California Health Insurance Agent Offers Trip Cancellation Insurance
Friday, June 5th, 2009California Health Insurance Agent Matt Lockard offers Patriot T.R.I.P. insurance coverage in the event of the unthinkable.
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One Reason You May Need Trip Cancellation Insurance
Stanford R. Doe and his wife Jane were about to board the plane, Southwest Flight 6754, at Gate 3 in LAX when they heard the news. Up until that tense moment, they’d figured that buying T.R.I.P. insurance had been one of those purchases performed out of prudence in case of the unthinkable. But in that instant, they knew.
“Mr. and Mrs. Doe wait!” the urgent voice had shouted.
Because of what had happened, the couple had no choice. They walked as if in a daze, but unassisted to the airlines ticket counter to cancel their flight to Tunisia, where Stanford and Jane had long dreamt of celebrating their second honeymoon, although their first one had occurred a mere six months earlier.
They drove the rental to inspect the ruins. A gas explosion had gutted their home and all their belongings. They stopped the rental, a Rambler station wagon, in front of what had been their front yard. “All that grass seed wasted,” Stanford told his grieving wife with tears pouring down his cheeks, “and the automatic sprinkler system, it’s b-broken,” he sobbed, his voice choked by emotion and by the odor of charred dandelions in the fetid air.
“What will the neighbors think?” Jane cried out, as if she were a wounded self-conscious beast without a split-level, which she now was.
They still had a cell phone that worked. It was purple, a sad color. She put in a call to California Health Insurance agent Matt Lockard, as if to be reassured like the small homeless child she’d so suddenly become in her now infantile mind. He’d been expecting
a call from the forlorn Does, after reading about the explosion in yesterday’s news. Hearing Matt answer, all she could do was sob into the receiver.
“It’s activated. Don’t worry about your trip cancellation. You have full Patriot T.R.I.P. coverage. You and Stanford wouldn’t have enjoyed Tunisia under these circumstances. The travel agent will understand about losing his commission. He won’t be angry at you for canceling,” Matt spoke softly into the phone, realizing that a couple’s dreams had been shattered, both in the sense of where they were going, and where they’d been. But at least T.R.I.P. had saved them from what might have added insult to their injury.
“Thank you so much Matt,” Jane managed to blurt.
“Just doing my job as a California Health Insurance agent,” he replied self-effacingly. “I reacted instinctively when I sold you that policy. It’s what I do.”
Thirteen relatively pretty girls traveled down for spring break on February 2nd from their familiar territory on the beautiful if frigid campus of the University of Alaska at Fairbanks, completing the first leg of their economical journey by dogsled. From Spokane where each said mournful goodbyes to their sled dogs, “Bye Blitzen, Bye Rudolf, Bye Lassie,” the emptied sled pulled by the canine trio trudged back valiantly through the Canadian wilderness, while the baker’s dozen of vacationing Alaskan girls boarded a 747 to LAX. Once they had deplaned, the delicate skin of the relatively pretty girls began to redden. “We’re way too pale,” said Irwoota, in her pronounced valley girl accent, albeit an Arctic Circle valley, voicing the first warning. By the time they’d all stripped down to their bikinis on the gray-sand beach in Santa Monica, and had soaked up about fifteen seconds worth of brilliant California sunshine, the astute Ig voiced a remark that included them all. “I’m really starting to blister now,” she cried mournfully through sun-cracked lips. Back in Fairbanks, they got two hours of very dim diurnal sunshine this time of year, if that. A few minutes later, the chastened group of relatively pretty Alaskans had acquired a hue bordering on crustacean. Collectively thumbing through a local Yellow Book, the baked baker’s dozen had decided to head en masse for the nearest hospital emergency room, when Irwoota suddenly considered the huge bills they’d be bestowing upon their parents back home. “Wait,” said the so sunburned Valley Girl, “let me call a California Health Insurance Agent I know who used to live in Fairbanks. He’ll know what to do.” He did. Instead of the nearest emergency room, the sunburned girls were re-directed to an urgent care facility as a cost savings measure.
