California Health Insurance Quotes and Blog

Beware the Ides of August, National Relaxation Day, and as luck would have it, Matt worked right through it.

In lieu of a day off on that fateful August 15^th, Matt Lockard wanted to at least have a relatively easy day. Most of his fondest memories in some way were involved with National Relaxation Day, or at least a degree of relaxation.

By 11 a.m., he’d seen seven clients, customers and prior policyholders march through his office door, families with their family plans, the elderly and the newlyweds, and even a llama that ambled in off the street and actually wasn’t a customer.

A woman from somewhere in the Middle East came by in a burka, and a pirate wanted one of those special policies to protect his interests on the high seas – as he was wary of other pirates with all that’d been going on lately in the Indian Ocean. They came in to make the day ultra-hectic and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

Cripes Matt Lockard whined (fortunately only in his mind’s eye), it’s National Relaxation Day and I can’t have a leisurely day just because my gig is California Health Insurance policies. It seems that everyone in California has some kind of health care concern that a policy can address.

Just then some college students came in, and they wanted a group policy that would protect them from potential injuries incurred at keg parties. Five of the six were young men, all enrolled in California schools getting in-state tuition and the straggler was an attractive young woman, unmarried but majoring in animal husbandry she soon revealed. Ten minutes later, Matt was at it again, part of a flurry of frenetic, attending to needs of people that had to be met.

More pirates in the afternoon, but these happened to be transplants to the Los Angeles environs from Pittsburgh. A bald-headed centenarian walked in preceded by his cane, and he wanted a policy that would somehow last to provide a legacy perhaps. Soon it was five of the clock and the sun was beginning to approach the horizon and Matt Lockard, a man who had missed his chance to relax, was about to set. The phone rang just then …

They celebrated 4^th of July with reckless abandon in the spirit of misguided patriotism. Until this year’s crazed private celebration, all had gone relatively well.

The Donegans, Bob, Mitzy, and their kids, Joey, Johnny, and Jimmy loved to light fireworks on their land near Eureka. They’d get it from Tijuana, and drive up past San Francisco with enough firepower every 4^th of July to start their own preemptive war. Their family health insurance plan typically served for mundane family catastrophes that might occur at other times of the year. Except for this single idiosyncrasy, a well-intentioned rite for celebrating our nation’s birthday, the Donegans were pretty ordinary. Bob was a self-employed entrepreneur with a computer repair business. Mitzy did the company’s books, and the kids, already quite computer literate, did the troubleshooting if the trouble wasn’t too complicated.

Around June 29^th the family drove off merrily humming. Their black hummer headed south for the border towards Tijuana’s fireworks stands, some with supermarket-like inventories,  to stock up on Roman candles and bottle rockets, salutes and M-80s, blockbusters and cherry bombs, even sparklers and snakes for little Jimmy, who was only twelve and a bit more timid than his brothers and parents.

Once back home, preparation for festive explosions and “the lighting” always was a big production. Neighbors came from miles around. Bob and Mitzy were relatively safety-conscious, but their boys could be downright careless – especially Johnny, a sullen 14-year-old who loved to see just about anything “blow up.” He was about to stuff a live M-80 into the unsuspecting maw of Spritzy, the family’s beloved Dalmatian, when the explosive power of that quarter-stick of dynamite exploded prematurely and blew up near a horrified Jimmy, trying to save the dog.  Mitzy dialed her family’s California Health Insurance agent in the nick of time. “Dial 911 – Stat!” he screamed over the phone. She did, and Jimmy was rushed to the nearest regional medical center via ambulance.

They all went to visit Jimmy after the surgery. He was bandaged up. “You look just like The Mummy from that movie,” remarked Johnny, displaying his usual contemptuous flair for the insensitive.   

“How’s Spritzy?” Jimmy managed to ask, barely audible through his wrappings.

Because the Olsens had purchased a family policy from California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard, medical care for a rambunctious Olsen son didn’t leave his parents stung.

The Olsens were headed from their village of Orange Hollow straight to Los Angeles to go camping in the nearby foothills for 4^th of July weekend. But a wrong turn led Biff, the family’s patriarch, into East LA. A camping trailer couldn’t help but attract attention. It was inevitable when Biff and his lovely wife Beatrice, their sons Brian, Bill, and Bobby, only eleven – heard the first knock. “Who could that be?” whispered Beatrice. “It’s not Matt Lockard,” Biff said, “He doesn’t know we’re here.” The Olsens had recently purchased a family health insurance plan from Matt, a California Health Insurance agent if ever there was one. Once he’d invited the Olsens to the Los Angeles area, in a casual aside, but where their trailer was parked now was no place for tourists.

“Can I go outside?” said Bobby, being only eleven.

The knock came again. Fifteen-year-old Brian opened the door, and a youth gang poured into the family’s trailer en masse all wearing hockey shirts embossed with the logo of the Los Angeles Kings.  The Olsen kids, after a childhood spent cooped up in Orange Hollow, were keen on adventure. When one of the Kings offered to “show them around,” it sounded like adventure.

When the Olsen boys went with the others, Beatrice became momentarily worried. “Where are they going?” she said.  

“Boys will be boys, let them explore,” replied Biff.  

A few hours later, another knock came. This time it was a SWAT team, armed with a search warrant. The police officers discovered a Bible with certain passages from the Book of Revelations clearly marked, and also brought news of their boys – Brian, Bill, and Bobby, who was only eleven. “They were involved in an altercation with a rival gang,” one officer said, “Your youngest was shot in the leg.”

“That’d be Bobby,” replied Beatrice, “he’s only eleven.”

“We’d better call Matt Lockard and go to that hospital,” Biff said to Beatrice, after the SWAT team left, “Sounds like their exploring got out of hand.”