California Health Insurance Quotes and Blog

Seventy-six-year-old Pritella Pratt didn’t consider herself old until Bastille Day dawned. Her California Health Insurance agent, Mabel, provided coverage when all else failed.

Bastille Day falls on July 14^th every year. Lately, septuagenarian Pritella Pratt felt like storming a few Bastilles herself, and she wasn’t even French. She did enjoy French salad dressing on her Romaine lettuce, and had eaten French fries, but that doesn’t count. But on Bastille Day, 2010, the French Independence Day, Pritella was in a hurry and tripped coming down some cement steps. She kept her balance, but it was Pritella’s pratfall nonetheless, as by evening of that day, several hours later, she felt a sharp nagging ache in her lower back. What was Pritella to do? She called Mabel, her beloved California Health Insurance agent (Mabel had also been her pinochle partner when her husband had been alive), to learn if her Medigap supplemental coverage was still in effect. “Yes indeedy,” Mabel said in her strange Irish brogue, “it is.” Medicare was great, but after Plan D of the Bush years, she didn’t know what to expect. She rushed out of her house, headed for her car, a Studebaker, and tripped, more seriously this time, a second pratfall. “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” she whispered as loudly as she could. Several more such vocalizations left Pritella feeling very old indeedy, and now her back was much worse. It was still Bastille Day, but almost dusk. A crow was cawing. Finally a good Samaritan named Sam came by, and helped Pritella to her Studebaker. Deep down the seventy-six-year-old felt a sprig of hope, like a probing tendril, because of Mabel’s affirmative words “Yes indeedy.” Those precious words were all that mattered now. Three blocks later, the urgent care center came into view. She could have walked there if it weren’t for her pratfalls. It was now dusk and a second crow cawed. Her back was killing her, perhaps literally as she didn’t know what was wrong.  Feeling a surge of “old lady” adrenalin, she managed to open the glass doors, and walked into the health care facility. “I’ve got Medicare, and Medigap supplemental,” she proudly said when asked by the receptionist, and promptly fainted.

It turned out that she’d “ruptured something,” and she needed to go the hospital for observation. Waking up in her hospital bed, her first thoughts were of Mabel – and not the bill.

Daemon had been lost to the Smith family for more than a decade. But when John Smith’s mauling by the rarely seen wolverine had made the TV news, partly because of a California Health Insurance agent’s more than due diligence, Father’s Day 2010 became extra special.

John Smith and his wife Becca were preparing for their annual Father’s Day “cookout and fleshly barbeque” when the unthinkable happened. Usually the event drew the Smith’s three remaining children – Michael (named after the archangel), Mary (named after the mother of Jesus), and John Jr. (named after his Dad), ages 27, 29, and 31 respectively. Another Smith spawn was seldom spoken of. He’d left home at 18 for parts unknown, although rumors had surfaced that he’d become a Major League Baseball superstar for the Dodgers. Since the Smiths all hated baseball and none of them owned a television or radio, even if Daemon was playing shortstop with the Dodgers, his family wouldn’t have known. In fact, the family’s “black sheep” had become almost as famous as Manny Ramirez. Daemon was 32 now, and in fourteen years, there hadn’t been a single letter from the prodigal Smith son to any of his family members. Perhaps strangely, Daemon had become estranged.  

The accident involved the elder Smith. He was on the far side of Beverly Hills, his musket in hand, searching for a main course for the family’s upcoming “cookout and fleshly barbeque.”  If he’d been watching TV, he’d have known to avoid the far side of Beverly Hills. This nefarious region had become the lair of the infamous “Beverly Hills Wolverine.” It was on the news almost non-stop that day. The far side of Beverly Hills was like a ghost town.  “It’s awful quiet in these parts. Just me and my blunderbuss,” John Smith managed to say aloud, before the wolverine pounced. Wolverines are quite vicious. Just ask anyone from Michigan.

A California Health Insurance agent living in the neighborhood discovered Mr. Smith, who had purchased a policy on a prudent whim a few months back. The agent called ‘911.’ His second call was to the TV news stations.

On Father’s Day, the Smiths settled for turkey as their main course. Becca, Michael, Mary, and John Jr. were sitting down at the family picnic table with the bandaged John Sr., everyone in a melancholy mood when guess who showed up, bringing half the Dodgers?

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.