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My dead grandfather introduced me to my insurance broker
My grandfather died a month ago after a long struggle with a crippling cancer that made his last days sheer agony. He was a wonderful man and his loss was my first personal encounter with death. It was also my first personal encounter with insurance brokers. There’s a strange thing that happens when someone, especially someone who was a relatively high-profile public figure like my grandfather was, dies and I’m not just talking about passing from one realm to another or any of the strange procedures carried out by embalmers. First of all there’s a death notice that get published in the newspaper, and it gets listed in a column pretty close to another for funeral arrangements and another for insurance brokers and another for escort services. Everybody has something to sell these days it seems and very little shame about where and how they try to do that.
In my case what made matters worse was a small article in the local paper that also mentioned the far from insubstantial inheritance gramps had left me which was certainly enough for me to file away my cv permanently with only three years work experience on it. My phone started ringing off the hook, lawyers, investors, people looking for investment in their half-baked ideas, a circus manager begged me to sponsor another elephant. But none of this affected me too much until I got the first call from one of the insurance brokers. In retrospect I do not believe he ever mentioned that he was in fact an insurance broker, but he had a warm and lively voice and introduced himself as “James, James Whorelington-Smythe, my grandfather was dreadfully good pals with your dear grandfather in the good old days you know.” Needless to say I accepted his invitation to a picnic on his country estate that coming Saturday immediately after the funeral.
The strangest weather greeted me when I woke that Saturday morning and presented enormous difficulties as to the correct choice of insurance broker, I mean funeral, clothes. It was intermittently raining cats and dogs, perhaps I should tell that pesky little girl to go and catch one, and as clear as a sunny day in Spain. To be honest the thought of the funeral made me want to slit my wrists, but I simply had to remind myself that I would be seeing my insurance broker there as well and I managed to pull myself together as the church grew closer and closer.
Dispirited I approached the cobblestone steps to the quaint little church in which my father had also married my mother, his second wife, and out of nowhere I felt a slight gentle pressure on my right elbow. Restraining the impulse to slap away the invading hand, I looked up to the face it belonged to and knew at once that I had found the perfect insurance broker for me.
James never did learn not to approach me announced I’m glad to say and over the years we’ve visited that same church many times over, Our wedding, our second wedding, all marriages have their rough spots, and then the christenings of our eight beautiful boys. The triplets are having a joint wedding next month and everybody is very excited. Of all the things my grandfather left me, I am most grateful for my insurance broker.
