Have you ever wanted to punch the corporate drone on the other end of the line? Unable to do so, have you ever wanted to punch the [expletive] out of your wall? Instead of a break-up, have you cited insurance companies as the reason for all the broken dinnerware in the kitchen? If anyone from United Health Care to Cobra has made you see crimson, read on. I hope it helps.
[The following is a letter I wrote to my insurance company's vice president after experiencing some horrifying customer service. Names and certain phrases have been excised to protect the helpless.]
Dear Sir,
Actually, the subject of this e-mail puts things rather mildly - I don't just have a complaint with your customer service department; I have a genuine hatred for the way your company deals with patients. So, to the publicist or secretary who will inevitably screen this e-mail before passing it on, please remember that I am writing on the grounds of legitimately bad service, and I mean each of the following words.
This afternoon, I was trying to call [insurance company] of [state] so I may secure a reasoning as to why the claims submitted by my psychiatrist, Dr. [So-and-So], for the time period of Nov. 2010 to Dec. 2010, were not being paid, due to what [insurance company] called a pre-existing condition, despite the fact that I'd been signed on to [insurance company] in August 2010, when they were aware of my severe depression and anxiety. I didn't know which department would cover this question, so I kept trying to access a generic help department who might direct my call. Unfortunately, a steely mechanized voice coldly informed me that I was being transferred to the benefits department. Inevitably, after hearing me out, the representative informed me that my question was related to claims, and that I'd be transferred. "Alright, then, I'll hold."
Next came a song-and-dance routine of indescribably bad jazz and useless announcements about how I'd be able to access the same information I was seeking online. There were several far-off ghostly buzzes and clicks, each punctuated by that most trite of customer service phrases, "All of our agents are busy. Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line." Then: silence. The steely mechanized voice returned to inform me, "Your call did not go through. Please hang up and try again."
At this point I wondered, why is it my fault the call did not go through? I was not playing Tetris on my phone and consequently did not hit any ancillary keys that may have aided in negating the call's transmission. The representative has a call-back number for me - which they strangely demand each time, despite the fact that I'm sure they have it in front of them, on my computerized file - so why shouldn't I expect customer service to do its part? Like "Do you think there's a heaven?," there are no answers to questions like these.
I redialed [insurance company]. I waited for the knife-like voice of the female automaton to steer me to claims, but for some reason she kept quizzing me on my provider's tax ID. I just had a question, about some unfilled claims. Why do I need to proffer [Dr. So-and-So] W2 details so Hal from "2001: A Space Odyssey" can eventually just say, "Sorry, I didn't catch that"? Needless to say, the call did not to wind up at claims. I don't think I spoke to anyone on this second call, but I don't really remember: anger blinded me like Athena blinded Tiresias. Unfortunately, unlike Tiresias, my blindness was not amended by the gift of augury, or perhaps I'd have been able to predict the future and foreseen how my next attempt would go. No, my blindness somehow propelled me to make a third call.
This time, I spat out my ID to Rosie the Robot (except she isn't half as helpful as the one on 'The Jetsons'). Each digit dripped with pure disgust. After a series of the familiar far-off ghostly buzzes and clicks, someone named Marsha, blissfully from the claims department, answered. ... she heard me out for a moment and then said, "Oh, we'll give you coverage even if you have a pre-existing condition, but that doesn't mean we'll pay all the claims."
Pardon me for a moment: Is this legal? Because if it is, I promise you, I will move to Washington, D.C. tomorrow and work for free for any lobby that wants to pass and protect health care legislation. This is a filthy practice, and I hope you know that.
To continue: Marsha did inform me, however, that the claims for the dates in question had just been processed. Today, as a matter of fact. I did not pause to ask Marsha if she could perhaps explain, then, why I'd spent nearly forty-five minutes trying to ascertain this simplest of resolutions.
"So things are in the clear?"
"Yes. We'll send a payment of $[amount] to Dr. [So-and-So]."
Shocked silence.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, thank you, you've been very helpful."
"Okay, you have a good day." "You too."
Do you think, sir, that this is the best way to treat your patients? Sorry - your customers? Because as I continue to deal with your insurance company, I am increasingly aware of the fact that [insurance company] doesn't really treat its members as patients suffering and struggling with illnesses and bills in day-to-day life. [Insurance company] is run like a business, where the objective is to make money, patients be damned.
It astounds me to think that customer service behaves like this. Does it not perhaps occur to you that the people your employees speak with on a daily basis, such as myself, deal with mental illness? Depression and anxiety, ugly combination that they are, really aren't aided by a thoroughly flawed system and irresponsible customer service practices. Sure, I can take an anxiety pill or two afterward to calm myself down, maybe even chalk up today's three calls to experience. But honestly, I think you deserve my complaint instead.
Stunned,
[Me]
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