CD890098

Ray leaned back in his computer chair, clutching his stomach as a blast of pain shot through his lower intestine. It lasted a moment, gone almost as soon as it came. He shook off the quick pang of fire with a shoulder shrug, not overly concerned over these brief flashes. Ray leaned back towards his desk and raced his pudgy fingers across the keyboard as he used his 100-words-per-minute expertise to pump out another email. He finished typing, let out a contented sigh, and smacked the enter button with a light pinkie flick. He rewarded himself by shoveling a handful of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos into his mouth, closing his eyes as he let his favorite snack rest on his tongue, sucking in the spiciness.

After a few glorious moments, he opened his eyes, and wiped his hands on the yellow kitchen rag he wore around his neck to mop up the beads of sweat that dripped onto his desk and keyboard if left alone. He glanced at the cloth for a moment. It was light pink from the mix of perspiration and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos powder. He grinned, knowing that his face had to be covered in that same red residue. He was entirely alone with nowhere to go. Appearances didn’t matter.

Ray brought his attention back to his inbox, looking for his next victim. He quickly found her and began his 31st email of the day when his phone vibrated. It was his mom calling him again to tell him to stop this “madness,” as she had put it last Monday.

The childlike glow in his eyes briefly dimmed. He wished for the thousandth time this week he hadn’t succumbed to her digging questions about what he does in his apartment all day by himself in the dark.

***

Ray’s mom, 75, rarely drove anywhere outside of her local supermarket and pharmacy. However, last Monday, after watching Gladiator on TNT the night before, a spark of bravery flooded through her, and she made the crosstown journey to Ray’s house with a coffee cake, looking to surprise her lovely son and see his apartment for the first time since she helped him move the year before.

Ray’s mom knocked on his door at 1:00 in the afternoon, her foot tapping with excitement. He didn’t answer. She knocked again, louder. He still didn’t come. Confused because this was his day off and his car was parked down below, she tried the door herself. It was unlocked. She peeked her head inside, only to see her baby boy sitting in the dark, headphones covering his ears, snickering at his computer amid dozens of empty two-liter Pepsi bottles and over 50 discarded Cheetos bags. She gasped and stood frozen in the doorway for a moment staring at her perfect little Ray Ray, who was, in fact, a 42-year-old morbidly obese “bachelor” with severe adult acne and breath that could kill a small child.

Ray’s mom took a moment to gather herself and stomped over to Ray as fast as her rickety knees would allow. She stared at him for a moment. But he was in another world, transfixed by his computer. She slapped him on the top of the head, knocking him out of whatever trance he was in. Her son ripped his headphones off and clutched his chest, shocked at the sight of his mom standing next to him.

“I schlepped myself over here to see you, and I walk into this, this, mess? What are you doing here in the dark, giggling at your computer so hard you can’t even get up to answer the door for your ma?” She asked, hands on her hips, voice shaky.

“I’m, I’m sorry, ma. I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Ray said, eyes down, still clutching at the middle of his chest.

“Well, don’t just sit there staring at the ground. Get up and turn the light on for your ma.”

Ray slowly shoved himself out of his chair and flicked on the light. He bit his lip as his mom scanned her only son’s apartment, eyes bulging.

She walked over to her son and whacked him on the shoulder. “What is going on here? You’re 42-years-old, and you live like this? How ya gonna get married like this?”

Ray slid over to his unmade bed and had a seat. He gnawed on his lower lip again, unable to look his mom in the eyes.

His mom stood over him. “I want to know what you were doing on the computer. What has you so consumed that you can’t spend 10 minutes cleaning up your apartment?”

“It’s nothing, ma,” Ray said, still unable to look at her.

She slapped him on the side of the head, stinging her hand. “You’d better tell me now. And don’t even think about lying to your ma, or I might stop sending you those checks every month.”

“I’m just emailing friends, ma.”

She slapped him again, putting her hips into it this time. “This is your last chance.”

He looked up at his mom while rubbing his head, sighed, and fixated on the glow of his computer. “Okay, ma, but you aren’t gonna be happy.”

“Go on.”

“I pretend to be an HR executive for different Fortune 500 Companies,” Ray said, starting off slowly. “I create fake job listings on different recruitment websites for full-time work. Then 100s of people who’re interested in the job, email me their resumes. I choose the least qualified people and tell them I’m interested in hiring them. Then I set up interviews with them for the next week,” he continued, talking faster, feeling invigorated now that he had a chance to lay out his brilliant scheme to someone. “The day before the candidates’ are scheduled to do their interviews, I email them and tell them something unexpected popped up, and I have to push their interviews to the next week. Then I email them again the day before the rescheduled interviews with another excuse, and then again, and again, for as long as I can drag them along.”

Ray sat on the bed smiling at his mom, eyes shining. She covered her mouth and looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. She always thought she’d been a good mom, maybe a little overprotective, but a loving mom.

“You’ve got to stop this, Ray. You’ll get caught and go to jail,” She said, unable to look at him.

“Mom, relax. I’ve built in layer on top of layer of encryption into my emails and job placement advertisements,” Ray said, crossing his arms across his man breasts. “I’ll never get caught.”

“You can’t keep doing this. The police will find you eventually,” Ray’s mom said, wiping away the tears.

