If you’ve read here lately, this post needs no introduction. However, if you’re new, you can read all kinds of job related posts, like the one where I got over my last job. Or the one where I thought (mistakenly) that I liked my new job. Or, more recently, the ones where I learned that I really screwed up by taking my current job and that my paychecks make no sense.
All set? Very well. Let the bitchfest begin.
Dear Kentucky Medicaid,
Thank you ever so much for choosing to switch from regular Medicaid to THREE separate managed care companies on November 1. I’m so glad that each of them has different rules and requirements for therapy, different paperwork, and that those requirements have changed roughly 18 times since we were notified of all the changes. Especially since my agency waited until October 28 (a Friday) to tell us about any of this.
I am so pumped about the extra hours I get to spend figuring out which plan each client has, trying to remember what I have to do for said plan, and faxing in all the precise paperwork. And I especially love finding out that the paperwork changed again and I need to fill out the NEW forms and fax them again. My clients think it’s awesome that I spend their whole session debating whether they need 12 or 16 “units” of therapy per month and asking them to rate their level of homicidal rage on a scale of 1-10 so I can check a box on your already outdated forms.
In case you’re wondering, MY homicidal rage is 11 on a 1-10 scale. I’m glad I get free therapy from my coworkers and that you’re a nameless, faceless entity because otherwise I might have to smother you. With my joy, I mean.
Dear Office Manager Who Does My Billing,
I am so appreciative of your lack of effort in billing my appointments for the past six months. It was so hilarious how you noticed a problem but failed to tell me about it, resulting in dozens of hours of suspended billing that I never got paid for. You don’t just fail – you fail harder than anyone else I’ve ever known. I’m aware of the effort it takes and I want you to know that I noticed.
Now I have a ton of back billing coming through all at once, putting me over my units for uninsured people by 25 hours. Which means 25 hours will be subtracted from my billing for the pay period – the one where I was determined to earn a real paycheck. I will think fondly of your face when I see my direct deposit, which will likely be less than $200.
I salute you. Bitch.
Dear Boss’s Administrative Assistant,
When I call you, it’s because I have a question or a need. I’d much rather call my boss, but she’s too busy being a psychiatrist and seeing her patients so I get stuck with your stupid ass instead. The least you can do is pick up the phone. Or, you know, CALL ME BACK once in awhile.
Also, when you do bother making time to return my calls, don’t tell me you aren’t sure why I’m in the system as full time when I was supposed to be part time. You’re the one that put me in the stupid system! Do not play dumb with me. And don’t tell me you don’t know the difference between full time and part time, because if you don’t, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.
How can you possibly be responsible for the schedules and personnel issues of 50 therapists and know nothing about anything? If I had a dollar for every time I rolled my eyes while talking to you, I’d have more than the amount of my last paycheck. Not that my last paycheck was very hard to top.
May you wake up tomorrow in the form of a hairless cat. A hairless cat owned by 20 hyperactive children who desperately want to give you a bath.
Dear HR Department,
I find it truly amazing that none of you know the difference between full time, part time, and PRN status for my job. I’m not sure how the agency managed to find three people who offer people jobs yet can’t explain the pay for them.
So the requirements on my offer letter, the one I signed when I took the job, don’t match the requirements in the policy manual? And the actual requirements are even MORE stringent than the ones I thought I had to follow? It’s a nice touch that I’m still held to the policy standards even though YOU sent the letter with incorrect information. That’s awesome! Is there anything else I should know about, like the requirement to provide easy access to my soul so you can devour it?
What’s that? You looked at my payroll history and can’t believe my checks are so low? WOW, ME NEITHER! Oh, and you aren’t sure how to explain it? And you don’t know anyone in the company who can? Sweet! This makes my day.
Thank you for sucking so hard that I now feel better about my own competency level. Thank you for reminding me that things could always be worse – I could be a douche nozzle like all three of you.
You may not realize it, but your days of torturing me are numbered. It won’t take much more for me to put in my super long 30 day notice and experience homelessness rather than waste another day of my life performing highly stressful work for low pay that no one can explain.
I’m over therapy. I’m over all the lies, half-truths, and misinformation that convinced me you were the best thing for me. I’m over the panic every payday while I figure out which bills I can pay and imagine myself on a street corner trying to make ends meet. I’m over feeling like a bigger slave than I was in my previous sucktastic job.
I refuse to blame myself for this. We took things slow in the beginning – I just wanted something extra on the side – until you convinced me that wasn’t enough. You needed me all the time, and in return you would give me all these exciting things like freedom, money, and more time with my son. So I gave in. And instead of the wonderful life you promised, you robbed me blind, forced me to do all kinds of things you knew I didn’t want to, drove me crazy with your wishy washy bullshit, and made me cry.
I’m too strong for this. I will NOT be your doormat. When I find a replacement, it may not be as sleek and alluring on the outside, but it will meet my needs better than you ever could.
It’s over between us. I’m just using you until something better comes along. For the foreseeable future, you’re MY bitch. I’m done being yours.