Ever have one of those days you feel like you’re losing your mind. No wait, let me rephrase that. You wish you’d lose your mind so you wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of all the work sitting in front of you. We’re down a couple of editors and a reporter so I’m pitching in a lot more than usual. It didn’t help I stayed out too late on a school night to go bowling Monday (and posted miserable scores on top of that).

When I got to work today I scrambled to put our game plan of stories for the next day’s paper together then rushed over to Costa Mesa City Hall for a long-ago scheduled meeting with the city’s various public information officers (Thank God for those Outlook reminders). They invited me and a couple of journalists from the OC Register. We had a really constructive conversation about how we can better work together. It was a terrific idea. While on the one hand, since reporters are meant to be government’s watchdogs, there’s a bit of an adversarial relationship there, but on the other hand I think of us all as public servants trying to give you as much information as possible. I look forward to more of these meetings.

Then I ducked back into work to get a little more done, then I had to dash off to a doctor’s appointment. All I wanted was a routine physical. It was the first time at this doctor’s office. They had me fill out the usual forms for insurance and whatnot, which I did, but then they handed me a booklet full of legalese opened to one page and said, “Sign here.” Uh, what? I never sign contracts until I’ve had time to read them. I know how annoying that can be, but I have this terrible vision of me sitting there in an attorney’s office as it’s explained to me that I signed away my rights because I was in a hurry.

It clearly said in what I read of it that I was giving up my rights to sue for medical malpractice and that I would have to go through arbitration. Then it clearly spelled out that I didn’t have to sign the form.

So I declined. I handed it back to the doctor’s assistant and the look she made I would compare to the one typically caused by indigestion — or how you react when that rotten-egg-smelling gas shoots up from a sewer. She turned to her supervisor who told me the doctor could not see me unless I signed the form.

“That doesn’t make any sense. It says here that I don’t have to sign it. Why would you tell me I have to sign a document that clearly says I don’t have to sign it?”

“The insurance company says we can’t treat you unless you sign that document,” she replied.

I could tell Socratic logic would be wasted on her. And I had things to do. So I just said, “See ya’.”

Got back to the office and called the company’s new insurance company. After weaving my way through that insane tree (I’ve figured out a way to get around those voice-activated phone trees. Don’t you hate that? You sound like an idiot blurting out on the phone things like, “English,” and, when you’re finally led through all of the choices, “Representative!”), I got someone live on the phone and the operator basically starts talking to me like I’m an idiot (which, I capitulate is quite possibly the case, but I digress…).

“Sir, I’m not a lawyer. I have no idea whether it’s OK or not.”

Again, that Jesuit education was going to go to waste here, so I just started looking for a new doctor. Boy, what a lovely website the insurance company has. Wrong area codes, wrong numbers and contacts for doctors long retired. And then my favorite: I was directed to urgent-care offices. I just need a physical, for God’s sake!

Anyway, I finally found one and made an appointment for next week.

OK, now here’s the fun part. Remember how I went homeless for a night to do that 2-part series? Yeah, well, I’m about to do something even crazier. Tomorrow I’m going to have Paul Hahn, the golf pro at the Newport Beach Country Club, show me how to swing a golf club. You see, miniature golfing is about as close as I’ve ever gotten to golf. And, I have to say, I’m pretty darned good at getting the ball through that windmill, you know? I’m reminded of the time I beat several of my friends on my birthday (or did they let me win?), on the last shot by sinking a hole-in-one. (And I didn’t forget your curious preliminary accounting of the scores, Antonia. Never trust a German. They’re too competitive!).

Just wait’ll you get a load of that goofy column tomorrow. But I had to do something Toshiba-related. Let’s see if I can hit the ball more than 10 yards. Man, I even had to ask him what I should wear, and, like, I don’t have any polo shirts, dude.

See you tomorrow…

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