California Health Insurance Quotes and Blog

A California health insurance agent had to be summoned to Sacramento when budget cuts threatened to put the kibosh on Mother’s Day. 

Health Insurance

Everyone has a mother – even in California. A mother is often the first memory we have, and in most cases, except where the mother happens to be a “bad Mommy,” and often not even then, we tend to cherish our mothers and want to celebrate them on that Sunday in May set aside. Andrew S. Samaritan, a California Health Insurance agent based in Fresno, kept getting calls from his clients.

“Did you hear what they’re doing? I read it in the paper,” an elderly woman screamed, one who had a policy in good standing, “Andrew, are you listening to me?”

Andrew tried at first to accept the loss of Mother’s Day with quiet resignation. His mother and he had never gotten along. He began quietly humming. “Andrew!” the woman screamed again, “Mother’s Day is my day. It’s the only day that my son Mordred realizes I’m alive!”

Andrew knew Mordred, and didn’t particularly like him either, although he also purchased a policy and it was a family plan in good standing.  “I’ll see what I can do,” Andrew said, determined to do nothing, and hoping it would all blow over. It didn’t.

Mordred called next. “I can’t stand it!” he screamed, “My mother is going crazy over this thing about Mother’s Day being cancelled. You know the governor’s influential aide. Will you drive up to Sacramento and help?”

“It’s only cancelled for this year,” Andrew said, “until they get money back in the till.” He said this in the tone not fitting for an empathetic California Health Insurance agent, as if the crisis was no big deal.

“It IS a big deal!” screamed Mordred, as if HE were able to read Andrew’s mind, and hung up.

Seventy-eight calls from clients later, Andrew Samaritan decided to become a Good Samaritan. He got in his Honda Accord and headed up to the State Capitol.

The task at hand was speaking to the influential aide that he knew. The aide was actually Andrew’s sixth cousin, twice removed, once forcibly, in many ways a bad Samaritan.

But this story has a happy ending, and Mother’s Day was restored. Things would be fine for awhile, until everybody discovered that they’d cancelled Christmas.

California Health Insurance agents often hear the cry “May Day! May Day!” Once if by land, and twice if by sea, goes the calamitous refrain. But what kind of plan covers a potentially catastrophic overhyped personal disaster that might lead to hospitalization within the earshot of bleating hearts?

May Day! May Day! It sounds a lot like Chicken Little saying that the sky is falling. Although the sky would fall if it could, as it happens to not be a big admirer of gravity, such a thing probably won’t happen in our lifetimes. So what’s all the commotion about?

Stephen P. Positive, a Polyannish California Health Insurance agent, had heard about May Day from several of his clients who had purchased policies. He was an honest guy, like virtually all California Health Insurance agents, just trying to make a living. Plus, his customers noted that he possessed a cheerful countenance within his “attitude of gratitude.”

One client who had a large family spoke of May Days past in the context of dancing around a Maypole, and celebrating the labor movement, but he was a liberal, and they were nearly extinct, weren’t they?

Mostly what Stephen got from his clients when they spoke about May Day were emergencies, most of them garden-variety in the larger scheme of things, certainly relative to a falling sky, which would indeed be a serious matter, Stephen mused, but most emergencies are just so important to someone when they are actually happening, even a kid falling off a swing, or grandpa forgetting to take his medication. So when he heard a litany of Maydays over the phone, every single day, they began to run together, which was human nature for Stephen, and you couldn’t really blame him.

It happened one day. Who would have thunk it? The client who was a liberal, his wife called Stephen, and she was frantic. “It’s my husband; he was dancing around the Maypole and …”

Stephen assured her that her husband was indeed covered, that their policy was in good standing, and he even calmly told her what to do next, about 911, and what to do with the Maypole, and not to shout “May Day! May Day!” over the phone when she called the emergency operator, acting Willy Nilly, as if she were Chicken Little.

Jonathan Messier was all set to attend an early morning Neuro Linguistic Programming seminar and finally change his life. Unfortunately, he’d failed to figure in the time change on the morrow. This failure led to a series of mishaps that might have proved financially fatal if it hadn’t been for a California Health Insurance agent.

He’d wanted to be normal since he’d been a boy. At 34, his bedroom was still littered with a menagerie of stuffed animals that provoked snide comments from his girlfriends – all the wrong kind of women anyway because they tended to be mother figures. He had to break these childhood patterns once and for all, and he’d settled on Neuro Linguistic Programming (NLP) as a cure.

His first mistake was going to bed, as usual in the shadow of Tony the Tiger and Gisele the Giraffe, each towering above his head on each side of his pillow, propped up in their verticality by the bed’s antique oaken headboard, without bothering to turn his alarm clock an hour ahead for the first day of Daylight Savings Time.  He had to arrive promptly at 8 a.m. at the Escondido NLP center to begin his life-changing all day seminar, centered upon combating the subjectivity that had so far made life without such imaginative creatures as Tony, Gisele, and their assorted brethren unthinkable.

The trouble began at 7:55 a.m. Daylight Savings Time when Maybelline, a matronly woman of 49 who loved to dote on “her Jonny,” called and roused him from a last minute half-asleep reverie. Jonathan was going to get up anyway in five minutes, as his alarm was set for 7:00 a.m. standard time.

“Hi May,” he said drowsily, “How come you’re calling so early?”

“Early,” she said, “It’s five minutes before eight. Don’t you have to be in Escondido at eight? It’s Daylight Savings, don’t you know?”

“Damn!” Jonathan exclaimed, “You’re right! I got to go!” Within ten minutes he’d completed his morning ablutions and was out the door without so much as a goodbye for Tony or Gisele.  

But he drove too fast. The accident happened just a mile from the center, a lamp post he didn’t see in time, a gouged radiator, a sprained ankle, an attempt to run, a collapse … he woke up in a hospital bed, a semi-private room.  A doctor was asking about whether he was covered, Jonathan answered in the affirmative, mumbled something about a California Health Insurance agent.

Suddenly, he saw them. Opening his eyes fully, he knew that he wasn’t alone. Somebody had brought Tony & Gisele and also a big stuffed dog, to keep him company.