***

Ray ignored his mom’s phone call and flashed his fingers across the keyboard, finishing another email in a matter of minutes. He leaned back in his chair again, his heart fluttering with joy. He couldn’t help but smile. These emails, this scam, they were a drug to Ray, his heroin of choice. There was something mesmerizing about holding another person’s hopes in the palm of his hand, about dangling that carrot in front of them, and seeing how many flattering emails they’d write him, hoping to get in his good graces, hoping to score points for their first interview.

He sighed and grabbed another handful of Flaming Hot Cheetos and pushed them into his mouth. He swallowed them down, slowly.

Another stab of pain fired off in his stomach, this one taking his breath away and making his eyes water. Ray spit out the remaining corn fragments from his mouth, grabbed at his belly, and lurched over. The bullet of pain lasted five seconds, leaving him gasping, washing away the jubilation he’d felt just moments ago.

This type of misery was too much; it felt like someone shot him at close range. He’d have to get this stomach problem looked at.

He grabbed his cell phone and called up his doctor’s office to schedule an appointment.

“Hello, Dr. Gerbstein’s office. How can I help you?” The secretary asked.

“Yes, I’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow,” Ray said, still laboring.

“Okay, we have a few slots open in the afternoon. Can I have your name, please?”

“Ray Lieberman.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lieberman, but I don’t see your insurance information in our computer system. Can you please give me your insurance provider and your insurance number?”

“One second.” Ray dug around his desk and looked inside his wallet, but he didn't see his insurance card. “I can’t seem to find my insurance card.”

“Okay then. Please call your insurance company and ask for your number and then call me back.”

Ray hung up and swiped around his desk for a few more minutes, but his insurance card was nowhere to be found. He gave up and called UnitedHealth. Their automated system talked him in circles for 30 minutes as he stared longingly at his email inbox. Finally, after thumbing the number zero repeatedly, an actual person came on the line.

“Hello, can I please have your insurance number,” said the service representative.

“Yeah, I lost my insurance card, and I don’t know my insurance ID number,” Ray said, tapping his foot. “Can you please give me my ID number so I can make a doctor’s appointment?”

“Can I have your full name and social security number?”

“Ray Lieberman, 667-90-9876.”

“Okay, sir. Your number is CD890098.”

Ray hung up without saying goodbye and called Dr. Gerbstein’s office again. “Hello, Dr. Gerbstein’s office. How can I help you?”

“Hello. This is Ray. I just called, but I didn’t have my insurance information.”

“Yes. I remember. Do you have it?”

“Yes. My insurance number is CD890098.”

“Give me a second,” the secretary said as she typed in Ray’s info.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lieberman. Your insurance has expired.”

Ray leaned back in his chair and yanked down on the pink rag around his neck with both hands, “When did it expire?”

“I’m not sure. You’ll have to call your insurance provider.”

Ray hung up the phone and glanced at the computer screen, wishing this fiasco was over. “Screw it,” he said as he tossed the phone on the desk and leaned in for another email, the idea of stringing some poor sucker along, bringing a modest smile back to his face.

He scooted his chair back towards his desk and reached for his keyboard. Fire coursed through his stomach again; it felt like he'd been blasted by another round straight into his lower intestine. He pitched over, his apartment swirling in front of him, and his head collapsed onto his keyboard with a crunch. He groaned and grabbed the phone.

Ray remained hunched over, one hand on his stomach, the pain so intense he couldn’t move. He used his free hand to dial UnitedHealth. He fought through the automated system again, sweat pouring out of his forehead while his stomach throbbed.

Finally, someone answered. “Hello, how may I help you today?” He asked

“I, I just called for my insurance number, but my insurance has expired, and, and the person didn’t even tell me,” Ray said, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry about that, sir. Our system stores all of our customers’ information, even if they choose not to renew with us. If you only asked for your insurance number, the representative might not have noticed that your insurance has lapsed. Would you like to go ahead and renew your insurance now?

“Yes.”

“Can I please have your ID number, sir?”

“CD890098.”

“Please wait a moment.” Ray sat massaging his pounding tummy, wincing at the thought of another round of torture. “Okay, sir, that will be $3,360.00 per year or $280.00 a month for the same basic coverage you had before.”

Ray’s face went cherry red, and his stomach pulsed. “Why is it so much? That’s more than double what I paid before.”

“Well, sir, your insurance expired five years ago, and according to our records during your last doctor’s visit, you had high blood pressure, and you were diagnosed as clinically obese. You’re a high-risk client, and your payments reflect that.”

“I can’t afford that,” Ray shouted.

“Sir, please stay calm. If you’re in need of financial assistance, I can transfer you to our financial aid department. They can tell you if you qualify for a government subsidy.”

Ray took a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you.”

Ray watched the minute-hand on the clock tick a full circle as he kept his head resting on the back of the chair, his stomach burning. Finally, someone said, “Hello, sir. How can I help you today?”

Ray lurched up in his chair to respond when another round of pain blasted through his stomach, two times stronger than the last flash. He gasped and fell onto the ground. His body tensed as he realized he could die alone in the dark, in his filthy studio. The insurance company didn’t care about him, nor did his doctor. They both strung him along, letting him suffer as he lay sprawled out on the ground in a pool of sweat.