Pinocchio Explains To His Insurance Company That He’s Not Lying About Needing Nose Surgery
Okay, let’s try this again. My name is Pinocchio. And my surgeon has provided your office with the documentation establishing “medical necessity” for my nose procedure. I’m just calling to see why it hasn’t been authorized yet.
I don’t understand. Do you think I’m lying about needing the surgery?
Oh, you just need further verification. You mean beyond the science findings of a medical doctor? How about the sight of a stunning two-foot-long schnoz? You have the x-rays, yes?
No, no, this is NOT elective. I assure you. I did not choose for a billystick to be affixed to my face.
Listen, I realize you’re just trying to do your job, but I’m not going to stand idly by while your insurance company tries to play me like a puppet.
Jiminy Crickets, this isn’t an “experimental operation” either. We’re not talking about some weird magical fairytale here, okay?
Well, yes, I am a wooden boy. We’ve gone over this, it’s in my chart.
But why would I WANT a surgery if I didn’t need it? Me, a perfectly healthy doll boy, going out of my way, to be cut open, for what, for fun?
Uh huh, yes, I am familiar with the boy who cried wolf. Very familiar. In fact, I know him personally. We grew up together.
Actually, that’s not true.
Shit.
Here we go.
I really didn’t want to get into this. And please don’t let this conflate the main issue at hand here. But every once in a while, I lie. And this may be difficult for you to believe, but my lying is actually the cause of my freaky wooden flesh pole. The more I lie, the more disturbing my toilet plunger nose grows.
Hello? Are you there?
Yes, but think about it; if I’m lying about my supernatural skin rod, that just means more tangible evidence that I’m telling the truth. You see?
No, you’re right, it does sound ridiculous. Believe me. It’s full-fledged crackerjacks. But according to my explanation of benefits, it’s still covered by my PPO.
What? Doesn’t meet the qualifications of your review process? For the sweet love of Geppetto, your policies have more strings attached than my ex-wife.
Put yourself in my clogs; how would you like a lie detector on your face?
Look, I’m paying through the nose on my monthly premiums, yet, you, a billion-dollar business, systematically fight every single claim until I’m just expected to eventually give up? I might be a marionette made of pine, but even I can grasp basic economics — and my oversized olfactory smells a scam!
You know what? I’ve had it with the Micky Mouse crap! I want to speak to a manager. I’m not going to sit here like some dummy. I’m a real boy!
Okay, I’m not a real boy, whatever. Just put your manager on.
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