
I've reached kitty détente, found gainful employment and I'm going to war with Chevron.
The cats make me happiest, both for their choice of sleeping spots (extra bedroom and not on my black work clothes) and because I felt like an evil, very bad leader for forcing Donna to put up with Alonzo. As far is Alonzo is concerned, I put his beloved person in a van and sent her away, but his wrath is still less intense than Donna's almost 2 month long quest to make me feel like the worst person alive. All the while she was sneaking in the back window late at night.
I have my 5am-2pm job (or as I like to call it, my night job) to thank for foiling the cat caper. Given that every job I've had since that horrible turn at McDonald's at 17 has been with a company that closed, or with myself as supervisor/owner, or stretching it, as a caregiver with dead clients, getting an interview has been difficult. Too many people that
do have a good paper trail out there. I swore I'd take this first offer that wasn't part of the scam vortex of marketing/insurance/work at home. I did, I'm a retail merchandiser and I'm having a blast.
My one sided war with Chevron will not end well, but it should be good for some goofs. My Dad worked for one company for 35 years, but it tended to sell off parts and regroup, and the end result is that he,then Mom got four pension checks. CononcoPhillips was supposed to handle the lesser companies, and took my word that my Mom died. I would think that fiends don't often call to stop all money coming to old ladies, especially fiends with all the right information, including the bank account the money was being put into, but you never know.
Chevron had a tiny slice, and has been sending $50.85 a month. I called them directly today when the second wrong check was deposited. It started promisingly enough, a friendly voice after a few minutes of phone bank hell. I was mellow. They had no record, so I gave the cheerful woman all the information. She then warned me to get a pencil and paper and rattled off addresses and phone numbers and announced I would have a specialist, a Mrs. Tira ____. I had to take special notice of the spelling, and the Mrs. Since I wasn't getting any Mrs./Ms. or Miss love, I wasn't too interested. Why was I being given all this info? My cheerful woman was losing her cheer. I was to wait 48 hours for Tira to investigate my situation before contacting her, and I could go ahead and take the address to mail my packet. Contact her? Packet?
Situation? Well, yes because they need a certified copy of the death certificate, forms, and probably a hair sample and death mask. That did it.
I told her I wouldn't be sending a certified copy of the death certificate because I had no more, and had no intention of spending another $12 per.(A lie, I have two.) The shocked silence was priceless. "But you HAVE TO!" she finally spit out.
"Nope."
"But we can't stop sending checks until you do!"
"I've notified you, and Mrs. _____ can contact me if she has any questions."
"But we can't do anything until you send the death certificate."
"Fine with me, it's going to be a long time coming. You have a great day."
"Chevron would like to extend their sincere sympathies for your loss, and have a nice day." Click.
Stupid? Probably. Four years ago Conoco/Phillips/Chevron/BP screwed their legacy retirees as vigorously as they possible by continuing to offer group health insurance as required by union contract, but replacing well known companies like Kaiser and Blue Cross with Mystery Medical, knowing that oldsters wouldn't drop their coverage or leave their doctors. Nothing like saving a few bucks, huh?