BUBBALOO DECIDES THAT IT IS NOW TIME TO BUY LIFE INSURANCE – AN OLD RANT

In the early days after returning to Calgary and trying to establish myself in the business world, I might admit that I had become a wee bit stressed out physically, financially and mentally. I could not bring it up because it meant an admission that I might have been too hasty in uprooting our family, throwing caution to the wind and recklessly entering the realm of entrepreneurship. And for all that know me, you already know that I was never going to admit to a mistake or to show weakness. Just at a point where I feel that nothing else could be piled on my head, and that no one could possibly think of anything else to further burden me with, enter ol’ Bubbaloo.

She was now fully in charge of the office, the tenants, our girls, and ruled with an iron fist. No amount of stress was too much burden for me; so one day she decided that I now needed to buy Life Insurance, just in case I had the big one, before I finished making us completely financially independent. I suppose she was the best gauge of my life expectancy and could feel that under the load I imposed on myself, it was very possible that a “jammer” of the old heart could happen. She was a little “ray of sunshine” as she delicately explained all of the bad things that would befall her and the girls if I was no longer there to hold up my end.

I know she did so with the best intentions, however, I don’t remember our little conversation easing my burden in any way. Try as I might, I could not see the purchase of insurance helping to relieve my stress. As always in our life, I swelled up in protest, but after a bit of bluster, I whimpered out, “ok dear, whatever you say dear, please set it up dear, I would be happy to give them some of my earnings dear”. But on the inside, I was steamed and protesting vigorously. I then promptly forget the conversation and went about my business.

Not ol’ Bubbaloo though, she was not about to forget. About a week or so later, she informs me that I need to be present on Thursday morning, because an insurance agent was coming by to see if I qualified for insurance with their company. Qualify? Immediately my temperature went up, the hackles on my neck bristled, and a hot bubble of molten anger started to rise from my stomach. “Qualify” I screamed,”bring the SOB in here and I’ll show him who qualifies”! “Now Jimbo” says Bubbaloo,”you just calm down and please be nice to this guy, after all it is for your own good.” She was a smooth talker alright.

Now I can’t think of much else, apart from, someone coming over to check if I qualify to give them some money every month. Geezus, remind you of anyone? Perhaps Costco, who wanted me to pay money to go spend money in their ugly bare cement floor warehouse. What’d they think I was an idiot? Now I’m really working myself into a fit. Bubbaloo reminds me that she will be just outside of my office, at her desk, and that she better not hear me swearing or otherwise abusing this leech that she had sicced on me. Come the time for our meeting and I am in a right state of mind.

Fully threatened of the consequences by ol’ Bubbaloo, I decide that I will not attack this guy, if he doesn’t say anything I consider demeaning to my intelligence. In he comes, a young pleasant looking guy, marginally past the first shave days, dressed in a $100 dollar suit and looking just as professional as a life insurance salesman could. We are introduced by Bubbaloo who offers us coffee and trys to stimulate some mutual interest between us, just to start the ball rolling. She closes my door to leave us alone. Well everything is fine up to this point. We chitchat. I like hockey, football, drinking beer, smoking and boxing, he prefers long runs, veggie food, an occasional red wine and cardio workouts.

Quickly I realize that we are probably not going to form a lifelong brotherhood. Now down to business, he starts out by explaining to me all of the benefits that I would receive by buying insurance from them, even if it meant spending my last dollar to do it. He also goes through the process for determining if I am eligible for insurance. I sit patiently, but hope he stops soon, as I can feel those hackles start to stand up once more. Not this guy, he had taken the full insurance salesman’s course and was going to use every minute of it on me.

He finally has to come up for air and I interject, “hey, let me see if I got this right? Are you telling me that if your examination determines that I am healthy and likely to live long enough to pay you guys many years of premiums, that you then will sell me insurance?” He starts to squirm a bit, I’m sure he also took the class on reluctant customers, and could now see where this is going. And further, I say “and if you guys determine there is any risk of me having the big one anytime soon, then there is no way you are selling me anything, right so far?” He is now looking for an escape route and throws out response number 3, from the class on difficult customers, “of course we at XYC Insurance want you and your family to live a long and healthy life.”

I guess so they can collect healthy premiums for a long and healthy time. What else? Now I’m getting pissed. I raise my voice just loud enough so I know that ol’ Bubbaloo can hear, and I tell him, “Bud, you have the wrong person in this room. You and I are on the same side! We both are betting that I am going to live a long long time, you to collect many premiums and me so I don’t need immediate insurance. The one you need in this room is Ol’ Bubbaloo! She is the one betting that I’m gonna die soon! Both you and I are betting on me to live!” I listen closely and think I can hear a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door. By now the agent is at a loss on how to proceed. He does not know what to say, because now he can see my point, and maybe even agrees with me a bit.

We are at an impasse, when in flounces Ol’ Bubbaloo. She knows full well what has transpired and is now going to try and save the day. I see a look of relief on the young guy’s face. He is packing up his stuff, knowing full well that he is not selling insurance to me. I just say, “Bubbaloo this guy needs to speak with you. Seems like you are the only one here that thinks I need insurance. Maybe you and him can put together a policy for us.” With that I leave, outside, to smoke and let my latest, stroke inducing, rant fall off me like a shroud. Again, this may sound unbelievable, but I will leave it up to ol’ Bubbaloo to say if I have spoken the truth!