My son has been getting lots of junk mail, all from insurance companies. Even worse, it’s Medicare supplement insurances. Each piece annoys me anew because someone sold his name and address to solicitors, and I couldn’t think of anything I would have used his name.
This week while I was out mowing the yard, a car pulled up our driveway. A man wearing khakis and a polo got out and he had a folder in his hand: a salesman. I groaned, shut off the mower and met him at the door. He introduced himself as a rep from Mutual of Omaha. He explained that he likes to meet the people in our area that will be turning 65 and wanted to meet Doodicus.
Without missing a beat, I opened the front door and called out, “Doodicus, would you have a second?” A couple seconds later, he rounded the corner, fresh from a shower wearing his bathrobe. The salesman, Brian, was agape. I put my arm over Dood’s shoulder and asked,
“Hey, bud. When’s your birthday?”
“December,” he replied.
“And what year?”
“Great. Thanks!” and he ran off back down the hall.
Brian turned to me and said, “His birthday isn’t until December??” as if THAT was the most surprising thing about meeting my eleven year old son.
I explained that Dood gets lots of junk mail and not just from M.O.O. He was appropriately shame-faced even though I’m sure it wasn’t his fault. I guess that’s one way to make sure someone’s name gets off the contact list, wouldn’t you agree? I didn’t even have to get assholey on the phone.