What I want to do, what I would love to do, is write a ranting and raving blog full of the kind of expletives that would make your grandmother blush. I got off the phone this morning with the most (insert mean, angry, expletive filled tirade here) customer service agent at State Farm.
She was giving me completely contradictory information to everything we were told yesterday, all in that fake, perky fucking tone. (Sorry, one slipped).
The thing that she said that annoyed me the most?
"Why would you listen to a police officer on how to file a claim?"
Well, the thing is, he is a patrol officer. This is kind of what he does. He has probably handled countless accidents over the years, plus, you know, he's a cop. Are you really going to sit there with your perky fucking tone (oops, again) and judge me for not getting the other guy's insurance information myself when I was still all shaken up from being in a car accident? Really? I'm the idiot for listening to the cop? Maybe, and thanks so much for pointing it out to me.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
In the spirit of Christmas, I am not writing the blog I want to write. I'm going to keep all the anger and vitriol all bottled up inside me. I'm writing a toned down version instead with only a few slip-ups curses that are relatively tame.
I don't want to be the kind of person filled with anger and vitriol, so I'm not going to let the most annoying bitch (oh, well...) control me. I'm going to let this go, for the moment. A warning to Rob Fox, my insurance agent (not who I talked to this morning), you had better step up, or I'm going to be looking for a new insurance company in the very near future.
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