"What a jerk."

I've just walked out of Panera with my sandwich, and because I'm holding the tray with an iced chai latte in one hand and the phone in the other and near my ear, on the phone with the doctor's office to get a referral for a therapist, the tea has fallen off the tray, splat! onto the pavement in front of the door.  

I confess, I actually think for a moment about whose fault it is.  The server who gave me the tray?  the woman from the doctor's office on the other end of the phone?  someone who forced me to stay on the phone and carry out the tray at that exact moment?

Oh, right, it's my fault, and it's totally okay.  I could have put the tray down inside while I finished the call with the doctor's office (the referral is important to me).  I laugh.

"What a jerk."

My mom used to say this occasionally and with humor -- I feel like I should make that more parallel, but I like it that way.  She was talking about something she'd done, and she wasn't being too hard on herself, more acknowledging that she'd made a bad choice or a mistake, and she was getting after herself mildly for it.  The one I remember most was her wanting to get the best deal at Burger King one day, so she got the whopper for 99 cents.  Later she heard something about the calories and sodium in a whopper and said, "What a jerk -- I almost killed myself for 99 cents!"

I didn't worry that my mom was giving herself a hard time.  Mostly I thought that she had a good sense of humor about herself, and her sharing her self-deprecating stories let me see lightness and humor in mishaps.  

It takes me maybe ten seconds to see that I am the jerk here, trying to justify being on the phone (because I have insurance and a primary care person who wants to follow up on why I need a referral rather than to just put it through?) and walking out of Panera with my sandwich and drink (because I love this drink and sitting outside and have some hours to myself?) at the same time.

The woman on the other end of the phone waits a moment -- did she hear the splat! or my gasp of annoyance? -- and says, "Are you okay?"  I tell her I'm fine, and we keep talking insurance and make an appointment for the next day.  Yes, my primary insists on talking with me.  No, my insurance is not correct in the system.

Back in line, I order another chai tea latte.  After I pay, I feel the need to explain my second order, "I dropped my first one," I tell the server.  She says, "Oh, I'll give you another!  You don't have to pay for it!"

I've already run my card, and really, I cannot let Panera pay for this one.  She tells me that she'll bring the new drink out to me when it's ready.

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Hours later I call back the doctor's office with insurance information.  Yep, I had it right: it's an HMO not a Connector plan even though the computer tells Noelle that I have the Connector plan (and no, I don't know what the difference is).  Noelle, the assistant, tells me, "Okay, now you need to call Newton-Wellesley and tell them to change it in their system."  

I express disbelief, "So now, after talking with you twice, I need to call them and then I need to call you back again?"

She stays calm.  "You have to ask them to change your information yourself.  I can't do it.  But then it will be automatically updated in the system, and I'll see it, so you won't need to call me back."

"Can you please give me the number?"

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The guy who picks up at Newton-Wellesley says, "Your information is fine."

"But it's not what my card says.  My primary says that it's wrong in the system, that you need to change it."

"Yeah.  Okay."

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I call back the primary and ask to speak with Noelle.  She immediately says, "I see it in my system: you're all set!"

I thank her for helping and I tell her, "And thank you for being so patient.  I was such a pill."

"No, no you weren't," she says and chuckles.

We both know I was.

We laugh.