Something About Insurance

I am a bit rushed this morning so I'll postpone writing The Great American Blog until another day. We are off to an insurance seminar in a little over an hour and I await that moment with the same thrilled and anxious expectation as my dog Gus exhibits when the word vet is tossed about. When the appointed hour arrives I might, like Gus, have to be lifted into the car. Or maybe coaxed with a cookie. It's not that these things are boring, it's just that they make boring look like a reasonable option. It's little wonder that coffee is the only beverage available when you consider what the average age in the room is likely to be. Panama may not be south Florida yet, but its geriatric quotient is on a steep upward curve. Retirees, Jubilados in Spanish, a much better word, are being beamed down from Bushworld at alarming rates. Since U.S. Medicare doesn't pay here, all the Jubies will be showing up at today's meeting to find out who has the cheapest rates on arthritis creams. We'll be looking for Big C insurance ourselves as our current coverage provides for most of the common complaints like bunny flu and the removal of alien implants, but has no cancer provisions. A further aggravation induced by having to attend this sort of meeting is that here in Boquete the gathering is held in a hotel bar. Note that earlier I said the only liquid available is coffee. That's droll, or once again considering the group's age, drool. Personally I think the hotel and the insurance agents are missing a sure bet by not opening the bar part of the bar when the day's subject matter is as mind numbing as insurance. Might as well numb the bod too. Get a couple of drinks into these old codgers, pass out your pamphlets and sign 'em up. Everybody wins. Why don't people listen to me?