in her sentence structure and delivery.

“Is this Mr. Hall, Room 375?” she said again with the excitement of a death row inmate ordering his (or her) last meal, “We have a bit of business we need to discuss Mr. Hall.” I didn’t have anything better to do at the moment, so I was game to listen then consider her petition. “Fire away sweetie” I said, knowing how professional women hate to be called sweetie, or any other condescending term other than “Maam” or “Ms.” She started to talk, and I strategically interrupted her, asking “Maam, before we begin, I must ask you something…what’s your name?” followed by a brief moment of silence, then “Ms. Johnson” she replied flatly. She started to talk again, and I interrupted her again asking “Now Ms. Johnson, we are obviously going to get to know each other better for the next few minutes, let me have your first name.” a moment of silence “Mr. Hall…” “call me Jim” “Ok, Jim, I need…” “Now Ms. Johnson, if you are going to call me Jim, I feel that decorum dictates that you give me your name before we go any further” another moment of silence. Then I said  "It’ll provide the illusion that we are friends, somewhat, thus aiding in your attempt at achieving the goals you've set for yourself when you decided to call me this morning, thus helping you keep your job, wouldn’t you agree?”

A few seconds of silence… “Beth”…she relented, ”Now Mr. Hall...” “Now Beth, is that short for Bethany or Elizabeth, or did your folks just name you plain old Beth?” a moment of silence, “Just plain old Beth” she said with just a hint of impatience creeping in her already dry demeanor, “Now Mr. Hall…” she began, and again I interrupted her, “Beth! what a lovely name, were you named after a family relative or did your folks look at you and Beth was the first thing that popped into their heads when they saw you?” “Now Mr. Hall…” “Jim, we agreed, didn’t we Beth?”…”OK, Jim. we need…” I interrupted her yet again, “Now Beth, are you flirting with me?, You began your sentence with WE NEED, and I am a married man…are you hitting on me…Beth?” “MR. HALL!” Beth half hollered, “I am calling you today concerning…” “Beth” I said sadly…”Beth!” I said again, “Yes, Mr. Hall…” she answered. I interrupted her yet again and said, “Now Beth, we agreed that you would call me Jim, and I’m guessing now that we have had our first fight, and we’ve only secretly been a couple now for about five minutes or so…” “Mr. Hall, uhhh, I mean Jim, uhh, I need to speak to you concerning a matter of utmost importance” she quickly spoke with an excitedness I had planned to exploit. “Now there’s my Beth, my sweet lovely and articulate Beth, how may I assist you today, My Wonderful, Lovely, Sweet, Home wrecker Beth?”

“Mr. Hall” she began…”Jim” I said…”OK, Jim, I have a matter that we must discuss, concerning an unpaid bill of thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents, a differential charge for a semi-private room versus a private room” her sounding so satisfied to be able to get a complete sentence in edgewise. “Now Beth, wouldn’t you rather talk about how our secret love is never going to work out between us, and how it’s just so unfair, and, by the way, what are you wearing right now?” moment of silence followed by “MR.HALL!” she half shouted…”JIM, we agreed you’d call me Jim, Beth”…”OK, Jim, I need to ask you how you intend on paying this differential, can I count on you to satisfy this debt today?” The first thing that popped into my head was to do the PePe’ LePew voice, so I did. “But my dear sweet Sharie, we cannot allow $37.50 to come between us, that is barely the price of a meal at a small intimate cafe’…let us speak of love.”

Silence…

I must take a second to tell you that at his point, I had been in the Hospital for a good 18-20 months, my injuries were very severe, and I was bored. I had my leg rebuilt numerous times mid-shin, and the orthopedic pain that accompanied it is beyond my ability to explain. I cut Beth some slack, and said “OK, Beth, on what days are you proposing that I was in a semi-private room versus a private room? I have been here for eighteen months and I have always been in room 375, which is a private room. To charge me for a semi-private room, which by definition means I had a roommate, would mean I was in a different room. That would mean I was in a bigger room, with another human being in the room at the same time. Now Beth, you can fool some of the people some of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time. Knowing that, I would have distinctly known if a breathing human being was in my room, in a bed, in pain, with the various and sundry machines usually attached to said hospitalized person, plugged into said machines. Would you agree that would be a truth you could embrace Beth, my love?” “Mr. Hall, uh, Jim, I am calling on behalf of Midway collection agency and I need to resolve this matter immediately…” she said, sounding like she might be starting over from scratch. I interrupted her again asking “Beth, can you acknowledge the truth in what I just told you, don’t you believe I’d know if I was in another room during my eighteen month stay at the Georgia Baptist Hilton? Have you ever stayed in a room by yourself and suddenly someone appear out of the blue, and you not remember it?” Silence “Beth, are you still there?” “Yes, Jim, I’m still here”… about that time a charge nurse I had gotten to know very well, named Jane, walked in to take my hourly vitals, “Jane, tell this person, my new girlfriend, Beth, that I have never been in a semi-private room since I checked into this fine establishment” “Mr Hall, uh, Jim!” I heard her trailing off as I handed the phone to Jane “Beth, honey, Mr. Hall, I’m sorry, Jim” she said with a sweet voice I’m sure made Beth know I was a hopeless two-timer, “Jim has never, ever been in a semi-private room, and I was here the day he checked in” They proceeded to go back and forth with Jane explaining to Beth repeatedly that I was a private room dude only. After a few minutes, Jane handed me the phone back, “Beth’s a hard-headed one, Jim” where Beth could hear it.

