How I Will Die

NewBlue feels a cough. A sniffle. Ahhhh-choo.

NewBlue skips to the doctor.

Doctor: You're sick. You need these three drugs to get better.

Doctor scribbles prescription.

NewBlue walks to the pharmacy, waits in line for 20 minutes.

Pharmacist: Ah here we go. That'll be $5.000*

NewBlue: Whaaaaaaaaaat?

Pharmacist: Well your insurance information has expired and we have the wrong address for you and you didn't dot and "i" somewhere plus you just don't look that sick so straighten this shit out, or pay the 5 grand and the hemorrhoid cream in on isle 3.

NewBlue walks home, picks up the phone and calls the prescription people to get the information but the information is out of date and has to call the insurance people to bring it up to date so he calls the insurance people and the insurance people say you have to contact your human resources in order for them to update your information and address change and they'll pass it on to the insurance people and the prescription people who will get you those shiny id cards in order to get your medicine and a reasonable price oh but first you have to fill out a change of address form and send it to this person then you have to enroll in the benefits with this form that goes to this other person all the while that should have been done two weeks ago but you were trouncing' around the woods of Maine instead and now that you're sick and already missed two days of work things look even easier now don't they so everything will be fine in 7 to 12 business days.

On the way back to the pharmacy, crawling, NewBlue dies.

Because all this shit gives him a headache.

Or tumor, as the coroner calls it, after they scraped him out from under the street cleaner that ran over his cold, lifeless body, a few blocks from the pharmacy.

*5000 is a bit exaggerated, but when it is too expensive, it may as well be.