by Tracy Farr
The rich can afford quality health care; I can afford pizza
I’ve been reading up on health-care issues lately and I’ve come to the conclusion that I really don’t have anything to say about it. So, let’s talk about pizza.
Pizza is round. It comes in all different flavors like pepperoni, cheese or Canadian bacon. If Cici’s had a Barbecued Squirrel Pizza on the menu, I’d try it, but they don’t, and that’s that.
Pizza is mostly served hot. Sometimes I eat leftover pizza cold for breakfast. A lot of people think that’s weird. I never invite those people over to my house.
Speaking of the house, I’m pretty sure our U.S. Senators and Representatives like pizza. I bet they even have pizza delivered right to the capital sometimes, especially when Congress is in session and its members are working late into the night on such things as health care. But, I have absolutely nothing to say about that – except to ask why our elected officials can have pizza delivered to their house, just like we can, be we can’t have the same quality health coverage delivered to our house, like they have?
But I digress a little.
Pizza has a history dating back to nobody knows when because Pizza History is not taught in schools. Quick research through the internet tells us that pizza was a poor man’s meal, brought to America by Italian immigrants, and became a multi-million dollar industry in 30 minutes or less.
Italian immigrants also introduced health insurance to America. The first “salesmen” were name Vito and Sal. They were brothers. Vito would suggest to a prospective client that they needed to pay for health insurance and if they didn’t comply, Sal would break their legs. And even though I just made all that up, why do I feel like I’m “paying for protection” every time I send off my insurance premium?
Our U.S. Congress was invented in 1776 so politically-oriented individuals can spend a lot of their own money in the hopes of being elected, then go off to Washington where if they feel a little sickly from eating too much pizza, they can take the afternoon off, go visit the House doctor, then head straight to bed until their tummies feel all better.
The rest of us – and I’m talking about people just like you and me – when our tummies feel a little bad, we suck down whatever’s in our medicine cabinet and head off to work because we can’t afford a “frivolous” trip to the doctor OR to miss a day’s work. No work, no pay, no taxes withheld to subsidize the health care of our elected officials.
But again, I digress just a wee bit.
Pizza is usually delivered by young people just trying to make ends meet in order to stay in college and get a good-paying job that will keep them from having to deliver pizzas for the rest of their lives.
Health insurance policies are written by upstanding members of our American community who are just trying to make sure that if an unforeseen accident occurs, we don’t think twice about seeing a doctor – and that we renew our policy ever year so they can afford their own health insurance.
Congress is inhabited by our “Elders” who always sit at the “adult” table while the rest of us sit at the rickety old card table with Little Cousin Randy who makes everything shake whenever he uses his knife to cut the roast beef.
I’ve come to the conclusion that only the rich can afford quality health care. The rest of us learn how to splint our own broken bones, pull our own teeth, or threaten our children not to get sick or hurt because then we’ll be charged three grand just for the doctor to say, “Yes, your son has a kidney stone. Tell him to go home, drink lots of water, and after he passes it, pay your bill within 90 days or we’ll send it to a collections agency run by people with names like ‘Mad Max’ and ‘Crazy Chuck,’ who just so happen to be distant cousins of Vito and Sal.”
In contrast, everybody can afford pizza, whether it be delivered, served in a restaurant, or bought frozen at Wal-Mart and cooked for 21 minutes at 400 F. Come to think of it, I’m getting hungry for a slice or two. If you want some, come on over. I don’t mind sharing.
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Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife, three children and some goats. To read more of his stories, visit his website at http://www.tracyfarr.net.