Well, that’s easy, I said, change the address and send me a new one. That’s not possible, the human said, you have to have your provider send us your new address. But, I said feebly, I have just given you all the information that proves that I am me: my S.S. #, my H.M.O. number, my birth date, my mother’s maiden name. That may be, he said, but we must receive your address change from your provider.
Go to round five of voicemail hell back to my provider where, after a good half hour, I punched into my cell phone everything a robot asked about me: my S.S. #, my H.M.O. number, my birth date, my mother’s maiden name. When the robot was satisfied, I had only three more circles of hell to go through before I found a human, who asked me the exact same information the robot had. After ascertaining that I was really me, she listened to my problem and said that she couldn’t possibly change my address, because such a change had to come on a form provided by the employment benefits office of my workplace.
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