Muh muh muh my Flurona

It’s amazing to me how much our collective vocabulary has expanded in the last couple of infectious years. Suddenly we’re tossing around words like “viral load” and “antigen” and “herd immunity.”

And, as Rich Siegel would be the first to tell you, while all of those would make awesome band names, we probably could’ve done without them and just gone on with our average eighth-grade vocabularies the rest of our lives.

But, as I wrote about here, in the not so illustrious advertising tradition of combining two words to make an astonishingly bad third one nobody would ever use even if they had a gun to their head, it seems medical science has jumped on the bandwagon.

We now have a name for the virus you have when you have the bad luck to come down with the seasonal flu and covid-19 at the same time: Flurona.

Two mints in one.

I suppose it’s a catchy (no pun intended) way of identifying what’s ailing ya. It’s also a way to broadcast your monumental bad luck to the world.

And while the odds of contracting both respiratory illnesses simultaneously are small, the risk of hospitalization is considerably greater. Fortunately, you can now get a flurona vaccine, which is exactly what it sounds like. Two vaccines in one shot.

So if you haven’t had your flu shot, and you’re due for a covid booster, just sidle up to the CVS pharmacist/bartender and order yourself a Flurona straight up.

Be careful not to ask for a Shingmonia, Hepatolio or Measbies. Those shots aren’t ready yet.

Don't ask: Borrowing my phone charger

What's better than one sequel to a popular series of blogposts? Several sequels. Which makes today your lucky day as yet one more post gets added to my outrageously successful Don't Ask series.

I assume you're already familiar with the classics (and if you're not, don't burst my bubble - just let me think you are): Don't Ask: Watching Your Stuff, Don't Ask: Working the Weekend, Don't Ask: Loaning You Money, Don't Ask: Writing a Letter For You, Don't Ask: Sharing a Hotel Room, Don't Ask: Picking Up at the Airport, and the perennial Don't Ask: Moving - one of the most popular and requested of all.

While several other series remain dormant on this blog, like Guilty Pleasures, Things I Was Wrong About, The Luckiest Actor Alive and Why I Love Costco, this particular series continues to flourish thanks to the fact there's just no end to the things I refuse to do.

Tonight's entry is Don't Ask: Borrowing my phone charger. Here's the thing: phone chargers used to be expensive, especially if you were buying them at the Apple store. So most people just have the one that comes with the phone, and stays at home. They either charge the phone overnight and hope it lasts, or depend on the kindness of others to loan them their chargers at work.

My charger-loaning kindness is at 0%.

Instead of absconding with my charger—and making me hunt you down to get it back—there's no reason you can't have a backup charger all your own to keep with you at all times. They sell them everywhere. From the checkout counter at CVS (next to the nail clippers) to the checkout line at Nordstrom Rack (next to the hair ties).

They come in all colors, lengths and not only do they improve how long your battery lasts, they also improve how long our friendship will last. Win-win.

Don't get me wrong: next time the battery icon in the upper right of your home screen is in the red, by all means do the sensible thing and ask if you can borrow someone's charger.

Just don't ask me.

I can run but I cannot hide

You'd think I'd learn by now, but some lessons you just have to keep learning.

Let's start here. For years I went without a flu shot. The reason wasn't some protest against big pharma, some wildly allergic reaction or an irrational fear of CVS nurses wielding hypodermic needles. The reason was I never got the flu.

That all changed four or five years ago when "Is it cold in here? I have the chills." turned into "Oh my God, I'm dying! Hold that thought I'm going to the bathroom. Again." I came down with the flu from hell. Ever since, I've gotten my annual flu shot right at the start of the season. I don't care if it doesn't protect against all the strains. At least I'm not getting the ones it covers.

But, come to find out, a flu shot isn't a guarantee.

I was feeling pretty good about not having gotten sick, even though people around me at the office were dropping like overworked, underpaid flies. Then a funny thing happened. My throat got sore, my nose got runny and my sleep got sneezy. Still, because I'd taken today as a paid day off, thinking I'd get around to errands I didn't do over the holidays, I refused to entertain the thought I was going down for the count.

My thinking changed this morning when I got full on chills. Started making bathroom runs faster than Carl Lewis. And blew through (pun intended) boxes of tissues with the usual cold symptoms.

The good news, and I hate to jinx it but I'm going to say it anyway, is I haven't had any fever. And, as anyone who knows me will tell you, it'll take more than a few rogue germs to kill my appetite.

The bad news is I'm taking my daughter who's home from college and her friend to brunch at the Magic Castle tomorrow. They took a few planes to get here, and they've been looking forward to this for awhile. Disappointing them is not an option.

So I'll be mixing a little magic potion of my own in the morning, starting with a Coricidin omelette and a DayQuill chaser to get me through the day.

Then, it's back home and to bed until this thing runs its course.

I'm trying to think of a snappy line to end this post. A flu-related joke that'll leave you laughing. Alright, smiling. Okay, not tossing the laptop across the room.

But I got nothing. So instead, I think I'll go back to bed and binge a television show about a meth kingpin named Walter White.

That always makes me feel better.

Brace yourself

Way back in January, I was taking my son somewhere. I don't remember exactly where, but knowing him it was probably a movie, a panel discussion about a movie or to meet friends so they could go see a movie.

Anyway, I forgot something in the house, so I bounded up the four brick steps on our walkway, then caught my foot on the top step and went down faster than a My Big Fat Greek Wedding sequel.

