brief encounter

I was sitting at my desk at work when my phone rang. Not my desk phone. My cellphone. If my cellphone rings, and it's not a number I recognize, I do not answer it. I hate to talk on the phone and I certainly don't like to waste my time talking to someone I don't know well enough to have their phone number programmed into my contacts list. I stopped what I was doing and picked up my cellphone that was charging on a pad on my desk. As it continued to ring, the screen displayed the name and phone number of my insurance agent. My insurance agent retired a while ago I want to say months, but, lately I have come to realize that I have no skills for gauging the passage of time, so, it was probably more like a few years ago that he retired. As part of his retirement, he passed his customer list over to a new agent. The new agent kept the same phone number. I just never bothered to change the name to the new agent's name in my contacts.

Not my agent.

Regardless of who my insurance agent is, I still pay premiums on my car insurance, homeowner's insurance and life insurance when the bills come due. I pay them online, through the State Farm website, with just a few clicks of my mouse. And that's it. I really don't give much thought to my various insurance policies. I know the insurance on my car went up a few years ago when I replaced my twenty-year-old car with a new one. Spoke with an administrator in the office of my new insurance agent about the new rate and to update my policy with the pertinent information for my new vehicle. Aside from that, insurance is rarely, if ever, a topic of conversation.

Ummm... no thanks.

So, there's a call coming in from my new insurance agent. I stared at the display briefly before declining the call and getting back to work. I was surprised when I didn't hear the little tone that lets me know that someone had left me a voicemail message. I didn't dwell on that thought for too long, as I had work to do. As a matter of fact, I totally forgot about the whole thing.

Just this week, there I was at work again and my cell phone rang. Again. In a wave of deja-vu, I looked at my cell phone screen to see the name of my former insurance agent shining brightly above the options offered to either accept or reject the call. And, once again, I swiped the "red" option to reject the call and returned my attention to my work. This time, however, I heard that little "beep," alerting me that the rejected caller had left me a message. Since I knew who it was from and I knew I had no pressing business with them, I decided to wait until later in the day to listen to the message.

You've got mail

When I got home from work, my wife and I talked while we prepared dinner. The call from the insurance agent didn't even breach the conversation. After dinner, Mrs. P and I settled in front of the TV for an evening of sixty-year old Westerns or perhaps a Phillies game. With only half of my attention on the television, I noticed the little "voicemail" symbol on my phone. I punched in my security code and listened. A female voice identified herself as a representative from my new insurance agent's office. She went on to say that she'd like to discuss my insurance needs. She explained that she'd like to schedule a conference call with my new insurance agent that would take about thirty to forty-five minutes. She then instructed me to call back to set up such a call, reminding me of the call's importance.

When my wife and I bought our house in 1986, I called the closest insurance agent to our new home to get the homeowner's insurance required by the terms of our mortgage. I went to the guy's office and discussed the particulars. As long as I was there, I inquired about car insurance rates and was quickly presented with a list that was considerably cheaper that what we were currently paying. At the end of a meeting that took under ninety minutes, I walked out of the insurance agent's office with policies for homeowner's insurance and two new, less expensive, ones for our cars. The following year, when our son was born, I arranged for a life insurance policy for myself. That was done entirely over the phone by my agent's assistant. Over the years, we have had several claims on our insurance policies, most of which were handled on the phone. If any required a visit to the insurance office, either I or my wife, dealt with our agent's assistant. So, over the course of nearly forty years, I met my insurance agent a total of one time. Now, he is retired. If he decides — in his retirement — to turn to a life of crime and he is arrested, the police cannot rely on me to pick this guy out of a line-up.

I really, really want to call my new insurance agent and explain to her that I see no need to meet with, conference call with, or otherwise relate the current or future status of any of insurance policies I currently hold. If I feel the need to increase, decrease or otherwise alter my current insurance situation, I will surely let her know. In the meantime, I'm good. I'd also like to tell her that the one and only time I ever met my previous insurance agent was, most likely, before she was born.

I really, really want to. But I won't.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

don't waste my time

I bought a new car this week. 

