For years, I've considered getting renter's insurance. My building is inhabited by smokers, drinkers and twenty-four hour party people, all of whom are capable at a moment's notice of causing untold property damage. My furniture is modest, second hand. My stereo equipment's fine, and my record collection is mostly why I was calling. I found the number to Progressive's Home coverage, and dialed.
After entering my zip code, a voice greeted me like a blast of humid, sticky air through the phone.
He was so slick, I thought for a moment I was listening to a recording.
'Hello, and thank you for calling in tonight, how are you, good, good, okay...what's your first name. Hm hm. And your last name? Okaaaay, do you mind if I call you George for the remainder of this call?
That's fine, I told him. Knock yourself out. Everybody else seems to call me by that name, so I'm used to answering to it.
'George, if I used a giant can-opener to rip the roof off your apartment and ruin all your stuff, how much do you think you'd need to replace it, fifteen thousand being the minimum and one-hundred thousand being the maximum.'
I thought about this one, all right, but then realized I'd have a hard time explaining why third-generation Tupperware containers are worth as much as someone's Mercedes. Fifteen thousand.
The voice only gathered intensity.
'If someone's at your place and gets injured, how much would you want to allocate for their medical costs?;
That depends on who actually got injured, doesn't it?
The worst injury to occur in my apartment was a badly stubbed toe. That was two years ago. I do not live a high-risk lifestyle.
'Whenever you're ready, I'll take your credit card information,' said the voice, like the deal was already concluded.
I flushed a little, and told him I didn't even know the policy's price.
'That'll be eight hundred thirty dollars,' he plowed on, 'and monthly, it's only forty-seven dollars. Whenever you're ready, I'll authorize it.'
At this point, I put the phone down a second, and took a breath. I picked up the receiver and told him that A) He didn't even ask what I wanted the policy to cover B) I hadn't agreed to anything, and C) he should show some fucking manners and let me explain why I'm calling.
Well, the the third one was well implied.
Telling him I was in the process of shopping around, I pretended to take down his badge number and extension, and hung up. I'll just be careful, put up some 'don't smoke in bed' flyers in the laundry room, and continue to be on the lookout for giant can-openers.