Hello, Dear Reader! It’s been a minute since I wrote a rant post (I think this one was the last one). So, it’s high time for one now. Because you definitely wanna read hear some ancient, embarrassingly over-privileged guy complain about petty things. Right?! Right . . . ? Bueller?
Well, I’m the one tapping away scribbling here, so you get what you get and you don’t get upset. Sorry to so bluntly point out the power dynamics here, Dear Reader.
Anyhoo . . . Thing Two (The Younger) recently participated in a major athletic event (The Event) in another town. Like bigly athletic and a yuge event. All the rest of us in The Family went out to support him. My Dear Old Dad (DOD) flew in from out of state to join us.
Oh, shift!
Given The Event’s size and scope, there are a gazillion things going on at any point during its duration. Hundreds of volunteers are recruited to fill several hundred shifts. The Missus and I volunteered for four four-hour shifts.
Our responsibilities didn’t require more than one person to handle them. But the organizers nevertheless had us each paired with one other person during each shift. Fine by me I thought. I figured I’d meet and chat away with someone new and walk away generally happy.
Yeah, that’s how it shoulda been. Alas, it weren’t so.
On the one hand, I was happy to help, and did my job. Plus, I showed up on time for my shifts. . . . which started at 5:00 a.m. Heck, I showed up 5-10 minutes early each time. I should mention that while I’m a morning person, I don’t wake up 5:00 a.m. early. I do not like waking up that early. No, I do not, Sam I am.
But I did it anyway. . . . Because I promised to.
I keep my promises. On the rare occasion that I can’t, I apologize. Profusely. And do whatever I can to help make things right. That’s how I’m wired, but I think all this is table-stakes courtesy.
Fulfilling my responsibilities brought me satisfaction. But on one of my two shifts, my covolunteer cancelled. For the other shift, one of The Event organizers told me after I arrived that my covolunteer would be running late (never mind the organizer didn’t tell me this until an hour into my shift), but notably didn’t say that she’d not be showing up at all.
My covolunteer ultimately showed up . . . at 7:15 a.m. She neither explained nor apologized for her tardiness. Now, I wasn’t owed an explanation or apology. But by my pretty reasonable moral code, one or both should’ve been forthcoming. I mean, not only did my covolunteer arrive late, but she also knew (or should’ve presumed) that I arrived on time. . . . at 5:00 a.m. Because that fact bears repeating.
That rankled. A lot. As for the volunteer the day before who cancelled, I got no explanation from anyone for their absence. Here, too, I was owed no explanation or apology. But one or both would’ve been nice.
Cue my rant. I’m pretty sure that my covolunteers acted as they did because they had no skin in the game. And by skin, I mean money. Not fulfilling their responsibilities had no financial consequence for either covolunteer. Had they had money skin in the game, I’m thinkin’ that they’d have fulfilled their responsibilities. On time and in full. But instead, absent real consequences, they shrugged, thought to themselves “Too bad that I can’t do what I promised. But, oh well, there are no consequences.” Not giving a second thought to The Event organizers. And certainly not to their covolunteers.
This experience made me recall my full-time working days, during which time I sometimes handled firm-hosted client events. Some were free to attendees. The idea being that the firm would cover the cost of food, room rentals, audio visual equipment, etc. in exchange for the promise of getting new business.
Inevitably, this happened: 100 people would register to attend, but only 35 would show. The firm would spend all the money necessary to host 100 people, much of it (and the resources procured) wasted. Fun fact: the firm only very rarely got any new business from the event.
The firm later started charging for all events. Even a token registration charge—say, $25—reduced the no-show percentage. Even higher registration fees would lower the number of registrants but raise the percentage who showed up. The reason of course was that the employers who in reality paid the registration fee registrants had monies skin in the game. I found it maddening that people would register for an event, but then not only not show but lack the courtesy to let us know that they wouldn’t be showing (thus not allowing us to adjust down food orders, room rental size, etc.).
Aaarrrggghhh!
High there!
Back to The Event. DOD, who’s in his late-70s, lives at a far lower elevation than The Event’s location. Soon after arriving at The Event, The Missus and I implored DOD to drink water, to help prevent or mitigate any effects of altitude sickness he might experience. Then drink some more. And then more.
DOD assured us that he knew the benefits of drinking lotsa water and was in fact drinking a lot. But it didn’t at all look that way to me and The Missus.
DOD also many, many . . . many times, reminded us that he knew what altitude sickness was, that he’d years ago visited Cuzco, Peru (elevation 11,152′, which is higher than The Event’s location), and that he’d experienced and handled altitude sickness there.
Spoiler alert: DOD got a classic case of altitude sickness on his first night at The Event. A case bad enough that he hardly slept and felt really dizzy and nauseous.
The next morning, DOD asked us to take him to a hospital. I duly drove DOD 15 or so miles to the closest hospital. A doctor examined DOD, gave him some oxygen and a pill (ostensibly something electrolyte-related), dispensed some painfully obvious advice (such as . . . wait for it . . . to drink a lot of water and Gatorade), and sent him off on his merry way. The visit lasted all of 15 minutes. DOD’s altitude sickness disappeared within an hour ot two.
Now, I concede that DOD is getting old. But aside from joint-related issues he’s in good health and mentally all there. He has no cardiovascular issues aside from some natural, age-appropriate degradation. And, as I mentioned, he made it extremely annoyingly clear that he understood altitude sickness. And while I concede that DOD is at an age where experiencing any serious physical discomfort should at least trigger a consideration of seeking medical attention, if not going straight to a health care facility, DOD’s symptoms in this case were classic altitude sickness, which is a pretty minor “ailment.”.
But yet a hospital visit was DOD’s first instinct. While I’m not sure what the sticker price was for this visit, I suspect that it was more than $500. More if it was coded as an emergency visit.
Aaahhh, but, DOD’s on Medicare. He’ll pay $0. Or close to it. He surely knew that when he decided to go to the hospital.
OK, I’ll say it: DOD’s visit was a waste of money. Absent the visit, his elevation sickness may have taken a little while longer to resolve. But not much. Especially if he had drunk a lot of water and/or Gatorade, taken it easy, and stayed in the shade.
Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting that Medicare enrollees ought to skimp on medical care. And I’m sure that the low costs that they enjoy incentivizes life-and pain-mitigating medical attention where it might otherwise be neglected. But with those beneficial results comes waste. Lotsa unnecessary waste. Like DOD’s hospital visit. That’s what happens when Medicare removes skin from the game.
I know, I know. I’m trying to have it both ways here. On the one hand saying DOD’s visit wasn’t warranted, and on the other conceding that low- or no-cost insurance surely saves lives and pain.
But I guess I’m miffed about DOD’s situation specifically because his condition was so clearly altitude sickness, and easily should and would could have been averted or easily (and, likely, quickly) mitigated. Plus, I think my crankymeter was elevated because of the experience with my covolunteers.
And in the end . . .
OK, Dear Reader. Rant over. Sorry if you found it went kaplooey at any point.