After serving me well for nearly 20 years, my trusty 2004 Toyota RAV4 flashed its "CHECK ENGINE" light at me for the last time. With squealing brakes and the need for who-knows-what-else, the time had come. I actually wanted to replace my RAV4 a few years ago, but supply chains were interrupted by the worldwide COVID-19 pandemic, leaving car dealerships with empty lots and salesmen with nothing to do. With the pandemic beginning to wane and cars slowly becoming more available, I convinced my wife to take a ride up to a nearby Subaru dealer to take a look around. This particular dealership was located just a few blocks from our house for over 30 years. When I finally expressed an interest in purchasing a Subaru, they moved to a larger facility about ten miles away.

Prior to visiting the Subaru dealership, I did a little online snooping and settled on the new Crosstrek, which is comparable in size to the RAV4. I didn't want anything too big. I was very used to the size and handling of my RAV4 and the Crosstrek seemed to fit the bill. At the dealership, I was shown the only available Crosstrek on the lot. I was offered a test drive and, after a couple of loops around the large parking lot, I was ready to fill out paperwork. The whole process went very smoothly. I made arrangements to pick my new car up on Saturday.

The next day (Friday), I called my insurance company to arrange for transfer of coverage from my old vehicle to my new one. 

When my wife and I got married, we got apartment renter's insurance from an agent in the Philadelphia suburbs. I had never gotten insurance for anything before, so I went to the insurance office where Ronald, the agent, spelled everything out for me. This was the only time I ever met my insurance agent. As the years went on, we added homeowners insurance when we bought a house, car insurance when be bought a second vehicle, life insurance as our family expanded. Unfortunately, we have had several claims over the years. Car accidents, weather-related damage to our home — all handled by our agent's assistant. She was pleasant, helpful and most of all, professional. Recently, our agent (who, again, I met one time) announced his retirement. He would be passing his clients along to another agent. Our new agent's assistant called to introduce the new office — and it was instant dislike. I don't know exactly what I didn't like about her, but I didn't like her. She was brash and overly friendly on the first phone call. She was also pushy, bringing up things like discussing rates and additional coverage. In almost 40 years, I never heard a peep form my insurance agent until I wanted something... and that was just the way I liked it.

So, on Friday afternoon, I called our new insurance agent.

"Hi," I began, "This is Josh Pincus. We have several insurance policies with your office. I will be picking up a new car tomorrow. It will be replacing the 2004 Toyota RAV 4 that is currently on my policy. What information do you need from me in order to get coverage for the new car?" Pretty straightforward, huh? After all, I had to get back to work. 

"Pincus?," she questioned, "Oh right." She paused. "Is this an additional car or are you replacing one of your cars?"

Was she even listening to me? I repeated, "This will be replacing the 2004 RAV 4. Now, my wife has a 2018 RAV4. We are keeping that one."

"So not the 2018... right?" she said. Oh dear lord! Is she preoccupied with something else?

"Yes, that is correct. What information do you need from me?"

"I'll need the VIN number, the make, model and year. Oh and the sticker price."

"Well," I explained, "I won't have some of that information until Saturday when I pick the car up."

Suddenly, she sounded panicked. "Hmmm... if you could call the dealership now, they would have that information."

"I will get the car tomorrow. I can call you then."

She raised her voice a bit, sounded a tad annoyed. "We are not in the office on Saturday. It can just wait until Monday! Besides, you have two weeks to change the insurance over. You're insured in the meantime." She changed her desperate tone to one of calm in a matter of seconds. I  said I'd call back on Monday.

I picked up my new car on Saturday and gathered all of the proper information, readying it for my Monday morning phone call with my new insurance agent's assistant.

On Monday, between two projects I was working on, I called the insurance office for an exchange of information that I couldn't imagine taking more that a few minutes. The phone was answered by the same woman I previously spoke to and I identified myself again, reminding her who I was and what we discussed on Friday.

"I don't remember what you told me.," she said. "Let me start my computer." She fell silent. Then, she began to give me a real-time play-by-play of her computer's start-up procedure, describing how slow it was and questioning rhetorically "What's it doing now?" Then she began to ask about my weekend, quickly switching to making commentary about the Philadelphia sports teams disappointing performances over the past two days. I have work to do, lady! I don't have time to make nonsensical small talk with you.

Trying to move things along, I spoke up. "I have the VIN number and the other information you requested."

"Oh okay.," she said, "This is replacing which car again?"

I was losing my patience. I told her — again — the new car was replacing the 2004 RAV 4. "Can I give you the VIN number, please?'

"Yes," she said, "and when you come to a letter, use a word that starts with that letter so I don't make any mistakes."

