The Case of the Motorcycle Madness

I’m a trusting soul. When a woman tells me she had a lovely time at dinner, I’m shocked when she changes her phone number the very next day just to elude my 20 or 30 calls. When a neighbor says he’ll feed my fish while I’m on vacation, I’m honestly surprised to find Captain Flippers belly-up on my return.

So to become more cynical, I joined a support group for Trusters, people who are simply too trusting. We met one Friday night in a church basement, where 10 folding chairs—those classic metal ones that can numb your backside in five minutes flat—were arranged in a circle, weighed down by eight people trying to relieve said numbness.

After introductions, we went around the circle, talking about the things we believed in even though we should have known better.

“I believe every commercial politicians air during election years,” said an older gent leaning on a hickory cane.

“I believed that the ‘Guchie’ bag I bought from a street vendor for $20 was the real deal,” shared a tearful woman clutching her knock-off tightly.

“I believe the emails I receive from Nigerian bankers—they need our help, you know!” said a willowy woman in a striped sundress.

“I believe that reality TV is real,” admitted a burly man, his hands covering his face in shame.

I was about to take my turn and admit my awful truth—that I believe Santa Claus is real, but he refuses to visit my home because I once set out healthy oatmeal cookies and soy milk for his treat—when a stick of a man in a grey suit jumped ahead and said, “Obviously I don’t belong here. I only trust people who should be trusted, like college kids who like to ride motorcycles. I’d even stake my insurance business on it.”

“I believe this man needs to tell us more,” I said quickly, happy to keep my Santa secret a few minutes longer.

“I insure a community college that offers motorcycle courses,” he began. “They provide motorcycles for the classes, which do not leave the college’s premises. Because I trust that the kids will never leave the college grounds on these motorcycles, I insure the bikes as mobile equipment and not as autos subject to general liability.”

The others in the circle nodded trustingly. But not me.

“You might get stuck with something much worse than a Guchie bag,” I said, “if you keep trusting those kids.”

Why was Ace so doubtful? Find out here.