Work Is Life

I work at an insurance company. 

 

We're a weird bunch of people who work at insurance companies.  For one thing, we speak an entirely different language than anyone else in the human race.  "Insurance-ese".  You can't understand a damn thing we are saying.  We'll say things like, "He wanted a one-one, but didn't no app, so we termed it." 

 

Sure you know what that meant!  Sure you do.

 

I was actually speaking to a recruiter in Dallas yesterday and peeled off a bunch of Insurance-ese in conversation, cuz, he worked for an insurance company too, which led me to believe that we were practically related, and, even he had to stop me....Not.  A.  CLUE what the hell I was talking about.  He was, however, impressed that I knew Insurance-ese, so he sort of offered me a job.  Sadly, the job is not actually in Dallas.  (...and, can I just say, WTF Jose*?  Shelly doesn't get to go to Texas?  I'm sure I must have mentioned, during our delightful conversations, that I am freezing my ass off.  Where is the love?  I thought we had a thing...)

 

We insurance people piddle over the minutiae of language as if our very lives depend on it--trust me, nothing an insurance company every says or publishes has not been picked over by a team of experts, then a team of lawyers, then back to a team of experts.  Why?  Cuz we don't want you thinking we're going to go paying for things all willy-nilly...We're going to be absolutely sure that we can back out at any moment, citing the written materials.  And they don't call it 'copy' like we did in advertising and promotion--insurance refers to things we tell consumers as The Language.  Yesterday, I was witness to a hallway discussion about 'The AIDS Language'.  Yes, we have an AIDS Language!  Of course we do...

 

So, this is the kind of thing we bury ourselves in all day long.  Our beloved policy-holder Jane Doe wants us to pay a claim, but we're backing out of paying for it because that bitch failed to mention that she had a cold once, back in 1987, and that's a pre-existing condition, my friend.  Pre-Existing.  Can you believe she thought we wouldn't find out about that?  Its pick, pick, pick, all day long!  Joe Consumer wants to buy insurance and we ask him things like, "Is one of your pinky toes bigger than the other?"  Cuz we can't have that...that pinky toe thing could one day cause you to lose your balance and trip!  And if you hurt yourself, we are NOT paying for that!!!

 

 

*sigh*  I mentioned that I'm working on positive change from within, right?

 

 

Anyway...you get the personality type...Our brains are loaded with conditions and law and policy and dates and detail, detail, detail.  We know a LOT of stuff because if we didn't know a lot of stuff, the company would be losing money left and right, paying those pesky insurance claims.  Nobody wants that!.  Its not a real cut-loose place.  More cut-throat.  Most of the people I work with sit at their desks all day, thinking of reasons not to pay for things, and backing it up with documentation.  Fun, right?  (Oh, and it is also somebody's job to provide the documentation...which makes that person a bit of an enforcer.  You need proof that That Bitch Jane Doe had a cold in 1987?  Somebody has it.  We'll find out exactly where that body is buried, and if we can't find it, don't worry, we'll squeeze a confession out of Jane, herself...we live for that sh*t...). 

 

But, like Tony Soprano would say....it's not personal.

 

 

While I would consider us a dynamic bunch, we're not a particularly WARM group of people.  No, we're about as warm as, say...a stoic, German woman from the Midwest.  Like, my mom, for example.

 

 

 

Honk if you saw that one coming!

 

 

 

 

We do find stupid ways to amuse ourselves.  Mory has a doorbell on her cube...just in case she's on the other side of her cube and doesn't notice you are standing at her "door". 

 

M&J smoke.  A lot. 

 

Mike has long conversations on the phone with his wife, and you can tell he's talking to his wife because he's speaking Spanish the entire time, as if that would somehow disguise the fact that he is speaking to his wife.

 

Jay keeps pictures of his guitar on his desk.  Its....a nice guitar....just....framed photos on the desk, is all...  He likes to talk a lot about being a musician and everything, and shoots me dirty looks from time to time because I once told him he looks way too healthy and well-fed to actually be a musician, so he's actually a Guy Who Works At An Insurance Company Who Owns A Really Nice Guitar.  I'm not sure, but I think he went home that very night and wrote a song about how mean I am. 

 

Yours would not be the first, dude.

 

Down the row are some sales people with very little, or very bad, hair (that's the men) and on the other side, some of the most biting, sarcastic, delightful humor you have ever heard in your life, delivered by smiling, adorable women who laugh all day....while they're putting the screws to you...

 

 

My people.

 

 

 

 

 

*that name was NOT changed to protect the recruiter.  Any man who RECOMMENDS that I go out shoe shopping should be identified, glorified, and perhaps hugged.  Favorite Jose of the day, for sure...