LLWorldTour

I rarely do rant posts…but here is a fun one.

I recently got a notice from my insurance company of, oh I don’t know 15 years or so, that they are NOT renewing my Condo Unit Policy. My company is the very well known giant of State Farm. I have had 2 claims at this property, four years apart. In 2004 my condo was burglarized and I lost a computer, jewelry and other things. I made some cash back from my insurance company but of course nothing could replace my grandmother’s diamond drop earrings. Then just recently as I returned from my world tour, I was dismayed to discover that my tenant had some ‘issues’ with the fireplace and there was some pretty bad smoke damage. So…I made another claim. Well, much to my chagrin I just received a notice in the mail saying that come October they will no longer renew my policy. What – no discussion, no phone call, no explanation? I was basically dumped with a “Dear John” letter.

And do you know why? Because I used my insurance company for what I thought I was paying it for—insurance. Some things happened, I made some claims, and because of that – they had to actually pay me money. So since that goes against their whole scam of cheating us all out of our money in hopes that nothing ever goes wrong – they dropped me like a bad mobile phone call. Oh, so what, Mr. State Farm—are you too good for me now? Are you above me and my vagabonding ways? I mean, ‘like a good neighbor, State Farm is where??’ No, you are more like a bad neighbor – playing your music too loud, three half-cannibalized ford trucks strewn about the front lawn, and two weeks worth of trash sitting at the curb.

I called my local Chicago agent, whom I like very much, and has always been there for me. She explained that the underwriter basically didn’t like the fact that I had 2 claims in 4 years, as the national average is around 10 years per claim. Do you think I wanted to be robbed or my condo to burn down? So, in other words, they didn’t want me as a customer because I used them for what they are supposed to be there for and in turn I wasn’t their ‘golden’ girlfriend anymore who just sends them bags of cash every year for nothing. This seems completely unethical to me. Is this even legal? Isn’t there some kind of regulating board that deals with asshole business dealings like this? Ya know, the ‘asshole business bureau’ or something like that.

Watch this and you’ll see what I mean:

State Farm said I could come back to them in a few years after I’ve ‘improved myself’, but, no shocker here, I will never date State Farm again. If they had a problem when I made those claims they should have told me then. Just like any relationship, you need good communication to make it work. And if they want me back in a few years…they can keep dreaming…because I’m on the hunt for a new insurer to keep me secure and snug late at night. And he will love me just the way I am.

Prologue:

Um, well, it turns out that it was very hard for me to find a new insurer since my record was so ‘tarnished’ so after a few phone calls and begging and pleading, my ex came crawling back and wants to take me back. Er, or is it the other way around? State Farm finally called and wants to get back together. I guess I still did have feelings for them (and the fact that all the other insurance companies I tried going out with were not cheap dates). So, I gave them back my key and are giving it another shot.  I guess everyone deserves a second chance.

My friend Mark lives in a great apartment complex in LA called the Palazzo. It has a huge pool ringed with plush cushioned lounge chairs, a clubhouse complete with a buzzy little business office and concierge for all your concierging needs, a bright gym and spa full of the tanned toned celebs of tomorrow, and beautifully landscaped grounds full of constantly pruned shrubs, bougainvillea covered trellises, trickling fountains, and swaying palms. And of course he has a fully appointed apartment…and he pays dearly for it. He personally has everything he needs.

And then there was…the toaster. This metal box lived on his granite countertop mocking us daily with its crappy features, non-dinging toast function, and all around crap-tasticness. It was the most excruciatingly slow toaster I’ve ever encountered in all my travels. You want your bread to turn brown and crunchy with just the right crust on top sealing in a chewy center? Good luck. It was uneven at best and ‘es’, ‘el’, ‘oh’, ‘double-you’ - SLOW. You want a piece of bad toast? Well, pull up a chair and wait about thirty minutes. The thing sucks at toast. And, let’s remember what it’s called. That’s right – a toaster.

SO, I took it upon myself to buy him a brand-spankin’ new twenty-first century toaster with all the bells and whistles and dingers. You want it light? You got it. Dark and slightly burnt – a little more your style? Not a problem. All was good in the breads and whole grains world once again.

But what to do with the old piece of crap toaster? Only one thing of course – smash the hell out of it.

I had the genius idea of taking it out and basically clubbing it to death just for fun. See what happens when neither of us is working and we have too much time on our hands? Don’t tell the toaster-lover protesters. We don’t want them picketing outside or pelting us with bagels, slices of marble rye or, even worse, dense flax seed and multi-grain loaves.

Here’s how it all went down:

Operation: Kill the Toaster

• The Tools: One toaster, one hammer, one golf club, protective eye gear (aka swimming goggles)
• The Location: Ross Back Parking Lot
• The Motive: Years & Years of Shitty Toast

It was a total smash-for-all. I took the hammer and wailed as hard as I could at the top of the toaster. The metal buckled and clanged and plastic bits went flying everywhere. Now it was Mark’s turn. He took the 3-iron and did his best golf swing right into the toaster door. The glass shattered with a crunch and shards of glass went flying all around. Wooo! This was fun. IT was like a reality episode of “when toaster’s suck” or “when bad toasters happen to good people.” We were onto something. I know FOX will call soon.

I decided just to let it rip. I went ballistic and start pummeling the damn thing with my hammer shouting with each blow, “YOU STUPID NO GOOD TOASTER. I HATE YOU! SHITTY, STUPID TOASTER!!” Ah, it was cathartic and way cheaper than paying a shrink for the hour.

By now we were making quite a ruckus and I think other ‘would-be’ parking lot loiterers and hoodlums were possibly scared of us. I think I even heard a M63 gang member whisper to his comrade: ‘watch out for those toaster thugs—they’re ruthless.’ Just then a security guard rounded the bend. Were we some thugs wreaking havoc? Were we gangbangers out to get revenge? Were we drug addicts beating up a toaster to score some change to keep our habit going?

No, we were just two white whack-jobs with nothing better to do on a Thursday afternoon. But when the guard saw these two strange casually-dressed Caucasians get out our little dust pan and broom and clean up the mess we just made he turned around and went about his business. I think I heard him mutter, ‘stupid, bored white-folk.’

Just remember friends: Don’t ever take crap from your toaster again. You can have your toast and eat it too.

Go ahead, make my toast. Yippe-ca-yay mother Toaster.

And one more thing…wait for it….that toaster was…toast.

Mission Accomplished.

Yeah Toast!