Should my Gateway Old Bessie here go up in flames because I am all typing away and burning up diaryland with my fingers all afire with babble and nonconsense, I am covered.
I finally. Finally made an adult decision and purchased renter’s insurance today.
So, should someone want to come and take Old Bessie so I can claim her and get me my very own not-for-work-shiny-new-lap-top, you just let me know.
I’ll leave the light on for you.
Earlier today I was on the phone with my “insurance guy”, who, as usual sounds totally bothered and put-out whenever I speak to him even though I only call like, once every 300 years with questions like, “I just turned 30, does that mean I get a discount on my car insurance?”
(answer: no. not if you are a woman in Illinois. Apparently women become responsible and eligible for a discount in the eyes of my insurance company at 21. You know, just ‘round the time you are of legal drinking age in the U.S. Sure. That makes sense.)
At any rate, I’ve got Dick on the horn (his real name, I am not being all 4 years old for once) and the Star Spangled Banner may as well be playing in the background as he’s lecturing and me telling me what a great decision renter’s insurance is because you can never be too sure.
And so he’s pumped up going into his pitch and he’s all “How about $30,000 in coverage to start.”
And I am all, “hold the phone, Dick. I’m renting the cheapest 400 square foot studio apartment I could find. If I had 30k in bling-bling laying ‘round the crib don’t you think I might have you pitching home owner’s insurance, instead?”
So then we go through a few questions and he’s asking me if it’s a brick building or a framed building and when the last time the roof was replaced and once again I have to remind him – I might care if I were a home owner.
So, finally after asking about jewelry (no), antiques (no), fancy-ass electronics (you mean my 1982 top-loading VCR? No.) the frustrated Dick asks what exactly it is I am worried about covering and we finally get on the same page.
“Well, frankly Dick, I’ve got a boatload of CDs and records you could say I’d be devastated to watch go up in flames.”
All y’all can go ahead and laugh - but if I had to part with my Jon Spencer Blues Explosion Imports, yeah, I’d shed a few tears.
So, we settled on about 10k in coverage plus some sort of medical insurance that’s thrown in the deal in case any of my drunk-ass friend break their leg while shaking their ass to the Jon Spencer Imports.
And then Dick and I hung up and called it an afternoon.
Sometimes I am such a Goddamned grown-up I can’t stand it.