Perspective | Even the Best ‘Show Biz Kids’ Need Insurance

By: | February 19, 2021

Roger Crombie is a United Kingdom-based columnist for Risk & Insurance®. He can be reached at [email protected]

Locked down recently, I mentally swung out to Lake Nostalgia, reminiscing about seeing musicians Steely Dan play live on 07/07/07. I’d seen them on the TV, but before that never in person.

The details of that evening are etched upon my mind. As I was reelin’ in the years, I was struck by the utility — and omissions — of insurance.

Back in ‘07, I bought two tickets on eBay for the Steely Dan show in London.

An equally Dan-besotted chum said he’d collect them, since I lived far afield at the time.

The tickets cost a dish of dollars and took the last piaster I could borrow. Six hundred bucks for two $50 tickets? Only a fool would pay that, and there’s no insurance against stupidity, as far as I know.

My old friend collected the tickets from a dude with a skeevy look in his eyes.

I flew to London. And in all my travels, as the facts unravel, I’ve found this to be true: Insurance made it all possible.

The taxi to the airport was insured.

Both airports and the airline were only able to function because they were insured.

Ditto the subway and the hotel I stayed in.

On the Saturday night in question, an insured taxi dropped us a distance from the heavily insured auditorium. We went stompin’ on the avenues in the blue-white night, beneath thousands of motorists tearing up a trans-London skyway, financially isolated from the risks involved, thanks to insurance.

Finally, we wandered in, tickets in hand.

Nervous time: We didn’t exactly have tickets. We had two sheets of paper that my friend had printed on his computer. They didn’t feel like tickets to me. I know that times must change, but I had no insurance if they were fugazis, and my pal had none against the murder in my eyes if he’d failed to spot them as such.

No insurance either if the tickets had been on his phone, which apparently they can be, and he’d left the phone at home.

Or in the cab.

But all was better than well: Our seats were front row, center.

Behind us, some turnout: A full house, almost all of them insured, at the very least for auto and personal lines.

The members of the band were insured against everything. So were the managers, roadies and drivers, the sound people, the lighting people, Security Joan and the ushers. Not sure about the guys selling Steely Dan T-shirts.

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No insurance could be had against the band being awful. I’ve been to concerts where the greatest of the show business kids sure stunk up the joint.

No insurance had I died of anticipation. I had health insurance, but my 10-cent life wasn’t worth the premium. Not knowing this, of course, all the aforementioned enterprises included me in their coverage.

Suddenly the music hit us. They played the good stuff. The crowd was bouncin’ in sync with the pulse.

The music was hot and made alive a world of wonder. It all produced a feeling I can’t explain away, a dozen years later.

It was over a long time ago, but it seems like only yesterday.

Thanks, insurance. &

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