Well, friends, it's that time of the year. The time when individuals all throughout the office are in a panic over the choices in health insurance.
Each year, we get a packet of information detailing the benefits of each plan, designed to have us asking bizarre questions about what prescriptions and services are provided. Then, we all ceremoniously pretend to ignore said packets until the last possible day (which would be today) to make our decision.
At such time, we start screaming questions down the hall about flex plans and tax savings and eye care as if we, 15 rather rational adults, can't figure out these mysteries without heavy hand holding and pats on the back.
And so, as I've just proclaimed to my insurance-induced-comatose coworkers, I wish I didn't have a choice. I just want them to choose for me and then let me bitch about it. I don't want to regret my decision of A over B in 6 months because it didn't cover a broken toe; I want to blame someone. The Man, if you will.
Which has lead me to the following Carrie Bradshaw-like epiphany: Why do we have so many freakin' choices? When our founding fathers threw tea in the harbor, do you think they were thinking, hmmm, I hope someday Americans have a choice of 55 different kinds of brewed delicacies in a large 15-acre store that looks like a box? No, I don't think so.
We, as Americans, are over-choiced. Since when did picking toilet paper require major thought and consideration? I could write a dissertation on the benefits of two-ply over single ply with ripples.
For the love.
Editor's Note: This in no way means that I want my choices taken away. This is a rant, folks, not a lifestyle change.
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