The Case of the Rare Renter
By: Jonathan Hermann
I stared down at the headless rabbit with one word swirling in my head: delicious. You see, it’s important to put the animal out of its misery fast, which is why I always bite off the head first. Then I slowly consume its body, feet and fluffy tail—savoring every mouth-watering morsel—after which I wipe the chocolate, but not my smile, from my face. Easter candy is simply the best.
Sitting on a bus stop bench, I devoured the long-eared treat during an afternoon break. I had joined a group of volunteers to help the town prepare for its annual Easter festival, known as the Running of the Rabbits, when a dozen rabbits are set free in the high school football stadium to run wild with Updikian gusto while a gaggle of giggling children give chase.
It’s typically a light-hearted event, except a few years back when we accidentally included into the mix a Caerbannog rabbit that had nasty, big, pointy teeth and a vicious streak a mile wide. Luckily the children ran away.
I had spent the better part of the day hanging pastel-colored streamers and helium-filled balloons on the lampposts along Main Street before taking my break. As I finished cleaning chocolate off my fingertips, an elderly man popped a squat next to me on the bench.
“Good evening,” he said with a tip of his cap.
“I don’t trust that phrase,” I responded.
Puzzled, his face scrunching up like a wet sponge left on a sunny window sill, he asked, “And why not?”
“They always begin the evening news with ‘good evening,’ and then spend the next half hour telling us why it isn’t.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed, striking his knee. “I like you. You sound like you know things. I’m interested in learning something from someone who sometimes knows things, especially about insurance.”
“Something tells me I could be that someone. Shoot.”
“I will be attending my niece’s wedding next weekend in North Carolina, which means that, with much regret, I will miss the Running of the Rabbits. To make the best of a bad situation, I’ve decided to rent my house out to incoming tourists for the weekend. My question to you: Does my homeowners policy cover my renters?”
“The answer to your question is maybe,” I said.
“Maybe? You sound like me, young man. I used to be indecisive, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Well I am…sure, not indecisive. And maybe is the correct answer.”
Why was Ace’s answer as elusive as a running rabbit? Click here to check your solution against Ace’s.
Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contributing editor.
Sitting on a bus stop bench, I devoured the long-eared treat during an afternoon break. I had joined a group of volunteers to help the town prepare for its annual Easter festival, known as the Running of the Rabbits, when a dozen rabbits are set free in the high school football stadium to run wild with Updikian gusto while a gaggle of giggling children give chase.
It’s typically a light-hearted event, except a few years back when we accidentally included into the mix a Caerbannog rabbit that had nasty, big, pointy teeth and a vicious streak a mile wide. Luckily the children ran away.
I had spent the better part of the day hanging pastel-colored streamers and helium-filled balloons on the lampposts along Main Street before taking my break. As I finished cleaning chocolate off my fingertips, an elderly man popped a squat next to me on the bench.
“Good evening,” he said with a tip of his cap.
“I don’t trust that phrase,” I responded.
Puzzled, his face scrunching up like a wet sponge left on a sunny window sill, he asked, “And why not?”
“They always begin the evening news with ‘good evening,’ and then spend the next half hour telling us why it isn’t.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed, striking his knee. “I like you. You sound like you know things. I’m interested in learning something from someone who sometimes knows things, especially about insurance.”
“Something tells me I could be that someone. Shoot.”
“I will be attending my niece’s wedding next weekend in North Carolina, which means that, with much regret, I will miss the Running of the Rabbits. To make the best of a bad situation, I’ve decided to rent my house out to incoming tourists for the weekend. My question to you: Does my homeowners policy cover my renters?”
“The answer to your question is maybe,” I said.
“Maybe? You sound like me, young man. I used to be indecisive, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Well I am…sure, not indecisive. And maybe is the correct answer.”
Why was Ace’s answer as elusive as a running rabbit? Click here to check your solution against Ace’s.
Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contributing editor.
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