With all the hoopla surrounding Obamacare, I decided to call and sign up for its implementation in our state, Covered California. I dialed 1-800-300-1506. Jose answered.
He was polite but rattled when I told him I’d rather talk to him, a human, than trust my most personal information to a problematic state government computer. He attempted several times to get me to sign up online, but I held firm. I did not want to create an online account.
Jose asked for my salary information, my age, and my husband’s information. He asked me for information from our tax returns, and if I was a citizen. Rather than provide my actual income, I used $40,000 as my annual salary, to see if I would qualify for a subsidized plan.
After running a few calculations, Jose suggested I dump my husband, who gets Medicare, from the plan to lower my income, and possibly qualify for government subsidies. “Your annual income is just below the boundary — you may qualify for assistance,”
Then the awkward sales pitch began.
Silver, blue and gold
There are four levels of health plans available, from cheapest to most expensive: Bronze, Silver, Gold and Platinum.
While Jose was explaining the metallurgy of the health plans, the 1982 Bad Company song, “Silver, Blue and Gold,” popped into my head:
In the beginning
I believed every word that you said
Now that you’re gone
My world is in shreds
I believed every word that you said
Now that you’re gone
My world is in shreds
Jose skipped right over the Bronze- and Silver-level plans and tried hard to sell me on a Gold-level health plan. He said the Bronze-level health plan had the highest monthly premiums, but was reluctant to tell me what they were.
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