California Health Insurance Quotes and Blog

Rebecca Sunnybrook didn’t live on a farm, but her backyard became as dangerous as the Amazonian jungle after the recent rains.  After brushing up against some particularly virulent poison oak, she called Matt Lockard, her local California Health Insurance agent. He knew precisely where to send her.

The backyard garden area of Rebecca’s Ventura home, a split-level ranch, was one of her favorite places. She loved the solitude of tending the various plants, and plucking weeds, which she often did barehanded. One day following the recent Los Angeles area rains, a deluge actually, mudslides were reported in the hills, and so much rain fell that entire homes were washed away.  Perhaps if Rebecca Sunnybrook had lived on a farm, this might have been her tragedy too, but in her own environs, mostly it was a newfound abundance of weeds suddenly proliferating in her lovely garden that she was primarily concerned with. Funny, the worst of the weeds had shiny leaves which reflected the prodigal sun in all its own subtle beauty. She wondered what kind of weed was this, with its creeping fronds and questing tendrils spreading a perverse chaos throughout her once lovely garden?

It was while sitting on her patio drinking lemonade when Rebecca noticed the itching.  By the next day, even after she’d showered, the itching had become intolerable, accompanied by numerous raised blisters and a patchy rash that now had spread over her entire body. Scratching only made it worse, even with her long sharp feminine nails, and Rebecca didn’t have the slightest clue why. She was miserable, and had health insurance, that she knew, and when she picked up the phone to speak to Matt Lockard, her friendly California Health Insurance agent, she sought his advice. “Should I seek out the ER?,” she asked plaintively, her lips bloated and strangely muffling her speech, after she’d related her encounter with the peculiar weeds n her beloved backyard garden.

Matt pondered her tale.  As she waited for his response, he gave her two sound bytes that would linger in her memory. “Poison oak,” Matt said, “Urgent care.” He mouthed a third, “You’re covered,” but she already knew that. She got in her car, a Toyota that still stopped okay, and raced it down to the Urgent Care center less than a mile away.

She was treated with various topical anti-urushiol potions, a potent antibiotic to alleviate the systemic infection, and released feeling much better. She called Matt once again with a sound byte of her own. “No more itchy,” she said, and he replied with his booming laugh.

Max Decimale, a certified public accountant, had California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard to thank for suggesting monthly visits to an acupuncturist as a prudent use of his coverage, in order to relieve stress. So he went over to Matt’s office to thank him.

Max Decimale, 34, was prone to being “stressed out.” Much of this was due to his occupation as a certified public accountant. Income tax season was the worst but certain clients put him through his paces during the rest of the year. California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard was sensitive to Decimale’s needs, and suggested a policy that might offer alternative health options, such as acupuncture. Surprisingly, Decimale got the point. “An acupuncturist is not that big of a deal for me,” Decimale claimed, “I’m used to it. My girlfriend has been needling me for years.”

Lockard even suggested an available point man. “You might try Dr. Hazen L. Lu,” he told his client. 

“Does his middle initial stand for luck?” Decimale wondered.

“Nope, it stands for Lou,” Lockard replied.

“He’s really a Lou Lu?”

“You can say that.”

Dr. Lu was so experienced and the needles were thin enough that it didn’t seem to matter. Max Decimale became increasingly relaxed as the therapy continued month after month. “It calms me,” Decimale concluded, and the point was made.

One day Decimale was in the neighborhood, and he paid a visit to Mr. Lockard in person. “To show my appreciation, I’d like to take you out to lunch,” he told Matt.

Matt Lockard had never been out to lunch with an accountant, and was curious. “Does that mean you’re paying?”

“Of course,” said Decimale.

Lockard decided to take Max up on his offer. They walked about six blocks, until they came to “The Soup Kitchen.”

Feeling especially hungry, Matt entered the tiny emporium with Max and they were soon seated.  “What kind of soup do you want?” Max asked.

“I’ll have the chicken noodle with bean sprouts,” said Matt.

Max had the black bean. As they both sipped, Matt could not help but notice how relaxed Max seemed while they each consumed their cups of soup.   

When California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard sold two individual child plans to a family in Ventura, he never would have guessed how a kaleidoscope could be the root of all evil. 

The Coakleys were refugees from Malibu Beach. When they moved to Ventura, it was difficult for them to fit in. Fred Coakley had been an actor, playing ghouls in zombie-filled horror flicks when he could get the parts; his wife Isabelle an ill-equipped socialite — lacked social skills. Their adorable children Tristan, age 6, and Annie, age 9, were chronically toy-deprived until a passive-aggressive Samaritan philanthropist donated a kaleidoscope for the children to play with. Prior to the children’s acquisition of the sinister toy, the philanthropist had also paid for three policies, a family plan and two individual plans for the kiddies – all purchased from California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard.

The Coakley children weren’t greedy like some children are. This turned out to be a liability, as they quietly shared the kaleidoscope, being utterly mesmerized by its ceaseless morphing colorful patterns – and in staring at the kaleidoscope in their obsessive-compulsive manner which was hereditary for any Coakley; their sweet little eyes became fixated in a cruel way. Strabismus, sometimes known as “cross-eyes” or in Isabelle Coakley’s crazed mind, “the double evil-eye times two,” set in. 

Fred and Isabelle noticed their children’s wandering eyes one night during a family séance. Isabelle became hysterical. “Why are you doing that kiddies?” she screamed, “Why are you giving your Ma the double evil-eye times two?” The children replied in eerie unison, voicing a chilling, sing-song cadenced mannerism reminiscent of some of their Da’s better films, “It’s the kaleidoscope me thinks!”

While Isabelle simply grabbed the nearest axe, Fred had the presence of mind to seek out emergency eye care, something to flush out strabismus when it was kaleidoscope-induced, preferably. A month later, the reunited family came by Matt Lockard’s office after taking the bus there. The children were wearing patches on their left eyes, the sinister ones. Matt was expecting the foursome, being a fan of Fred’s better undead impersonations and of course, being their trusted California Health Insurance agent, albeit by proxy.

“Nice patches,” Matt Lockard opined once the kiddies had ambled in, “Are they pirates today?”

When the children began sobbing, their feelings hurt; well-meaning Matt pulled a toy from a convenient drawer. It was, unfortunately, a kaleidoscope.