I went to a movie. Then, a nap.
Discouraged by my lack of progress, I called my neighbor Shelby, who knows a lot of stuff, such as why bottled water costs the same as bottled iced tea, even though it doesn’t have all the stuff in it that tea has. Such as tea. Quote Shelby:
“Stephanie who?”
The story would end there, except that I have a lot more to tell.
My next course of action was to take my phone off the hook, because I kept getting obnoxious messages along the lines of, “Where’s that kidney?” and “You have to get to the hospital immediately!” and “He’s dead.”
Then I went to the Pleasant Happy Valley Assisted Living Facility (Now with 14% Less Elderly Abuse) to meet with renowned Stephanie Plum Scholar Murray Christmas. That’s his real name, and though it may seem odd, it isn’t nearly as odd as is sister’s name, Groundhog Day. Murray attempted to be cooperative, but being a hundred and three years old, he’d forgotten much of the minutiae, such as his own name. After much patience, and some help from his nurse to understand his drooling wheezes, I got nowhere. So I have no idea why I’m telling you this.
But when the nurse left, I looked through his personal effects, and got a real nice gold watch.
This opens up a large topic for serious discussion, which I am merely going to skip.
After pawning the watch, I pulled out my trusty phone book and began calling insurance companies. After eight calls that went nowhere, I decided I needed a better plan than giggling and making fart sounds when someone answered. So I decided to try talking.
Here are some of the conversations I had. My name has been changed to protect me.
CALL NUMBER ONE
ME: Do you sell car insurance?
INSURANCE MAN #1: Yes.
ME: My name is Julie Pear, and I’m not a fictitious character. I played a hand in destroying twelve cars in my last thirteen books. Will you insure me?
INSURANCE MAN #1: I need more information.
ME: I like the color red, and dogs.
INSURANCE MAN #1: I meant about your driving background.
ME: I also like Rob Schneider movies.
INSURANCE MAN #1: I’m sorry, we can’t insure you.
CALL NUMBER TWO
ME: Hello?
INSURANCE MAN #2: Can I help you?
ME: My last four cars have exploded, but it wasn’t my fault. Can you insure me?
INSURANCE MAN #2: How did these cars explode?
ME: definition of explosion
INSURANCE MAN #2: Well, you’re welcome to come in and we can give you a quote.
ME: How about I give you a quote instead? How about, “This was no boating accident!”
INSURANCE MAN #2: Excuse me?
ME: That was from Jaws. I loved that movie. I still get scared taking baths.
INSURANCE MAN #2: You’re an idiot.
CALL NUMBER THREE
INSURANCE MAN #3: Making rude noises like that is very immature. (Pause) I know you’re still there. I can here you giggling.
CALL NUMBER FOUR
ME: I want a large thin crust, sausage and extra cheese.
PIZZA GUY: That will be fourteen ninety five.
After all of this hard work, I only knew one thing for certain: if Stephanie Plum were a pound of bacon, she’d sure be a clever one. I’d pay a lot of money to see a talking pound of bacon in high heels. A lot of money.
The next thing on my to do list, after a good scratch, was attend an insurance convention. The convention brought many to tears, due to a chemical leak that gave most attendees second degree burns.
Quote Harold Barnicky, one of the attendees: “Those little crackers they had, the ones with the spinach and cheese—mmmm-mmmmmmmm!”
Personally, I preferred the three bean casserole, which was inappropriately named because I counted at least a dozen beans, and counting isn’t my strong suit.
But none of this effort brought me any closer to the end of this essay.
Undaunted, superfluous, and proselytical, I decided to try a more direct approach, because even though I’m a writer, I’ve always wanted to direct.
So I wrote an impassioned, persuasive letter to the largest auto insurer next to my house. The
Discouraged by my lack of progress, I called my neighbor Shelby, who knows a lot of stuff, such as why bottled water costs the same as bottled iced tea, even though it doesn’t have all the stuff in it that tea has. Such as tea. Quote Shelby:
“Stephanie who?”
The story would end there, except that I have a lot more to tell.
My next course of action was to take my phone off the hook, because I kept getting obnoxious messages along the lines of, “Where’s that kidney?” and “You have to get to the hospital immediately!” and “He’s dead.”
Then I went to the Pleasant Happy Valley Assisted Living Facility (Now with 14% Less Elderly Abuse) to meet with renowned Stephanie Plum Scholar Murray Christmas. That’s his real name, and though it may seem odd, it isn’t nearly as odd as is sister’s name, Groundhog Day. Murray attempted to be cooperative, but being a hundred and three years old, he’d forgotten much of the minutiae, such as his own name. After much patience, and some help from his nurse to understand his drooling wheezes, I got nowhere. So I have no idea why I’m telling you this.
But when the nurse left, I looked through his personal effects, and got a real nice gold watch.
This opens up a large topic for serious discussion, which I am merely going to skip.
After pawning the watch, I pulled out my trusty phone book and began calling insurance companies. After eight calls that went nowhere, I decided I needed a better plan than giggling and making fart sounds when someone answered. So I decided to try talking.
Here are some of the conversations I had. My name has been changed to protect me.
CALL NUMBER ONE
ME: Do you sell car insurance?
INSURANCE MAN #1: Yes.
ME: My name is Julie Pear, and I’m not a fictitious character. I played a hand in destroying twelve cars in my last thirteen books. Will you insure me?
INSURANCE MAN #1: I need more information.
ME: I like the color red, and dogs.
INSURANCE MAN #1: I meant about your driving background.
ME: I also like Rob Schneider movies.
INSURANCE MAN #1: I’m sorry, we can’t insure you.
CALL NUMBER TWO
ME: Hello?
INSURANCE MAN #2: Can I help you?
ME: My last four cars have exploded, but it wasn’t my fault. Can you insure me?
INSURANCE MAN #2: How did these cars explode?
ME: definition of explosion
INSURANCE MAN #2: Well, you’re welcome to come in and we can give you a quote.
ME: How about I give you a quote instead? How about, “This was no boating accident!”
INSURANCE MAN #2: Excuse me?
ME: That was from Jaws. I loved that movie. I still get scared taking baths.
INSURANCE MAN #2: You’re an idiot.
CALL NUMBER THREE
INSURANCE MAN #3: Making rude noises like that is very immature. (Pause) I know you’re still there. I can here you giggling.
CALL NUMBER FOUR
ME: I want a large thin crust, sausage and extra cheese.
PIZZA GUY: That will be fourteen ninety five.
After all of this hard work, I only knew one thing for certain: if Stephanie Plum were a pound of bacon, she’d sure be a clever one. I’d pay a lot of money to see a talking pound of bacon in high heels. A lot of money.
The next thing on my to do list, after a good scratch, was attend an insurance convention. The convention brought many to tears, due to a chemical leak that gave most attendees second degree burns.
Quote Harold Barnicky, one of the attendees: “Those little crackers they had, the ones with the spinach and cheese—mmmm-mmmmmmmm!”
Personally, I preferred the three bean casserole, which was inappropriately named because I counted at least a dozen beans, and counting isn’t my strong suit.
But none of this effort brought me any closer to the end of this essay.
Undaunted, superfluous, and proselytical, I decided to try a more direct approach, because even though I’m a writer, I’ve always wanted to direct.
So I wrote an impassioned, persuasive letter to the largest auto insurer next to my house. The
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