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The HR person at the store came by today. "Hello, Miah. I can't help but notice that your husband has been missing for nearly a month now and that means your thirty days notice from the point of a qualifying event is just about up. Do you, by any chance, know when you will be getting notification of when the F-ing people your hubby now works for will get off their collectively non-helpful asses and sign you up for your husband's insurance? No pressure, really. I just thought you might want to know that if you aren't off our insurance by ... oh, let me think, tomorrow you have to finish the year or have _another_ qualifying event. Kay?"
I may be paraphrasing. But that was the general gist of the conversation.
So, I called Sgt. ButtNugget (who I have not spoken to since the "Where's my husband's paycheck, you giant Ass Bandit?" incident) and inquired if as to when I might expect to hear about my ID or insurance.
"You haven't gotten that yet?"
Why, yes, you flaming pile of garbage, I have it right here. I just enjoy talking to you on the phone. Of course I haven't gotten it. You told me several times that it had to go through you first and that you personally would be dragging me to the Fort to get my ID, etc.
What did he think? That I'd snuck on base and done it myself? Jackass.
"Is your husband in basic yet?"
Now, I admit that the inner workings of the U.S. Military are incredibly confusing to me but I would have assumed that when an Army recruiter puts a recruit on a bus and sends him to another state to attend boot camp ... he would assume that said recruit is, in fact, attending basic. Especially if it's been over a month since he put the recruit on the bus.
"Cause he should have sent you some paperwork about that? Have you talked to him yet?"
Oh, yes. We've talked. We cram a lot of talking into the ten minutes he's allowed on the phone every Sunday. Mostly it's about blisters and colds and where-in-the-lords-name-is-your-paycheck and such, but I have had time to ask about the mythical paperwork. Which he filled out several weeks ago. And which I haven't seen a word of. Also, still no power of attorney.
I hate to be a negative Nancy about this, but I'm beginning to suspect that certain aspects of our armed forces (Not the soldiers themselves because I have nothing but respect for them.) may be run by untrained monkeys. Mostly the departments that handle Dependants and Loans. Yes, they may eventually produce Shakespeare, but should they really be allowed to handle all that filing?
"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll make some phone calls and check your social security numbers in our database and see if we can get this sorted out. I'll call you in about an hour."
Eight hours later, I'm writing this. And I'm _still_ pissed. And, no word on DH's paycheck this week. If it's not there by the time I wake up in the morning. There. Will. Be. Hell. To. Pay.
For I am a woman of considerable temper. And if that doesn't work, I can cry on command. It's a dirty trick, but the best ones usually are.
I may be paraphrasing. But that was the general gist of the conversation.
So, I called Sgt. ButtNugget (who I have not spoken to since the "Where's my husband's paycheck, you giant Ass Bandit?" incident) and inquired if as to when I might expect to hear about my ID or insurance.
"You haven't gotten that yet?"
Why, yes, you flaming pile of garbage, I have it right here. I just enjoy talking to you on the phone. Of course I haven't gotten it. You told me several times that it had to go through you first and that you personally would be dragging me to the Fort to get my ID, etc.
What did he think? That I'd snuck on base and done it myself? Jackass.
"Is your husband in basic yet?"
Now, I admit that the inner workings of the U.S. Military are incredibly confusing to me but I would have assumed that when an Army recruiter puts a recruit on a bus and sends him to another state to attend boot camp ... he would assume that said recruit is, in fact, attending basic. Especially if it's been over a month since he put the recruit on the bus.
"Cause he should have sent you some paperwork about that? Have you talked to him yet?"
Oh, yes. We've talked. We cram a lot of talking into the ten minutes he's allowed on the phone every Sunday. Mostly it's about blisters and colds and where-in-the-lords-name-is-your-paycheck and such, but I have had time to ask about the mythical paperwork. Which he filled out several weeks ago. And which I haven't seen a word of. Also, still no power of attorney.
I hate to be a negative Nancy about this, but I'm beginning to suspect that certain aspects of our armed forces (Not the soldiers themselves because I have nothing but respect for them.) may be run by untrained monkeys. Mostly the departments that handle Dependants and Loans. Yes, they may eventually produce Shakespeare, but should they really be allowed to handle all that filing?
"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll make some phone calls and check your social security numbers in our database and see if we can get this sorted out. I'll call you in about an hour."
Eight hours later, I'm writing this. And I'm _still_ pissed. And, no word on DH's paycheck this week. If it's not there by the time I wake up in the morning. There. Will. Be. Hell. To. Pay.
For I am a woman of considerable temper. And if that doesn't work, I can cry on command. It's a dirty trick, but the best ones usually are.
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