Fail.

Hey, Life Insurance Medical Test Guy, I've done this before, so I know how it should work. Someone comes to your house, asks you some medical questions, has you pee in a cup, takes some blood, gives you the lamest medical exam ever, and leaves.

That's when it's done the right way. And then there's this guy.

Strike One:
The appointment is a 9:00 a.m. I have to fast - no breakfast and no coffee. I could have called the whole experience a fail just for that, but it gets worse.
When I get home from dropping Ella off at school, WAY BEFORE my scheduled appointment, there's a phone message. The medical test guy is somehow unable to find my house. I immediately call him back, but he says he's already left to go back to his office and won't be able to get to my house until WAY AFTER 9:00. I call shenanigans on that nonsense. Shenanigans!

Strike Two:
I need to give some blood. As I get older, I'm getting better at this needle thing, but I still freak out a little. My heart races, I get a little hot and sweaty, my brain enters the Twilight Zone. But I deal with it. I'm a grown-up now, for crying out loud. I deal. So the guy gets the needle ready and I look away to try and find my happy place.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little bit, but I'm okay."
He sticks me with the needle. I deal.
"Oops. I missed the vein. I'll have to do it again."
I start to freak out the tiniest bit more. My pain tolerance is low, yes, but it's the fear of more pain that kills me. I take a deep, shaky breath and look down at my arm. The vial is filling up with blood.
He didn't miss.
"Just kidding." And there's some sort of sick gleeful spark in his eyes.
What is the matter with you, guy? You see what I'm going through! I don't understand why this is funny to you. Have you NO SOUL?

Strike Three:
He finishes with the all the blood letting and is putting away all the materials. Hey, Mister! I'm not sending you a thank-you note! Gather up your fear-inducing humor and your medical torture devices and get out of my house!
He takes out an empty vial and looks at me.
"Uh-oh. I forgot to fill this one."
I stare back at him. I am no longer playing with you, guy.
"Just kidding."
Yep.
Hey, life insurance medical testing jackass, I just want you to know that this whole game would be sooo much more fun for me if not for the potential of another needle being jabbed into my arm. The fear and the pain and the racing heart and the sweat and the Twilight Zone brain.
And, by the way, REALLY? THIS IS FUN FOR YOU?

Strike Four:
He needs to measure my height and weight. He takes out the scale. This could be strike four all on its own. But it's not. Oh no, not by a long shot.
I go to stand on the scale and he says:
"Let me guess."
Whoa! No No No No No No!
And before I could tell him how completely inappropriate it is for anyone I have not paid $2 at the town fair to try to guess my weight, and without going into all the gory details, I'll just say that he guessed 20 POUNDS ABOVE my actual weight.

But he did take off his shoes when he came into my house to be polite, so how does that make sense? It doesn't.

You, sir, have failed.