Chatty is afraid to go to back to bed.
Chatty’s friend the Redneck Princess had to go through the misery of signing up for term life insurance recently. She recounts her pain and near death-by-boredom here.
Chatty truly believes that hell is either sitting for eternity in a dentist’s waiting room, anticipating four root canals while they pipe in elevator music; or else it’s listening to a life insurance agent drone on forever – eventually intoning the policy aloud, beginning (as they all seem to do) with the phrase “In the event you should die…”
Chatty is pretty sure that death is a given, so she’s never understood that phrasing…possibly it’s the insurance company’s lame attempt to offset the inevitability of what you’re being forced to discuss.
Anyway, the most galling part – at least to Chatty – of the misery inflicted upon The Princess was the fact that they asked her for her weight, then apparently informed her that a NURSE would be making a HOUSE CALL to weigh her the next week. Luckily, the Princess only fibbed a little bit, but still…Chatty finds this OUTRAGEOUS. She sincerely hopes that nurse will be weighing The Prince, too – otherwise, Chatty would be scouting around for another insurance company!
Not only did Chatty find this system – asking a potential client her weight, then informing her that a nurse would be out to verify it – to be pretty much calling the prospective client a big liar, but it also lead to a nightmare.
This nightmare had Chatty in a cold sweat.
What if OTHER organizations started insisting on verification of weight?
What if (and please stop reading if you are squeamish or easily frightened) the Department of Motor Vehicles had a big ol’ scale in the middle of their giant waiting room, and we had to STAND on it FULLY DRESSED and be weighed before we could apply for or renew a Driver’s License? What if they announced the resulting number OUT LOUD? Picture it! This may help:
By that one act, the polite fictions we all maintain (for instance, that tactful silence preserved by most DMV employees when presented with a form where the weight is marked 120 pounds, and it is obvious that the presenter has not weighed 120 since she was 12); all those veils of self-deception we hold so dear – would be stripped away in an instant, and we would be left defenseless, staring in horror at the ugly truth.
What would be next? Under “hair color” having to choose “natural” or “bottle”?
Civilization might never recover.
Is it any wonder Chatty is afraid to go back to sleep?