Tuesday, March 2, 2010

High Class Society? Or Not.

If you want to meet some of the nation’s finest grade specimens of humanoid, go to work for an insurance agency in Small Town, USA.

You won’t even know what hit you prior to the insanity kicking in. Now I suppose here I ought to write a disclaimer that says small towns DO contain some very lovely people who give small towns a great name. If you are one of these highly prized individuals…please come buy insurance from me to help even out my policyholder’s gene pool?! Please?!!!

Oy. The rest of them leave MUCH to be desired.

Almost a year ago, this guy came in to our office for the cheapest form of barely legal auto insurance you can get. We wrote it for him, despite the fact that he wreaked from the stench of cigarettes, the previous night’s alcohol binge and body odor. He brought in his friend the next week for the same form of cheap insurance.

From the start, this fellow was the most obnoxious form of deadbeat client. I still remember the first time he cornered me in the office parking lot on a Saturday with his 60’s-something rusty old rambler (or similar heap of junk), heated that he’d been charged an extra $2 on his insurance payment as a draft fee.

Wow. So special.

But what really sets this fellow apart is the statement he made the day he was trying to hit on our 19 year old receptionist. “I may be 62, honey, but I don’t look a day over 45. I’m not looking at ever getting married again, but I sure do like a girl who knows how to have a good time.” Wink, wink. “And I always have a solid $250 in my bank account from my social security.”

Isn’t that just living the high life.

We used to call the fellow Bethany’s boyfriend. It got so bad with the flirting that she and I would conveniently be busy any time he would call or show up so that LaNette had to deal with him. Being the motherly type, she would always put him in his place without taking any of his crap. But now, they’ve gone and left me to handle him all on my own, so Tom T has decided it’s funny to call him MY boyfriend now. GuuuuROSS!!!

He came in the other day to get his buddy’s insurance started up again. The policy down payment came to a whopping 39.10 and he dished out $40. I applied the full $40 since we don’t keep change in our office.

“Hey where’s my $1.90?!” the genius, addition-challenged dude whined.

“Your 90 cents?” I queried back. “We don’t keep change remember? I applied it to the policy. Unless you want it back in pennies.”

“How about I take it back in trade?” he winked.

Gag me. Gag me with a SPOON.

How gross and perverted do you have to be to proposition someone young enough to be your granddaughter?! How twisted and desperate would *I* have to be, to accept such an offer?! (I mean, MAAAAYbe if he were a regular Hugh Heffner complete with a fabulous mansion and lots of dough, I’d be tempted. Just sayin.)

Yes, come to work for small town agency and you meet all sorts of characters. If that flavor of deadbeat isn’t your style, you could go with the pathological liar with the driving record longer than their arm that “forgot my license was suspended for being convicted of a drive by shooting.” Or the 45 year old who had to take out a 7-day loan from his mommy to pay his $130 for 6 months of insurance bill cause he doesn’t work, but sits at home all day listening to tripe on the internet about how his president says he shouldn’t have to pay for insurance if he hardly ever drives. (So glad I have the government-funded deadbeat and our president here to set me, the insurance agent, straight. Gosh…who KNEW?!)

Maybe you would be entertained by the family with the teenage driver who got their license, but when mom found out how much insurance was going to cost, is conveniently “not driving anymore.” (Riiiight…like a 16 year old with a license isn’t getting behind the wheel of ANY vehicle just cause their insurance payments would’ve been $100 a month?!)

When you get bored of the lies, deception and arguments of deep woods, hippy-ville, “stick it to the man” small town, then you can enjoy the phone calls from the banks and mortgage companies. “What? I know we required YOU to put on a binder that we were paying the client’s house insurance, but we don’t know what you’re talking about 6 months later and certainly aren’t responsible for why their insurance cancelled.” “Oh what’s your fax number? I needed this paperwork I’m sending you like, yesterday. So now it’s your fault if our mutual client can’t close and loses this fantastic interest rate cause you didn’t drop everything you were doing to help me.” “Yes. Please just write this home policy with no information, not even an appraisal. And I need it today.”

Is it any wonder at the end of a long day, that I find myself thinking dangerous thoughts of murder and physical abuse to others?!

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