I used to be a cigarette smoker.
But I finally quit…
Twenty-three years ago.
That number 23, as it turns out, is a rather significant part of this story.
I am not advising you to quit, or to start or to sort of quit or sort of start or anything. What you do with your money and your body is entirely up to you. Obviously.
However, I do have an experience to share, from which, if you are quitting or have quit smoking, I hope you can benefit.
A few weeks ago, my life insurance agent requested we meet to review my policy with his company. Being an efficient businessman, he had a printout of my document which he presented to me when we met. I reviewed it, carefully, and all seemed in order.
But one element of it jumped out at me.
The word “Smoker” which appeared by my name.
Indeed, at the time I took out the policy, in 1983, I was a walking chimney, a full two years away from butting out for good.
Even then, insurance companies were onto the notion that smokers die earlier than non-smokers so they attached a surcharge on my premium. A 33.3 per cent surcharge, in fact, to cover their increased risk.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” said my agent when I revealed my present non-smoking status. “You could have saved a third of your premiums all these years.” He informed me that, in spite of his regrets, that ship had sailed.
That’s kind of like being told your winning lottery ticket went out with the recycling or that you left the building before your grand prize ticket for the Ford Mustang was drawn and not being there in person, they awarded it to someone else.
I walked back to my office dazed and crestfallen, feverishly doing a lot of math in my head. Twenty three years. Thirty three and one third. Divide such and such, multiply so and so.
By the time I was through, I had reached a rough figure of almost $3,000 that had needlessly left my pocket in the 276 months since I gave up tobacco in any form.
Now, all I could see before me is the super duper big-screen TV and home stereo system that that kind of money would have bought me.
And the fact that instead of looking at wonderful widescreen images, all I had to show for $3,000 was a piece of paper with “Smoker” written on it.
It was enough to make me want to jump off a bridge. The nearest one was a culvert over the Waldie Drain and I’m not sure that would have accomplished the desired result.
In any case, that might have made my life insurance policy null and void with my estate receiving not a penny. That would really make me mad.
Instead, I simply fumed as I walked and eventually the thought came to me: “I need a cigarette.”
Fortunately, all feelings of futility – just like any chances at the monster TV – and cravings passed.
But as you can see, the matter still weighs heavily on my mind.
So, if you’ve quit smoking, for heaven’s sake, call your life insurance company. If you happen to save a thousand or two as a result of my advice, feel free to forward all commissions to my office in my name.
Or drop by and see me. I’m the sad one, not smoking. And not watching a monster TV.
©2008 Jim Hagarty
