A Weighty Issue
Chatty is afraid to go to back to bed.
Chatty’s friend the Redneck Princess had to go through the misery of signing up for term life insurance recently. She recounts her pain and near death-by-boredom here.
Chatty truly believes that hell is either sitting for eternity in a dentist’s waiting room, anticipating four root canals while they pipe in elevator music; or else it’s listening to a life insurance agent drone on forever - eventually intoning the policy aloud, beginning (as they all seem to do) with the phrase “In the event you should die…”
Chatty is pretty sure that death is a given, so she’s never understood that phrasing…possibly it’s the insurance company’s lame attempt to offset the inevitability of what you’re being forced to discuss.
Anyway, the most galling part – at least to Chatty – of the misery inflicted upon The Princess was the fact that they asked her for her weight, then apparently informed her that a NURSE would be making a HOUSE CALL to weigh her the next week. Luckily, the Princess only fibbed a little bit, but still…Chatty finds this OUTRAGEOUS. She sincerely hopes that nurse will be weighing The Prince, too – otherwise, Chatty would be scouting around for another insurance company!
Not only did Chatty find this system – asking a potential client her weight, then informing her that a nurse would be out to verify it – to be pretty much calling the prospective client a big liar, but it also lead to a nightmare.
This nightmare had Chatty in a cold sweat.
What if OTHER organizations started insisting on verification of weight?
What if (and please stop reading if you are squeamish or easily frightened) the Department of Motor Vehicles had a big ol' scale in the middle of their giant waiting room, and we had to STAND on it FULLY DRESSED and be weighed before we could apply for or renew a Driver’s License? What if they announced the resulting number OUT LOUD? Picture it! This may help:
By that one act, the polite fictions we all maintain (for instance, that tactful silence preserved by most DMV employees when presented with a form where the weight is marked 120 pounds, and it is obvious that the presenter has not weighed 120 since she was 12); all those veils of self-deception we hold so dear - would be stripped away in an instant, and we would be left defenseless, staring in horror at the ugly truth.
What would be next? Under "hair color" having to choose "natural" or "bottle"?
Civilization might never recover.
Is it any wonder Chatty is afraid to go back to sleep?
Chatty’s friend the Redneck Princess had to go through the misery of signing up for term life insurance recently. She recounts her pain and near death-by-boredom here.
Chatty truly believes that hell is either sitting for eternity in a dentist’s waiting room, anticipating four root canals while they pipe in elevator music; or else it’s listening to a life insurance agent drone on forever - eventually intoning the policy aloud, beginning (as they all seem to do) with the phrase “In the event you should die…”
Chatty is pretty sure that death is a given, so she’s never understood that phrasing…possibly it’s the insurance company’s lame attempt to offset the inevitability of what you’re being forced to discuss.
Anyway, the most galling part – at least to Chatty – of the misery inflicted upon The Princess was the fact that they asked her for her weight, then apparently informed her that a NURSE would be making a HOUSE CALL to weigh her the next week. Luckily, the Princess only fibbed a little bit, but still…Chatty finds this OUTRAGEOUS. She sincerely hopes that nurse will be weighing The Prince, too – otherwise, Chatty would be scouting around for another insurance company!
Not only did Chatty find this system – asking a potential client her weight, then informing her that a nurse would be out to verify it – to be pretty much calling the prospective client a big liar, but it also lead to a nightmare.
This nightmare had Chatty in a cold sweat.
What if OTHER organizations started insisting on verification of weight?
What if (and please stop reading if you are squeamish or easily frightened) the Department of Motor Vehicles had a big ol' scale in the middle of their giant waiting room, and we had to STAND on it FULLY DRESSED and be weighed before we could apply for or renew a Driver’s License? What if they announced the resulting number OUT LOUD? Picture it! This may help:
By that one act, the polite fictions we all maintain (for instance, that tactful silence preserved by most DMV employees when presented with a form where the weight is marked 120 pounds, and it is obvious that the presenter has not weighed 120 since she was 12); all those veils of self-deception we hold so dear - would be stripped away in an instant, and we would be left defenseless, staring in horror at the ugly truth.
What would be next? Under "hair color" having to choose "natural" or "bottle"?
Civilization might never recover.
Is it any wonder Chatty is afraid to go back to sleep?
Oh my goodness! The horror of it all!! It was tough enough to imagine it, but then you put the imagination-enhancing photograph in...
Seriously, my own husband doesn't know "my number" so why should a complete stranger be allowed this information?
PS: My hair is rated "natural": brown with gray highlights.
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Now that's what I call a nightmare!
Thank Pete I live in Florida where they do not ask for weight on our driver's license!
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you have to have insurance for some things, but man, what a slimy industry
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Oh wait Chatty, the nurse story gets better!! The "nurse" has called my cell phone the last two evenings to set up her dreaded appointment in which she'll come weigh me (AGHHHH!) then take vials of blood (to run the various blood test my doctor's office just ran, but apparently isn't good enough for the insurance company!)Here's the kicker, she's calling me after 10 p.m. at night! This of course woke up the hubby the first night since my cell phone was sitting in the kitchen and my ring tone was on high and our bedroom is just down the hallway - last night the phone was with me in the family room downstairs and woke up my kids instead. I'm so ticked off! This just added insult to injury! How terribly unprofessional to call someone so late in the evening to schedule an appointment. So, now I'm wondering, is this "nurse" gig just a side job for this woman? Is she even really a nurse at all? She is apparently calling me from her home, not an office, since she's leaving me a cell phone number and it's 10 p.m.! Does she plan to come to my home at 10 p.m. to draw blood and weigh me? Does she even know what she's doing? Will I end up with an air pocket in my vein whilst she's trying out her new hobby of blood drawing and die of a stroke? This all has me very nervous!!! Plus, even though I want to call her back and tell her how unprofessional she is for calling me so late, this is the person who will be poking me with a large needle! None of this is sitting well with me.
As for the hubby's weight - nope not this time around since it's only me updating life insurance. They did this to him a few years ago though. It didn't bother him, so he doesn't understand "what the big deal is" when I bring it up. AGGHHHHH!
I shiver at the thought of this procedure happening at other places! YICKS!
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They don't ask for your weight at ALL in Florida? Wow! My kind of state!
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I'm pretty sure every accounts for the 20 lbs. we all shave off!
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