“Mr. Hall, uh, Jim, I’m very tired of this charade, and I need to know right now how you intend on paying this debt” I replied “OK, Beth, it seems that we have officially broken up and I’m sad, can I have a minute to grieve?”…”Jim! I need to settle this matter right now!” she said with an elevated tone. “Beth, I really feel that you should call me Mr. Hall from now on, unless you want to make up…” I fake sniffled a few times, and asked Nurse Jane to hand me some tissues loud enough for Beth to hear it. “OK, Beth, let’s talk about the $37.50 that has somehow come between us, a cheap sum to pay for such a short romance as we have had, my dear Beth”...“Mr. Hall..” she started “Beth, I have changed my mind, I still want you to call me Jim, I refuse to accept the fact that $37.50 could come between us. I thought our relationship was built on trust, Beth, and I even offered a witness, a medical professional, to prove to you that I have never been laid up in a semi-private room, but somehow you’ve decided to not believe either me or a medical expert witness, Beth what shall we do to correct this matter?” I could sense Beth growing more and more impatient with the situation she faced. “Mr. Hall, uh, Jim…are you going to pay this $37.50 that you owe for medical attention received?” I could tell she was moving into the scripted “guilt” tactic used by every collection specialist in the history of collection. A brief moment of silence…”No, Beth, you need to take it up with my insurance company and Georgia Baptist Hospital. This is obviously a mistake in billing and could best be settled by dealing with the proper staff hired to handle these matters. I don’t think harassing a patient, much less a former boyfriend and lover, while he is still ‘laid up’ in the same hospital for which you are trying to collect is proper and a conflict of interest. I would think decorum would dictate someone besides you, Beth, a former girlfriend of mine, call me concerning such matters, wouldn’t you agree?”

“This is ridiculous, Mr. Hall, I think I know why you won’t deal with me concerning this matter.” Beth said with a sort of quiet assurance born of experience and laced with a confidence one might have when figuring out where the buried treasure might be hidden. “I have it figured out, I’m certain I know why you won’t deal with me…” she trailed off. “I’m awaiting your assessment of ‘why I won’t’ with bated breath and restricted sphincter, Beth…I feel I can still call you Beth, what with our torrid history” pause, “I’m ready, sweetie, why won’t I deal with you on this matter dear?” I said with as much borderline sarcasm/sincerity as I could possibly muster without busting out laughing.

“It’s… It’s…” she hesitated, “Yes, my dear former love Beth, “IT’S…” I said, full sarcasm applied this time…

“It’s a Dick Thing!“

She said it like she had just proudly revealed to her future husband that she was actually a man, only minutes before her wedding ceremony. “It’s a Dick Thing Mr. Hall…”she repeated… “Jim” I replied, interrupting her one last time just to piss her off, but good. I asked her to please repeat that statement just one more time for posterity. I must confess, I was both humored and blindsided by her professional delivery of such a raunchy unprofessional statement. I loved it, I will freely admit, and I deserved it, but I was just a little taken aback by her assessment just the same. Beth was venturing into uncharted territory as far as collections were concerned. I could only guess the collection industry might use Beth’s technique as an expedition of last resort, when the proverbial giant granite ball was rolling right behind you Indiana Jones style. I kept my composure and calmly asked, “Beth, my love, repeat that one more time so I’ll understand it more clearly” I said to her as obtuse as I could, given the circumstances.

“IT’S A DICK THING JIM, MR. HALL, OR WHATEVER IN THE HELL YOU WANT ME TO CALL YOU. I’M NOT A MAN,I DON’T HAVE A DICK, SO YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DEAL WITH ME!!!” 

She hollered over it so loud I thought my folks might hear it all the way up in Memphis, Tennessee, their temporary home while my dad was on assignment working for the government. If the truth were known, I heard her the first time, I was just asking her to repeat herself to buy myself some time, a little time to formulate a witty retort. Beth’s “ME” was fading off and I resorted to the least common denominator, self-deprecation, as my response quickly formed in the ‘smart ass’ part of my brain, one that I must confess, was right on the mark. It was:

“My dearest Beth. First, I must thank you. You have been a great help to me today. You have somehow seen past our differences as a couple and selflessly looked deep into my psyche, bravely stood at the crumbling edge that is the Grand Canyon of my mind, selflessly revealing something to me, that as a human being, I might have refused to believe before today” I said with a much rehearsed sadness in my voice that was as fake as finding Babe Ruth’s long-lost Football helmet. “Let me say to you, Beth, thanks.” “For what?” Beth said with the slightest hint of hope that she might accomplish her mission of collecting the $37.50 for my mystery one-day semi-private room stay she was convinced I had covertly enjoyed.

I finished “It is indeed a dick thing, as you put it, would you please have someone from your office, with a dick of course, call me concerning the $37.50?” Last thing I heard out of Beth, sweet Beth, was a frustrated "ARRRRRRGHHH!!!" as she slammed down the phone.

I never heard from them again.