You ever have one of those weeks where you think, “Hey, maybe it’s time to get my life together?” You know, do some adulting? That was this week for us. We decided to tackle insurance—home, health, car, you name it. The idea was simple: get coverage and stop living on the edge. But with our group, nothing is ever simple.
The whole disaster started Monday morning. I was peacefully sipping my coffee when Chaz barged into my apartment like a man on a mission. He had this look on his face—the kind he gets when he’s convinced he’s about to change our lives forever.
Chaz: “Bro, I got us a deal on insurance. Bundle everything—car, health, home, soul.”
Me: “Chaz, you don’t even own a car.”
Chaz: “Details, bro. Details.”
Turns out, Chaz had met this guy, Jeremy, at his gym. Jeremy claimed he was “Jake from State Farm” but with a more holistic approach. He sold Chaz on the idea of “adulting insurance”—a package deal that promised to protect every aspect of our lives. Naturally, Chaz was all in and had already signed himself up.
Chaz: “Look, they even have ‘Yoga Injury Coverage.’ That’s gotta be legit.”
At this point, I should’ve said no. I should’ve laughed, closed the door, and gone back to my coffee. But then Tessa showed up, laptop in hand, eyes wide like she’d just discovered a new way to alphabetize her spice rack.
Tessa: “This could be good. I mean, we are getting older. We need to start thinking about these things.”
Sophie arrived shortly after, cautiously optimistic, and Mark stumbled in last, still wearing one slipper because he’d lost the other. Clearly, this was the team to handle something as serious as insurance. What could possibly go wrong?
Wednesday morning, we decided to call “Jake from State Farm.” Well, more like “Jeremy from Possibly-a-Scam, Inc.” We gathered in my living room, paperwork spread out everywhere, phones in hand.
Tessa was the first to dial. She went through a series of prompts, each one more infuriating than the last. You could feel her patience dwindling with every “Press 1 for English. Para español, marque dos.”
Tessa: into the phone “Yes, hi, I just need to confirm the deductible on this policy—wait, you’re transferring me again? No, I— deep breath Fine.”
Chaz, on the other hand, was texting Jeremy directly.
Chaz: “Yo, Jeremy. Dope coverage. Just checking—does this include injuries from extreme sports? Asking for a friend. 🏋️♂️✌️”
Mark, in his usual fashion, was lost in the forms.
Mark: “Do I fill this part out if I don’t have a pet? Wait, do fish count?”
Me: “Mark, you don’t have a fish.”
Mark: “But I might. One day.”
We spent hours on this. HOURS. Chaz was pacing the room, Tessa was neck-deep in fine print, Sophie was calmly sipping tea while occasionally muttering “This feels like a mistake,” and Mark had now started researching the benefits of pet insurance.
By Friday, we were all set. Tessa had managed to wrangle some semblance of a policy together, Chaz had confirmed his coverage for “yoga-related injuries,” and Mark was still on the fence about whether his imaginary fish would be included. It was time to seal the deal. That’s when the bombshell dropped.
Sophie got a call.
Sophie: into the phone “Yes, this is Sophie Caldwell… I’m sorry, what?”
She turned to us, eyes wide with that look she gets when she realizes we’ve walked straight into a disaster.
Sophie: “This isn’t real. None of it. ‘Jake from State FaaRm’ is a scam. With two ‘a’s. They’ve been targeting people with ‘holistic insurance solutions’ for weeks!”
Me: sigh “Of course they have.”
Chaz: “Wait… does that mean my ‘yoga injury coverage’ is a lie?!”
Tessa nearly exploded.
Tessa: “I spent six hours on the phone for NOTHING?!”
Mark, surprisingly calm, just shrugged.
Mark: “So, no coverage for the fish then?”
We spent Saturday at our local bar, The Dead Rabbit, dissecting the mess. Tessa was still fuming, Chaz was in shock, Sophie was quietly sipping her kombucha, and Mark… well, he was reading a pamphlet about pet adoption.
Chaz: “I really thought Jeremy was legit. He had a great vibe.”
Me: “Chaz, the guy also tried to sell you ‘spiritual injury coverage.’ That wasn’t a red flag for you?”
Chaz: “Hey, sometimes your spirit needs protection, bro.”
Tessa: “No, Chaz, this is not about protecting your ‘spirit.’ It’s about not falling for scams that promise to insure your metaphysical aura!”
So here we are, back at square one. No insurance, no adulting badge unlocked, just another misadventure to add to our growing list. As we walked back home, Chaz turned to me with that hopeful look on his face.
Chaz: “Well, at least we tried, right?”
Me: “Tried and failed. Spectacularly.”
Tessa: “Next time, we’re hiring a professional.”
But you know what? At least we gave it a shot. Adulting is overrated anyway. Why be responsible when you can be… us?
And maybe that’s the takeaway here. Sometimes, you don’t get your life together in a neat, organized bundle. Sometimes, you just gather your friends, attempt something, and watch it unravel into a beautiful mess. At least we’re all in it together. Even if our “insurance” is just a piece of paper with the word “HOPE” scribbled on it.
Adulting is a scam. Or maybe we’re just bad at it. Either way, next time someone says “insurance,” we’re just going to nod politely and then change the subject. Because honestly, we’re better at facing the chaos head-on, without a safety net.