I was in danger of becoming one of 47 million Americans without health insurance. So it was really important for me to talk to a human being-in person.
My COBRA coverage was about to end, and so I began my odyssey looking for a way to convert my health insurance to another policy. What I found was a maze of phone trees and requirements and paperwork, with everyone referring me to someone else.
Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield was my first call. I was told that in order to apply for coverage, I must have a “certificate of credible coverage” that states the date that my old coverage ends. Without that end-date it is no good. So my next step was to get that document. But guess what? In my case, you can’t get an end-date on a certificate of credible coverage until your insurance lapses.
“So,” I said on the phone to yet another agent working a phone bank in California, “Let me get this straight. I can’t get coverage from you until you get this certificate, and I can’t get this certificate until my insurance lapses, and I’m supposed to just trust that I’ll be getting insurance from you?”
“I know,” the agent said sympathetically. “It makes a lot of customers nervous to think about their coverage lapsing, but that’s the way it is.”
Nervous? Try apoplectic. At this point, I felt the need to talk to someone who was actually in Colorado. I tried Anthem’s “303” number and it lead back to another phone tree. I decided to go straight down to the office and see someone face- to-face.
I loaded up my three children, ages 8, 6 and 1, and headed for 700 Broadway. As we pulled in, my six-year-old daughter asked, “Is this the Dollar Store?”
“No, honey,” I said, “this is the insurance company. We’re going to the Dollar Store afterward.” I had shamelessly lured them with the promise to spend a dollar of their allowance.
I cruised the parking garage until I found a spot marked “Visitor”. We piled out of the minivan and walked into a long, desolate hallway. I saw a woman waiting at an elevator and asked, “Do you know where I can find an insurance agent to talk to?”
She looked at me with sympathy. “You’d better go to the first floor and check with security.”
We took the elevator down and found a security guard sitting behind a desk. “Who are you here to see?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I need to find someone who can answer some questions about applying for health insurance.”
He grabbed a brochure on the counter and handed it to me. “This is what they tell us to give out to anyone who comes wanting to talk to someone in person.”
I looked down and saw the phone numbers, all of them looking very familiar to me. I looked back up at the man. “Can I speak with a supervisor, please?”
“Sorry, no.”
I breathed deeply. “So you’re telling me I can’t speak to anyone in person? That a prospective customer, or even a paying customer, cannot speak to a human being here?”
“No,” he answered.
My children watched me closely. They knew that look of frustration. “Thanks,” I said, and with my entourage, I headed back to the garage.
As we pulled away from our parking spot, my daughter asked, “Mommy, why do they have visitor parking if they don’t want any visitors?”
Good question, I thought. So I posed that question to Anthem’s corporate communications person.
She explained that the Denver office used to have a ‘drop-in” center for people who came in with questions, but because so much business is done over the phone they’ve found there is no demand for it. About a year ago, they decided instead to have a customer service center– that only takes phone calls.
“But you can request an appointment to see an agent,” she added. “You just have to be a card-carrying customer.”
Back to square one, and quite possibly, 47,000,001.
Author’s note: Weeks later, only after my old insurance had lapsed, I received word that my policy with Anthem was good to go. When my card arrived in the mail, I realized I now have a real shot at speaking to someone face-to-face.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is an online-only column.
