The Bourne Redundancy

The Bourne redundancy, or:
The ultimate movie sequel

ARMEN PANDOLA

Bourne, that king of the Frequent Flier miles, is back. And this time he’s really mad.

Without giving too much of the current Bourne sequel away, I can tell you that in The Bourne Ultimatum, the protagonist Jason gets chased— in a car, on a motorbike and on foot. Also, he chases people. Sometimes the people chasing him and the people he’s chasing are the same people. As you can imagine, odds are that once in a while they meet up– and when they do, there’s plenty of bone-cracking, shin-splinting, head-butting action.

Which raises the obvious question: Where does Bourne go from here? As it happens, I’ve obtained a secret copy of the next Bourne sequel, The Bourne EOB. That’s right: The Bourne Explanation of Benefits.

It seems that the 42 serious auto accidents and 28 blood-spilling fights Jason has been subjected to over the last few years have rendered him a chiropractor’s delight. Fast approaching 40, Jason decides that he needs medical care before he can go on. And he vaguely remembers that he is still part of the Agency, a governmental entity– the only employer, in fact, that extends real benefits these days.

So Jason applies for treatment. He finds his medical card for COVERTHEALTH in an old box full of photos of a lovely girl he can’t recall. The card says to call the health care provider’s hotline— 668-268-3733— for coverage questions. After spending six days on hold, Jason decides to go directly to the source.





Your Post Office in peace and war

The only address on the card is a Post Office box in Duluth, Minnesota. Jason wants to talk to someone, anyone about his benefits. So he needs to find the name of the elusive owner of that P.O. box.

Jason now confronts his toughest foe: the U.S. Post Office. No, they can’t give out that information. No, they don’t have anyway of crosschecking. No, there are no regulations. No, there are no appeals. No, we don’t do that. No.

Jason, now visibly limping— again— needs immediate medical care. In desperation, he sends COVERTHEALTH a letter. Six months later, Jason (now bed-ridden) receives a reply. Yes, they tell him, you are covered. But before you can receive treatment, you must pick a primary care physician. Jason selects the approved doctor closest to his home in Washington, D.C.

Next morning, he is off to see his primary care doc in Karachi, Pakistan. Jason tells the doctor of the daily pains in his legs (from all those karate-kicks to his shins) and the constant numbness in his hands (from the sciatica caused by the 42 un-seat-belted crashes). He requests an MRI to pin down the problem.

His primary recommends a heat pad and rest. Jason asks: How about a prescription for some morphine? Two Motrin, the doctor replies– extra strength.

The cunning and elusive benefits manager

Six weeks, 14 dead bodies and 52 wrecked cars later, Jason tracks down the benefits manager and obtains the necessary script for physical therapy at the facility nearest his home in Washington, D.C.

Next morning, Jason’s on a plane to Caracas, Venezuela. He begins a series of back and neck treatments. But after three visits, he’s told that he needs to get a renewal on his script for physical therapy.

Four weeks, two wrecked helicopters, three dead lovers and 16 dead claims managers later, he’s back in Caracas. Three visits later, he’s told that he has reached his limit for physical therapy visits.

Now Jason is really mad, again. He must get to Washington and find the benefits coordinator who got him started in this mess.

Next day, Jason stands on the roof of one of Washington’s faceless buildings, staring through a high-powered monocular at an elderly man sitting in his office. Jason dials his number.

“Yes?”

“This is Jason Bourne.”

“So?”

“I want you to approve me for a back fusion operation.”

“Yeah, right. Well, you’ll have to submit a JJ-972 and have your primary—“

“I’m not going through channels.”

“There’s no other way. Let me put you on hold and transfer you to—“

“You look a little tired.”

“I look— hey, where are you?” The manager jumps from his seat and phones security.

The final showdown

A car chase around the beltway, 16 dead bodies, a blown-up embassy and two motorbike chases through the halls of Congress later, Jason is alone in a small room with the HR guy who supervised Jason’s incoming paperwork when he first signed with the Agency. Jason pulls out a SIG-Sauer SIG Pro SP2009 (9 mm.) pistol. The old man freezes.

“Remember,” the old man pleads, “remember, you said you wanted the managed care plan— COVERTHEALTH— so you could also pick the dental plan on the menu of benefits. Remember?”

“Yeah,” Jason replies, “but it was my first day and I just wanted to–“

“You chose it– you.”

“But I never thought I would really need it. I mean, I was so young.”

“Not any more.”

“And I thought they had pretty good coverage for the price.”

“Did you ever look at their phone number?”

“Yeah, I tried calling it dozens of times. They just put you on hold.”

“What’s their phone number?”

Jason glides through his photographic memory. “668-268- 3733. So what?”

“What do those numbers spell out?” the old man asks rhetorically.

“Oh no!” Jason screams. “Oh no!”

“That’s right,” the old man smirks. “NOTCOVERED!”