Insurance Customer Service Heads Due South

Insurance Customer Service Heads Due South

My mom and I were on the way to Houston when an 18-wheeler deposited the wiry remains of a shredded tire on the interstate, and I ran over it. Minutes later, a sickening moan issued from the front end of our van, and I hobbled across three lanes of traffic to the shoulder. My left front tire was in shreds. The right one was hissing. And so I called our insurance office.

"I am sitting on I-12 headed west toward Baton Rouge, (La.)" I said. "I hit tire debris from a truck. My left front tire is in shreds. Can you help us?"

The voice on the other end verified we in fact did have roadside service.

"What do you want me to do? "Do you want to be towed? Do you have a spare?" she said.

"Yes, I have a spare," I answered. "Can they just bring a tire and change it out?"

"Well, I have no idea if they can do that or not," she said. I waited for instructions, but the voice seemed a little bothered by my questions.

"If they can bring a tire and change it, I guess that's what I need," I surmised. She said she'd check, while my mom and I hunkered down beside three streams of high-speed surge, bobbing in the draft of countless 18-wheelers. Finally, she called with the news.

"The first guy I spoke with said he doesn't do that at all," she said.

"Do what?" I asked.

"He said he can come out and put on a spare, but he can't bring a tire. Besides, your roadside coverage doesn't pay for that," she said to idiot me. "We can have you towed. Do you want to be towed?"

I considered my options. It was 4 o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon. We needed to get to Houston - six more hours.

"Just call a wrecker," I said.

"Well, I will have to know exactly where you are," she said.

I am geographically and directionally challenged. It was only by the grace of God that I knew where we were.

"I saw a highway sign about five miles ago that said 'Baton Rouge, 11 miles,' " I said. "So, I'm just east of Baton Rouge."

She hung up, called back.

"The man I talked to said you must be west of Baton Rouge, not east," the gal said.

"No, I'm headed west," I said. "I'm headed to Houston. I haven't got to Baton Rouge yet. That has to mean I am east of Baton Rouge."

"Well, you don't have to yell at me," the woman yelled. "I'm trying to help you, but yelling at me won't help."

I looked at my mom. She checked our bearings, confirming we were headed due west. Neither she nor I had raised our voice.

"I am sitting on Interstate 12, about six miles east of Baton Rouge, headed west," I reiterated through clenched teeth. "If you can direct a wrecker here, that's what we need. If not, please just give me the number of one. I will call them myself." I knew where I was, knew I wasn't yelling, and I had Mom to back me up.

The wrecker had no difficulty finding us. From that point on, we spent an hour or so at the Firestone of Denham Springs, La., where manager Brad Smith demonstrated the true meaning of customer service. He and his team stayed well after hours, replacing all four tires on my van and reassuring two decidedly nerve-wracked women that the ride from there on out should be fine.

As for yelling at the insurance clerk, I did no such thing, although I feel I had a right. My husband and kids say they know that voice - the one that says I mean business. It is the one I will use to politely but firmly cancel our policy with this insurance company since their customer service has obviously headed due south.