State Farmed

I swear—my inbox is 90% State Farm agents at this point.

Not recruiters.

Not job leads.

Just Dave from State Farm telling me I’d be a phenomenal entrepreneur if I’m willing to sell home, auto, and the remains of my sanity.

Every day it’s the same message:

“Hi Alex! Ever dreamed of running your own business? You strike me as someone with leadership potential, drive, and a healthy obsession with deductibles.”

Sir, I haven’t worn matching socks in three days. I’m not emotionally prepared to “build a team” or “serve my community.” I just want to find a job where “lunch break” doesn’t mean crying into my keyboard while Googling “how to mute existential dread in Zoom settings.”

But they don’t stop.

It’s always some agent named Dave or Ashley or “Travis J. – District Mentor, Vision Architect, Dream Whisperer.” And they all open with suspicious admiration.

“We’re impressed by your background, your hustle, and your very existence.”

Am I flattered? A little.

Do I briefly consider it? Of course.

Who wouldn’t want to run a small-town insurance empire and wear polos embroidered with their own name?

But then I remember: this is not about me.

It’s about them needing someone to buy 800 folders, rent an office space, hire two cousins, and start selling fire protection to neighbors who still think you’re 12.

One guy even called me a “CEO in training.”

Bro, I am literally trying to decide between paying for groceries or renewing my Canva subscription. The only thing I’m CEO of right now is emotional turbulence and unopened rejection emails.

Let me be clear:

I don’t want to own a State Farm.

I want to be covered by one.

That’s it. That’s the relationship I’m emotionally available for.

And don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against insurance. It’s noble, important work. But the way these emails come in, you’d think I was being recruited into a secret society where khakis are currency and the onboarding process includes memorizing the entire “like a good neighbor” jingle under duress.

I finally replied to one of them and said,

“I’m honored, but currently I can’t even commit to a mobile phone plan without having an existential crisis.”

They offered to hop on a call anyway.

So yeah, if anyone needs a job in underwriting, I’ve got about 37 unread messages that say I’m a “natural-born leader with entrepreneurial DNA.”

Which is wild, because my only startup right now is a spreadsheet titled:

“Companies That Said They’d Get Back to Me and Lied.”

Now accepting referrals.

But not franchises.