Eat Street WC 287

Mr. Carver stands in front of his demolished restaurant with the insurance adjuster.

EAT STREET

My once-thriving restaurant had been reduced to a pile of rubble, with shards of irreplaceable Lalique glass rising from the ruins. I looked on in disbelief as a crowd gathered. A CNN reporter reminded the viewers that, luckily, there had been no loss of life.

The insurance adjuster standing to my right jotted notes. He looked to his left; our eyes met.

“It’s an unfortunate chain of events, Mr. Carver.”

“It was one event!”

“I’m not sure what the procedure would be in a case like this. At least there was no loss of life, sir.”

“Only my livelihood.”

“You have no insurance to cover…um…this type of event.”

“Why not?”

“There is no category, Mr. Carver.”

“Pretend it was a bomb. My insurance would cover that, right? You can square that with your boss, right?”

“Yes, sir, I could, but it wasn’t a bomb.”

It had done the same type of damage as a bomb. My patience was spent.

“For Fritos' sake! I’ve been paying this ridiculous premium for twelve years. Every blessed month.”

“That’s no reason to attack me. I’m just the messenger!”

I wanted to wring his pencil neck.

One of my customers walked up. “Oh, my! What a crime! You have the best Caesar salad in town. I mean had. Sorry.” She backtracked to avoid the destruction, disappearing into the crowd.

“So, what now?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carver, there is no category for flying saucers, so I think we’re finished here,” he said and walked away.

I looked up at the massive saucer-shaped object sitting on top of Eat Street like a garish garnish on a deflated souffle.

On the bright side, this would make for great dinner conversation…only not at Eat Street.

WC 287