we come bearing gifts

I recently celebrated my 25th year working for my employer. Well, according to them. Actually I was hired in January 1986, which is 26 years, muthafuckas, but the hospital I work for has gone through so many mergers and changes in affiliation in the past 26 years of changing health care climate that somehow my "anniversary date" has mutated. They can say whatever they want; they've had 26 years of my life.  All the best years, I'm sure.  1986...I was practically a child...so young, pretty, full of hope and ambition and faith in human nature...

Sigh.

ANYWAY, since they think this year is my silver anniversary, I was invited to an honorary banquet which I did not attend.  As many of you know, I am deeply antisocial and going to some stupid function to get a free bad meal and a congratulatory piece of paper was not, y'know, high on my list of things to do.

Some of my co-workers who were also celebrating anniversaries did however attend and they encouraged me to at least GET THE FREE APPRECIATION GIFT to which I am entitled.  In the interoffice mail this week, the certificate which I did not pick up in person arrived, along with--yes!--a catalog with the gifts to which my 25 years of service entitle me .  I have until the last week of August to pick one. I spent some time this afternoon perusing it.  I was deeply disappointed that, apparently, 25 years does not rate a big screen TV.  (Rumor has it that's 30.)  I was deeply disappointed in all the offerings in fact.

It was a weird assortment. Everything from the trademark colonial rocking chairs that the hospital seems to bestow on everyone they wish to honor (and which, frankly, I would not put in my home if they paid me) to jewelry to cameras (too bad I just bought one) to a plethora of iPod docking devices (too bad I'm happy with mine) to deep fryers to deeply ugly vases and bookends to chainsaws (seriously!) to desk chairs to leaf blowers to knife blocks.  Weird and random.  I finally decided I'm probably going to choose a watch. The majority of the women's watches are fairly gaudy and overly blingy, but there's one kinda sporty one I liked.  Never mind that I haven't worn a watch regularly since 2005.  It's better than a pressure cooker or one of those godawful rocking chairs.

But then I was thinking, huh.  Of this weird assortment of random items, why aren't there any sporting goods?  Couldn't the hospital buy me a bike?  Or at least a heart rate monitor or a new gym bag?  It's like they don't want me to be healthy. No, they'd rather gift me with a turkey fryer which would probably explode if the deep frying didn't clog my arteries first.  I see their game. They don't want me to live long enough to qualify for that 60inch flat screen.

I came home to find another missive from the hospital in the US mail.  This one from the financial counseling office.  Seems they have determined that the portion of my upcoming first surgical procedure that *I* will be responsible for is 250 bucks. Please pay up *before* your surgical date, bitch.  Payment plans available if you cannot afford the whole thing in these difficult financial times!

Can I just trade them in a fucking rocking chair for that?  I don't even...

Spend less money on useless award banquets and wave the co-pays for your employees, assholes.

Yeah, I know. They just don't want me to live long enough to collect the TV.

xoxo

President Obama, help me.

This post may have been written under the influence of intoxicating substances.  Speaking of which, I didn't see any fine cognac or Irish whiskey or beer-of-the-month clubs in their stupid catalog either.