A big part of my job is negotiating personal injury settlements with claimants and their representatives. I talk to people from all over the nation every day. And I can generally do so without cracking up so hard I cry on the phone. Today was not that day.
I was organizing a huge stack of new work (so huge it took me three days to get through it all, ugh) when I noticed a small property damage claim that I knew I could quickly settle, and being all about an instant sense of accomplishment, I set to work.
I opened the file and saw that the contact person's name was Monty Hall. (Internal giggling and jokes commenced.) His extension wasn't listed in his letter so I endured 8,000 voice prompts to get to a receptionist. By this time the giggling and jokes had externalized. I cracked wise the entire time she was looking up his number . . . and then she comes out with, "Hmm. It looks like we have two Monty Halls."
GET OUT! I lost my shit.
I was half-hysterical by the time she transferred me but when Monty got on the line I was all business: I made my offer, he accepted it, and we got off the phone.
I lost my nerve.
Can you believe that shit? Let me say it again . . . I lost my nerve. Me. I. Nerve? Lost. When does this happen? Never. Certainly not when it should.
I immediately knew I'd missed a huge comedic/blog post opportunity. I sat there for about ten minutes, morose and turned inside out about what I'd just done, until I mustered the courage to do the unthinkable. I went in for a second shot at it - I called him back.
By the time he got on the line, the death giggles had returned and between snickers I explained my situation and asked if I could make the offer again. He laughed and said that the receptionist had warned him about me but that he would be happy to hear my offer again if it would help me get on with my day. I got my second chance, monkeys.
As calmly as I could (not very) I said, "Monty Hall, let's make a deal. (snicker, giggle) I'm offering you $12,577.60 to settle this claim. (giggle) You can take it. It can be yours. (snicker) Or you could choose what's behind . . . (laughing so hard that my voice is but a squeak) door number three." (pounding on desk)
What a nice man. I hope he's blogging about the crazy woman in St. Louis who badgered him on the phone and then laughed until she couldn't breathe.
We're watching you.
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