Grateful to Be Deemed Worthy of Insurance
Last week, a California auto insurance company was kind enough to permit me to write a check for several hundred dollars as a down payment on a year’s worth of coverage.
This was far and away the most I’ve ever paid for car insurance. But hefty as it was, the check didn’t seem like quite enough, somehow. I got the feeling I should have enclosed a thank you note as well. The nice young woman who accepted the check on the insurance company’s behalf kept telling me how lucky I was that the company was willing to take my money.
Strangely enough, that seemed to make sense, because we’d just spent nearly an hour looking through computers and charts to find one that would. Even then, she had to call and get a company employee to tell her it was OK. And this was the same company I’ve been dealing with for three years now.
It appears that after suffering a direct hit from Proposition 103 last year, the insurance companies are sort of like wounded bears. They’re frightened, in pain, no longer able to distinguish between irresponsible, expensive drivers and those of us who have been faithfully sending them money year after year without ever costing them a penny (aside from the modest expense of preparing and mailing our bills and, of course, cashing our checks). They’ve lost whatever trust they once had in humans, and they seem ready to lash out at anyone who comes within swiping distance.
In a sense, you can hardly blame them. They know that millions of their loyal customers turned on them last November, but they have no way of finding out who those dastardly folks might be, aside from the fact that most of them live in California’s eight most populous counties, including Orange County. Places where, not coincidentally, auto insurance rates were (and still are) the state’s highest.
Proposition 103 was supposed to roll back insurance rates 20% from their 1987 levels. It passed and was upheld by the state Supreme Court. So I was a little surprised to get a bill a few weeks ago that was 15% higher than last year’s. California Insurance Commissioner Roxani Gillespie’s announcement on Monday that she had ordered a freeze of up to six months on increases in private passenger auto insurance rates may have made headlines, but it made no difference in situations like mine, where rates were already higher.
To make matters worse, I couldn’t have paid that bill even if I’d wanted to, because it was for my share of a joint policy for which I am no longer eligible as a result of a change in family circumstances that I hadn’t yet notified my insurance company about. When I called and explained the situation, my agent told me I’d have to start from scratch, at--you guessed it--a higher rate. Even though my insurer and I have a longstanding relationship in which, so far, I’ve made no demands, the rules said that history was worthless. I had to be treated like a new customer, a veritable stranger. And since Proposition 103, my agent explained, most companies in the state are reluctant to take on new customers.
I couldn’t just mail in my payment as I’d done in years past, nor could I authorize anything over the phone. I had to make an appointment, go to the office and fill out an application. I considered shopping around on my own, but things seemed complicated enough. So I stuck with the same agent I’d had for years, an independent broker who deals with several companies. At least to her, I wasn’t a stranger.
When I showed up at the office, however, my agent had the day off, but she had arranged for one of her co-workers to take care of me.
I answered lots of personal questions, stopping just short of revealing my shoe size or whether I’d ever gone all the way on a first date. Did I have children? Were they living in my household? With some companies, that made a difference, whether the children were old enough to drive legally or not even tall enough to reach the gas pedal and the steering wheel at the same time.
Understandably, they wanted to know what I did for a living, and how I went about it. Everything went smoothly until I revealed that I’m a telecommuter, working out of my home most of the time with my telephone, modem and personal computer. Since that means I spend less time on the road, I figured, innocently, that I might get a discount for it.
“Uh-oh,” the woman said, the color draining from her face. She crumpled the application we’d been working on and tossed it into the wastebasket.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.
“That company won’t insure people who work out of their homes,” she said. “They feel it’s a much greater risk because you’re out driving around all the time.”
“They’ve never heard of computers?” I asked, explaining that my in-home office helps keep me off the freeways.
“They just don’t take that into account,” she said, tapping the keyboard of the computer in front of her. Other companies weren’t so strict, she explained, but in any case, my work arrangements meant I was going to have to pay a little more.
After some more keyboard tapping and chart flipping, she determined that my best bet would be the company I’ve had all along. But first she had to call and get a special dispensation for me, because I was, after all, a new customer. As I watched helplessly, checkbook in hand, she eloquently pleaded my case. After a few minutes, the man on the other end acquiesced.
As the woman hung up the phone, I opened my checkbook.
“Wait,” she said as I uncapped my pen, “you have to sign these forms first.”
Finally, it was time to write the check. “Would you prefer a one-pay, two-pay, three-pay, four-pay or nine-pay plan?” she asked.
Considering that my total premium would be around $1,000, I chose the four-pay plan. I handed her the check, she handed me some papers, and I went home, relieved and grateful that I had been deemed worthy of car insurance.
So what do you think? Should I send a nice card? Maybe some flowers? Or wait, I know: a tip! Let’s see, at 15% of my bill, that would be . . .
Nah.