I hurt my left wrist pretty bad and thought I'd broken it. So I went to our local urgent care and, after an X-ray and exam, learned it was just a severe sprain. They wrapped it up in a wrist brace, gave me some Advil and said to take it easy.

I didn't really think much more of that visit until I got the bill for it. The charge for the X-rays and exam were fine. It was the charge for the wrist brace that caught my eye: $307.55. Here's the funny part: this Urgent Care facility is next door - literally twenty feet - from a CVS drug store, which happens to carry the exact same wrist brace for $28.79.

This aggression will not stand man.

I called the billing department and talked to Eric. He was very understanding, and saw right away the charge for the brace was excessive. He was going to have a supervisor review it, and meanwhile he was putting my bill on hold. God love you Eric, you made this so easy.

What I found out was apparently Eric was a little lax on follow through.

Weeks later, I received another bill with the exact same charge. So I called again and spoke to Carlos this time. Clearly Carlos was a man of action. Unfortunately, it was the exact same action as Eric, which was no action at all.

Long story short, I spoke with Carlos a second time when I received yet another bill, and Aida when I received a collection letter. All of them told me, repeatedly, my bill would be on hold while the amount was being disputed.

I called one more time, and got my old pal Eric again. Eric and I go way back. He was shocked, shocked I tell you, to learn this matter hadn't been resolved. So he put me on hold, then put me on with his supervisor, Bob.

It was evident to me Bob the supervisor was suffering from a medical condition called full of shit.

The symptoms are fairly easy to diagnose, even for a layman.

Blatant lies like "that's what we pay for the wrist brace" and "we've already put it in the system, we can't reverse it" that are easy to shoot down. Unwilling to confront and accept facts, like when I told Bob he actually could reverse it and there was no way it cost that much. He then apparently had a psychotic break, telling me urgent care doctors never refer patients to CVS to get medical equipment, despite the fact I informed him I'd been directed there many times to pick up a bandage, gauze or some kind of ointment (never a fan of that word).

At the end of the conversation, Bob's condition must've flared up. He said he couldn't do anything, and I told him no, he was choosing not to do anything (my therapy dollars at work). Without any investigation of his own, he replied that yes, he wasn't going to do anything.

Clearly, Bob wasn't familiar with Jeff letters.

Moments after hanging up with Bob, I sat down and wrote the CEO of the hospital system that runs the urgent care. I explained the situation, why it was unacceptable, attached pictures of the proximity of the CVS to the urgent care center as well as copies of the numerous bills and the collection letter.

Bob didn't know it, but he'd messed with the wrong cowboy.

Within 24 hours, I received a call from the VP Director of Patient Billing. She was apologizing up and down the place for my experience with her department. Of course the charge was excessive, and she was removing it from the bill leaving a balance of zero. Then, icing on the cake, she informed me she'd already spoken with Bob, Eric, Carlos and Aida about how they could've better handled my situation.

I imagine Bob's medical condition resolved itself right through his pants when he heard she was calling.

She also asked if I'd be willing to come in and talk to her department - including the people I'd spoken to - and give a talk about the experience from a patient point of view, and make suggestions how it could be improved.

God knows, I love playing a big room, so I told her I'd be happy to.

The moral of my story is next time you get an outrageous bill, medical or otherwise, don't just whip out the check book and gripe about it. Write a letter - to the person at the top - and ask them to do something about it. You have nothing to lose. More often than not, in my experience, they'll take some sort of action to resolve the issue.

And if you wind up talking to Bob, say hi for me.

Piercing observation

Picking up a prescription at CVS the other day, this woman was ahead of me in line. And, like you, I couldn't help noticing her neck piercing. In fact I was so focused on it, I almost overlooked the one in the cartilage of her left ear.

My first thought was how much it must've hurt getting it. The two reddish dots on each side of the piercing didn't look like the daily alcohol swabbings were going particularly well.

My second thought was why her neck?

As a rule, I don't have any problem with piercings. In fact I wear two earrings in my left ear (it used to be three, but the third hole never healed - let's leave it at that). I got them years ago while I was working at Tracy Locke, and I asked this cute girl I worked with if she liked guys with earrings.

After she said yes, I broke a land speed record getting to a store on Melrose called Maya and had my ear pierced by yet another cute young girl.

Just for the record, that was the last thing I did that either of them liked.

To me, the secret of a great piercing is like buying a house: location, location, location. Why squander a perfectly good one in a location no one is going to see it? Or at least not enough people to make it worth the effort.

But I suppose that's better than going completely overboard like Pinhead over here with so many that absolutely everyone can't help but noticing.

Moderation, so I'm told, is the trick.

The issue occasionally comes up with my own kids. When my daughter was 9, we were on a trip to San Francisco and walking through the Emporium Mall on Market Street. She asked me if she could get her ears pierced while we were there. And, you know, thinking I actually had a say in the matter, I told her sure. She was ecstatic, right up until she saw the horrified look on my wife's face. The one that says to her "You're too young for earrings." And says to me "Maybe you should've discussed this with me before you just blurted out she could have them."

I get that a lot.

The deal we struck was that when we got home she could get them pierced. The plane hadn't even touched down before we were at a Claire's in some mall getting her ears pierced. I would've bet her allowance she was going to cry. She didn't. That was her mother.

My 15-year old son has started rumblings about getting his ear pierced. And I'm well aware that I don't have a lot of ground - as far as setting examples go - when I tell him no.

But he's mighty involved in acting, and nothing looks worse than a piercing hole in a close up shot. So far that's keeping the discussion at bay.

That and the fact I keep telling him if he gets me a potato, an ice cube and a pin I'll do it for him.