Insurance Agent, or My Dad?

I have a great insurance agent.  Let’s call him Stan.  He takes my calls at all hours and on weekends, and entertains my repetitive questions and absentmindedness without complaint.  Plus I once wrote about him in an essay for a national magazine in which I described his being forced — in the course of him helping me obtain health insurance — to discuss a most intimate, um, well, incongruity about my person.  He is longsuffering and kind.

Recently I emailed Stan with a question about auto insurance.  The first part of his response was straightforward and businesslike and sounded like an insurance agent.  But then he started talking about how different styles and features of cars affect the premiums.  For instance, he wrote, if you are considering a car with a name that includes “GT”, you should know that:

If you see GT, it means more premiums.  My definition of GT is Gas and Tires.

Gotta remember that one when my daughter wants to buy her first GT Whatever.

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