A Pizza in the Box and a Bag in the Hand

So today's mandatory faculty meeting was the ubiquitous one where the insurance guy comes and attempts to persuade us to buy more health insurance, his rhetoric peppered with expressions like "Folks. . ." and "My (insert family member here) is a teacher and I know how hard . . ." and "We send you a check directly" and "Now, I heard this is a stress-free school but . . ." and so on. This speech comes after he ironically serves us all free greasy pizza before citing all the scary statistics about heart attacks, diabetes and strokes. He ends with a drawing. He chooses one of the names out of his bag and that person wins $50.00. Why is it that I always get depressed, listening to the doom and gloom warning of these insurance folks? Why do the jokes and one-line platitudes sound so cliche? Why do I look around at the dull pepto bismo color on the walls and think thoughts like "Oh my gosh, I'm stuck in an institution" and "this is the future I can look foward to if I stay and retire in teaching?" Perhaps it's just me, but I feel like a cow being fattened for the slaughter as I'm herded into the corral, forced to listen to this used car salesman. I despise the annual insurance lecture. I just can't get past the idea that it's planning for the "glass is half-empty" scenario. I know I'm jaded but my faith in the insurance business is zilch.