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Mr. Bug's company is offering disability insurance to its employees. There's the option to buy group disability insurance or go solo and buy an independent policy. Because there's more than one option, the insurance agent has come to our home to show us all his boring booklets and share all his boring factoids. Insurance. Necessary, yes. Thrilling, no.
Because of our schedules, the insurance agent has come to our house at 8pm on two separate nights. Both nights he didn't leave until 10pm. As I've probably mentioned before, I'm not a very social person. He's a very nice guy and easy to talk to, in general, but at 10pm there are few people I want remaining in my house other than my immediate family (unless it's a party). So, the last time he was over, I was getting a little stir crazy sitting there listening to his spiel.
Finally, at about 9:45pm, I couldn't take it anymore and laid my cards out on the table. "It's best you leave the information and let me read it because I just don't absorb spoken instructions and information well. You'd have a better chance of me understanding it if you sang it to me." I don't remember how it degenerated so quickly but after a bit of witty interchange, I proclaimed, "To tell you the truth, when it comes to stuff like this, you'd be better off explaining it through interpretive dance."
"Interpretive dance?" he exclaimed, in disbelief.
Can you guess what I did?
Yes. I got up from the table and did a short, interpretive dance that represented disability insurance. I tippy-toed sideways toward the refrigerator, arms over my head. Then, I did a lurching, jerking movement to represent an injury before doing a "I'm lame", limping dance toward the counter. There, I changed roles and did a small ballet step while miming someone giving out cash. Changing roles, again, I became the disabled dancer and accepted the money with a gasp, smile and a short, jubilant dance back to my chair.
To give credit where it's due, the insurance agent just laughed. Earlier in the meeting, I had commented that he must meet a lot of "odd", interesting people in his line of work. I think I became one of them.
Because of our schedules, the insurance agent has come to our house at 8pm on two separate nights. Both nights he didn't leave until 10pm. As I've probably mentioned before, I'm not a very social person. He's a very nice guy and easy to talk to, in general, but at 10pm there are few people I want remaining in my house other than my immediate family (unless it's a party). So, the last time he was over, I was getting a little stir crazy sitting there listening to his spiel.
Finally, at about 9:45pm, I couldn't take it anymore and laid my cards out on the table. "It's best you leave the information and let me read it because I just don't absorb spoken instructions and information well. You'd have a better chance of me understanding it if you sang it to me." I don't remember how it degenerated so quickly but after a bit of witty interchange, I proclaimed, "To tell you the truth, when it comes to stuff like this, you'd be better off explaining it through interpretive dance."
"Interpretive dance?" he exclaimed, in disbelief.
Can you guess what I did?
Yes. I got up from the table and did a short, interpretive dance that represented disability insurance. I tippy-toed sideways toward the refrigerator, arms over my head. Then, I did a lurching, jerking movement to represent an injury before doing a "I'm lame", limping dance toward the counter. There, I changed roles and did a small ballet step while miming someone giving out cash. Changing roles, again, I became the disabled dancer and accepted the money with a gasp, smile and a short, jubilant dance back to my chair.
To give credit where it's due, the insurance agent just laughed. Earlier in the meeting, I had commented that he must meet a lot of "odd", interesting people in his line of work. I think I became one of them.
Re: Perfect!
You know this guy is going to be dining out on that story for months. I, however, am picturing a sales rep in a tutu and think it's a very fine mental image.
I hate sales reps, detest being "sold" anything, and have about zero tolerance for the personality type that gets into and succeeds in sales. 99.999% of sales reps have never actually learned to listen to the customer's needs--they're too ready with their next pat answer to "overcome objections" and close the sale. I was extremely rude to the Chemlawn sales rep when he called for the third time this evening wanting to sell me additional services. It felt goooood. ;)
Re: Perfect!
Do they make those in a 60/40 polyesther blend?
(and of course, now I want to meet Johnnie even more than before!)