I began. "J as in Joe. N as in Nancy. 6. 4. 3..."

She interrupted me. "What did you say after 'Nancy?'" OH MY GOD!!!!! 

I repeated the number again. Slowly. Enunciating each letter and number until I finished. She asked the purchase price and haughtily clicked her tongue in an inappropriate act of editorializing when I told her. She clicked again when I told her that we did not contract a loan or take advantage of any sort of financing. Finally, she was satisfied with all of the information I had supplied. She said she'd call if she needed anything else and we ended our conversation.

An hour or so later, I received an email with my new temporary insurance card. An hour after that, I received a phone call from my agent's assistant, asking if I received the email. I told her I did and that I even replied to her email. She said she had not seen a reply. I hung up the phone as she was telling me to enjoy my new ca—. (I clicked "end call" before she finished.)

When I got home from work, my wife told me that she had received a series of phone calls from another representative from our new insurance agent's office. This person was asking similar questions about my new car until my wife explained to him that I was taking care of everything with a different assistant in the same office.

I hope Ronald is enjoying his retirement.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

who's sorry now?

I heard the tone from my smartphone that I had just received an email. I tapped my index finger on the Yahoo Mail icon and my inbox popped up. It was a LinkedIn invitation to "Join My Network" from my former life insurance agent. I stared at the tiny screen in disbelief.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!," I muttered to myself.

The last conversation I had with him was about six months ago. It ended when I hung the phone up on him while he was in mid-sentence.

Twenty years ago, my father passed away. Just after his funeral, in keeping with Jewish tradition, my family observed shiva, the ritual period of mourning for immediate family. During this time, friends and extended family gather at a designated house and offer condolences and comfort to the mourners. In this case, my brother and I were the mourners and visitors came to my house to pay respect. On Day Two of shiva, my brother introduced me to his friend Jerry. After extending his sympathy on my loss, Jerry made no hesitation in asking how I was fixed for life insurance. He peppered his pitch with the requisite "Y'know, there's no time like the present" and "You don't want to wait" and the clincher: "Think of your child." I told him I would certainly consider his suggestion.

A week or so later, I found myself filling out a lengthy application form. A few days after that, a nurse was in my dining room, jabbing me with a needle and asking me to pee in a cup. Soon, I was paying quarterly premiums at a ten-year, locked-in rate. The life insurance bills came in and I paid them along with my cable bill and Visa bill. They became regular part of the household expenses. After ten years, Jerry renegotiated my rates after only speaking to him briefly. The bills continued as usual.

In early 2012, I received a notice from my life insurance company that my locked-in rate was expiring soon and my premium was about to double. I called Jerry.

"Why are the rates going up so much?," I asked, displaying my lack of knowledge of the insurance trade.

"Well, you're 51 years old now.," he explained, "Rates go up as you get older. You're getting closer to.... well, you know." Oh, I knew, all right.

He began to break down the usual rates for a guy my age and what I should expect to pay in premiums from this point forward. For a new policy, I would be required to take another physical. Because of various circumstances, I was not able to schedule a physical for a few weeks and by that time, my policy would have expired.

I sent Jerry this email: 

What if I don't pay the premium and I am without a policy for a month? If there is no financial penalty, I am willing to risk being without a policy until August. Is that okay? 

His reply was:

 No cause then one of you will die, and your brother will sue my ass. Please don't take that risk.

I was dumbfounded. Here was a guy that I barely knew, that I had no relationship with outside of a professional one and he was smart-assing me over something as serious as life insurance. His livelihood and my life insurance. I replied with a short and to-the-point response. I told him I would no longer be doing business with him. Period.

A day later, Jerry called me. Again, I explained that I did not like or appreciate his flippant answer to my serious question and that I didn't need to be subjected to his cavalier attitude. Then I informed him that he is not the only insurance agent on the planet. I drove my point home the way I drove the telephone receiver back into its cradle. Then, I dialed the number of my longtime homeowners insurance agent and, within minutes, I was back among the insured. Aggravation free.

Jerry's secretary called me a month later. Again, I was shocked. 

"Didn't Jerry tell you about our last conversation?," I asked — then, "Jerry is no longer my insurance agent. I thought I made that clear."

And now, six months after I angrily yelled at him and cut a conversation short with the slam of a phone, he wants me to join his business network.

I feel even better about my decision to seek insurance elsewhere.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com