Not To Mention The Asshole Doctor Minigame That Took HOURS

So Work has gone from seeming like an endless string of escort missions of Goddamn Dumb NPCs to the dreaded Giant-Sized Trading Quest Game. Which unlike escort missions are enjoyable in video games, but are substantially less so when it's insurance agencies obfuscating and obstructing and just generally demanding that every request you make be in essay form with complete sentences and at least four notarized signatures saying that yes, the patient curled up screaming on the floor is, in fact, in need of surgical pain relief.

There's probably some fascinating psychological reason why the prospect of having to brave trials to gather the Seven Jeweled Scrolls Of Darkland and present them to the King of Song and Shadow or whatever is terribly fun while the prospect of having to riffle through a chart to gather the appropriate medical records to present to Quality Specialty Neighborly United Health Plans, Inc. makes me want to staple my eyelids shut. But I do not know what that reason is. Possibly it's the sparkly jewels. But whatever it is, I am going to have to start renaming all the medical records "Darkland Scrolls," because otherwise I am going to fall on my letter-opener if I have to fax one more damn pre-authorization request.