How to spot an insurance broker at a funeral

My grandfather died a month ago after a long struggle with a crippling cancer that made his last days sheer agony. He was a wonderful man and his loss was my first personal encounter with death. It was also my first personal encounter with insurance brokers. There’s a strange thing that happens when someone, especially someone who was a relatively high-profile public figure like my grandfather was, dies and I’m not just talking about passing from one realm to another or any of the strange procedures carried out by embalmers. First of all there’s a death notice that get published in the newspaper, and it gets listed in a column pretty close to another for funeral arrangements and another for insurance brokers and another for escort services. Everybody has something to sell these days it seems and very little shame about where and how they try to do that.

In my case what made matters worse was a small article in the local paper that also mentioned the far from insubstantial inheritance gramps had left me which was certainly enough for me to file away my cv permanently with only three years work experience on it. My phone started ringing off the hook, lawyers, investors, people looking for investment in their half-baked ideas, a circus manager begged me to sponsor another elephant. But none of this affected me too much until I got the first call from one of the insurance brokers. In retrospect I do not believe he ever mentioned that he was in fact an insurance broker, but he had a warm and lively voice and introduced himself as “James, James Whorelington-Smythe, my grandfather was dreadfully good pals with your dear grandfather in the good old days you know.” Needless to say I accepted his invitation to a picnic on his country estate that coming Saturday immediately after the funeral.

The Saturday of the funeral was a glorious day in every way. The early September Spring was evident in the air, the light, the blossoms on the trees, the skip in peoples’ steps and the smiles on their faces. Of course, the closer we got to the church, we were all walking as the day was too beautiful too be caged in vehicles, the more downturned expressions became and legs grew heavy as they began to almost shuffle towards the church. The mood began to pall and I looked around hoping to spot my insurance broker, of course I still didn’t know he was an insurance broker at this point.

With the steps of the church in front of me I sighed a huge sigh as melancholy overcame me and I began to lose hope that my insurance broker would arrive at all that day. As I recalled fond memories of my father marrying my mother, his second wife, yes it was some years after my birth, in the same church, I felt a strong hand grasp my elbow. I responded by reflex, stamping my stiletto heel down hard on the foot of my beautiful insurance broker. As I looked into his eyes in the moment of his agony, I knew that this was the insurance broker for me; James was tough.

James never did learn not to approach me announced I’m glad to say and over the years we’ve visited that same church many times over, Our wedding, our second wedding, all marriages have their rough spots, and then the christenings of our eight beautiful boys. The triplets are having a joint wedding next month and everybody is very excited. Of all the things my grandfather left me, I am most grateful for my insurance broker.