I’m feeling under the weather, and I go and see my doctor. My complaint is a simple one and all I need is a three-dose run of medication. I go in to the local major chain pharmacy and drop off my prescription. 

Later, I get a call telling me that they can’t run my script as it was rejected by the insurance company. 

Dang it.

I go in and find out that, while my condition is severe enough that I really need three doses to clear it up, the insurance company will only allow the more common two-dose run. Three, apparently, is right out and is an offense to the Insurance Deities. 

Me: “Okay, what if we don’t involve insurance? How much would this be if I just paid out of pocket?”

Pharmacy Tech: “You can’t do that. The insurance company rejected it.”

Me: “I understand that. What if we don’t submit it to insurance and I just pay cash?”

Pharmacy Tech: “You cannot do that. The insurance company denied it.”

Me: “If I didn’t have insurance, what would you have done?”

Pharmacy Tech: “We’d have just charged you the cost of the medication.”

Me: “Okay, how abo—”

Pharmacy Tech: *Cutting me off* “We cannot do that. The insurance company denied it. You cannot get your medication.”

Me: “F*** the insurance company! I want to run this as an out-of-pocket! How. Much. Is. It?”

Pharmacy Tech: “Sir! I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

At this point, I had to reach down deep and find my inner Entitled Jerk. I demanded the manager. 

Basically, what happened next was pretty much the conversation above but with a manager backing the pharmacy tech up. Eventually, I asked for the script back and was told that since it was denied and had been stamped as denied, they could not give it to me.

I started to get really annoyed and was about to really flip out, but then the police officer they called while we were going around tapped me on the shoulder and explained that I was being trespassed off of the grounds. 

The officer was polite about it, listened to my side of the story, and agreed that it was unfair and that I should have been able to get my meds or at least get my script back.

Eventually, I called my doctor back, they issued another script, and I went to a locally-owned pharmacy. I told them that insurance was not going to cover it and that I wanted to just pay for the medication if it wasn’t too expensive. They told me, it was reasonable (very reasonable), I paid, and I got my meds. 

The kicker? Without coupons or pharmacy discounts, the medication was only $8.34 a pill. I got banned from my pharmacy over a lousy nine bucks.

A few years ago, I was in the boardroom of an earthmoving company, talking to the CEO about how we (my company) could assist with their maintenance cost. Before the meeting, I got all my facts from our guys on the ground.

CEO: “You are costing us too much to maintain our equipment.”

Me: “You are in the middle of nowhere. It’s in the middle of a desert. Travel costs are significant, but we can manage if we plan repairs and maintenance to minimise the travel costs.”

CEO: “Well, how about that $10,000 bill to change a broken light last month? Why would you guys charge us and not plan it when the machine was back in range?”

I knew this one was coming, so I repeated what my guys had told me. The owner had decided to put his son through the works to take charge of the company. The CEO decided to send Junior to the middle of nowhere to keep him at bay. Junior decided to use his leverage and ordered a minor repair — which was not critical — to be carried out. However, the machine was 2,000 km out, so it was a two-day trip to change a light.

My guys asked to confirm whether that was real and whether the company wanted to send them to do such a small task. They were told in no uncertain terms that they were the client and could do as they wanted. A purchase order was provided and the rest was history. I think Junior wanted to give the CEO a taste of how things would be. My guys maliciously complied. I mean, they would be paid overtime, and because it was in the desert, two guys had to go, they needed satellite navigation, the works.

Me: “We did request confirmation and were told you’re the client, and you provided us with a purchase order to proceed. So we did.”

CEO: “You shouldn’t have proceeded. This is ridiculous.”

Me: “Your company provided a valid request and refused to listen when told it would prohibitive. We did warn you about the cost, but the decision is ultimately yours. We can’t control your staff.”

CEO: “Who did authorise this work?”

Me: “I can send you a copy of the purchase order.”

I could see the veins on his head throbbing.

I heard Junior was moved back to the head office shortly after.

I drive a taxi in London — not the traditional black cab that you see in films, but an ordinary large (by our standards) saloon car.

I was sent to Heathrow to pick up an American couple and take them to a West End hotel. We mostly hated Heathrow because it often meant a long wait (not on the meter) and bad traffic back to town, but with Americans, we expected a larger than usual tip. 

This job was okay, though. The plane was on time, and my passengers were quick off the blocks and saw me with the usual sign well ahead of the bulk of the passengers getting through customs and immigration.

We loaded their considerable luggage into the boot and, with them in the back seat, we set off, straight into a jam on the motorway. My passengers had strong accents and I found it hard to understand when they asked questions, but it was obvious that they had a problem. We were stopped at some lights when they explained that they urgently needed “a bathroom”.

That’s not easy in central London, and public conveniences were no great advert for our city, so I detoured to a well-known department store and let them out. I wasn’t concerned that they would run off because I had all their luggage.

It took them ages, and I had to drive around the block to avoid getting a ticket, but eventually, they came back clutching some of the department store’s bags. I took them to their hotel without further problems and they seemed grateful. 

When they got out, I helped with the bags and then told the man what the fare was. He seemed surprised, but there was half an hour waiting time, so I suppose it was a bit more than our office had quoted. He pulled out his wallet and counted out the notes, and then he opened a change purse so he could find the exact money before walking off without leaving me a tip.

I wouldn’t have minded so much except that the uniformed flunky from the hotel who did nothing but hold the door for them got a good tip for his trouble.

Me: “Did you see that the city recovered forty-one million dollars in back taxes from the electric company?”

Son: “Now the electric company will charge us a ‘tax recovery fee.’”

I work for a Housing Authority (Section 8 benefits). After dealing with several entitled, demanding clients, my customer service demeanor has dried up for the day. Then, I get this phone call.

Client: “I want to move! What will you pay?”

No introduction or name is given.

Me: “Okay, can I get your name so I can find you in the system?”

After getting everything verified:

Client: “I want to move to this place, and the rent is $1,300 per month. I need to know what you will pay!”

Me: “Okay, let me do some math here. Okay, looks like we will pay $875 and you’ll pay $425.”

Client: “What?!”

I repeat myself.

Client: “This is ridiculous! I thought you people were supposed to help others! I can’t afford that amount. I guess I just won’t move!”

Me: *Completely deadpan* “Okay.”

Client: “I won’t move!”

Me: “Okay, great talking with you. If there’s nothing else, have a nice day.”

The client cursed me out as she hung up.