Raw deal

Several months ago I decided to get a decent life insurance policy. Even though I had group coverage through work, I realized that if I kicked off and left a check in the amount of my annual salary, it would pay for a nice funeral, a sweet casket and for somebody to take a great vacation. So in other words, diddley squat.
So being the responsible father I am, I signed up for a 20-year term policy from Prudential with a $300,000 death benefit. That way, Nicholas would be well taken care of -- far better than if I lived from a purely monetary standpoint, which seems funny in a dark and morbid way. All for the low-low price of $260 a year, because I'm such an upstanding (and nonsmoking) citizen.
But that was just the preliminary quote. First some adjuster from a call center in west Texas must ask me 8,000 questions about whether or not my great aunt Nellie suffered from gout, if I ever ate dirt as a kid and what were my scores on sixth-grade multiplication tests. I'm taking an antidepressant so they asked a whole barrage of questions about that too, questions that I answered honestly. Guess what honesty gets you? More suspicion. The insurance company wanted paperwork vouching for my sanity from my primary doctor, counselor, financial advisor, shaman, proctologist and pizza delivery driver. (Okay, I'm exaggerating. A little.)
And guess what else? Even though I quit smoking last summer, I still occasionally use nicotine gum. So it showed up in my urine test (yeah, I had to do one of those too). Which meant the Rock is unconvinced that I'm a nonsmoker.
Final annual premium? More than $1,200. Guess I won't be buying that policy.
Moral of the story? If you want to get insurance, be prepared for a full strip search. And if you want to afford it, better pretend you're a lot better person than you actually are.