Given my dirtbag upbringing, Lolita years, and eventual downward spiral of becoming a musician, I’ve spent a lot of time around weirdos and scumbags.
I’ve had to say, “Is this the bathroom door?” while pointing at a piece of moldy plywood that’s been propped up against a large hole in a wall.
I’ve had to say, “Cool python, Wack Max, but can you wait until after I leave to feed that rabbit to him?”
I’ve had to say, “Don’t mind me!” to a group of people shooting heroin in a kitchen so that I could reach into the fridge to grab a leftover rack of ribs. Hey – they were from Bobby Rubino’s and I was really hungry from all that acid I had taken!
That being said…
Nothing could prepare me for the kind of weirdos that I would encounter in the years that I worked in insurance offices.
My truly fabulous mother-in-law just retired from the insurance business this month, so this one goes out to her. Happy retirement, Patrice! (She is the lone exception in the case of insurance weirdos.)
So! Without further adieu, here is a non-exhaustive sampling of insurance coworker weirdos, because if I had to list all of them here, we would be here for five years still listing them off. And I’m limiting it to coworkers, because if I even started to get into weird customers, this would go on for the rest of our lives.
Richie Sambora Guy: This guy was not a fan of Bon Jovi – he was a fan of Richie Sambora, the guitar player from Bon Jovi. His first day of work, he asked me, with his jaw clenched, if I thought Richie Sambora was “the most gifted guitar player of all time” so I, of course, said yes. Because I could tell this guy was a *psycho*. All he talked about, all day, every day, was how awesome Richie Sambora was and how unfair it was that Jon Bon Jovi got all the attention in the band.
When customers would come in and sit at his desk, he would casually ask, “So, what do you think about Richie Sambora?” and when they would say, “Who? Is he an agent here?” or “He’s allright?” he would start flinging papers across his desk and stammering, “Well, I guess people are entitled to their own opinions!”
Old Woman Who 100% Stalked Me: This woman not only rifled through my desk and my trashcan every night after I left work, listened in on my phone calls, and once asked me if she could go through my purse “out of curiosity”, but she used to peer into my car windows in the parking garage on her lunch break, and then come back into the office and question me about items that I had in my car. “What’s with the frisbee I saw peeking out from under your jacket on the passenger side floorboard of your backseat? And that phone bill has been sitting on your front seat for over a week now, I hope you don’t get a late fee.” Good point, WEIRDO. Who likes late fees, right?
Santana and Rob Thomas “Smooth” Woman: Anytime this song would come on the radio, this woman would crank it up to 10 and angrily shush anyone who so much as uttered a sound for the duration of the song – including customers who were sitting at her desk asking questions about their homeowner’s insurance policy. “Shhhhh!!!!” with a glare. Every time it came on. For two years. When that song first came out, it was on like five times a day.
And speaking of! Santana “Oye Como Va” Guy: After a coworker who he didn’t like quit, this guy celebrated by pulling a Casio keyboard out of his desk drawer and playing Santana’s “Oye Como Va” on it, over and over. A move I would have totally respected…
…except then he just started doing it anytime business was slow. Every time he finished playing “Oye Como Va” he would say, “Would you rather hear some Billy Preston?” Then I would say, “Yes! Please!” then he would play “Oye Como Va” again. (Please note, this was a completely separate insurance workplace and this guy was in no way affiliated with “Smooth” woman.)
Man Who Couldn’t Stop Talking About His Butthole and How Totally Not Gay He Was: Within my first fifteen minutes at this job, the boss made sure to tell me, appropos of nothing, that his “butthole had a sign on it that said, “Exit Only!” and then laughed about it like the Joaquin Phoenix Joker for a full ten seconds before deadpanning, “I’m not gay.”
Then he reminded me of this butthole/not gay fact thirty minutes later. And then another five times over the course of the morning. I refused to laugh anytime he said it, prompting him to ask me where my “sense of humor was located.”
Had I thought of it at the time, I would have responded, “I would say your butthole, but I’ve heard that it’s “Exit Only.”
I worked at this office for half of one day before picking up my purse, pretending that I was just going to lunch, and then never returning.
Woman Who Looked Exactly Like Matilda The Hun from the Original G.L.O.W. Who Would Pick Up The Picture on My Desk of Me and My Sisters and Say The Filthiest Things Because She Didn’t Know That I Knew Enough Spanish to Know What She Was Saying: I won’t even repeat the things she said. They were straight-up, Larry Flynt would blush, absolute filth about what she wanted to do to me and my sisters. She’d say this stuff and then lick her perpetually chapped, mustachioed lips and mouth-breathe at me, right at my desk, in my face. I never let on that I understood almost every word she said, because I did not want her to confuse this with “interest” on my part and then try to make me be her prison bitch.
When she wasn’t standing at my desk, she used to stare at me from across the office while she squeezed Walgreens-brand petroleum jelly onto her finger out of a cap-less tube that she kept in a Ziploc bag, and then smear it on her mouth and go, “Mmmmm.”
Also, she had her car repossessed from our parking lot on her first day of work, but that’s really neither here nor there. Just an item of interest, it being her first day and all, as she was yelling, “You’re lucky my gun is still in New York, pendejo!” to the finance guy on the phone.
Please feel free to share your workplace weirdos in the comments, and then we will all laugh at their expense because we’re petty and mean-spirited. Or is that just me?
Do you enjoy this crapola? Click the Follow button if you do, and you’ll get a nifty email anytime I post this crapola. If you don’t enjoy this crapola, might I recommend that you go into the insurance business? You will meet some quality, non-weird people there.
“I’ve never bagged a babe. I’m not a stud.” – Farmer Ted, Sixteen Candles