The Case of the Taken Tickets

Game night! My buddy Sean and I had two front row tickets directly behind home plate for the big baseball game. I stayed up all night practicing my umpire heckling and was ready to insult his seeing-eye dog at the first blown call.

I pulled up to Sean’s house and honked the horn in the classic “da da da da da da” style, waiting for Sean to reply “Charge!” and charge out the door. But after three tries, only his neighbor yelled at me with a string of profanities that included every word but “charge.”

I cut the engine and walked into the house to find Sean dressed in his robe and staring into an empty jar. He looked up at me and held the jar out. “Hey Ace, do you want some Cheez Whiz?”

“Sean, the jar’s empty. That’s Cheez Wuz. Why aren’t you ready for the game?”

He sighed, sticking his finger into the jar in search of microscopic fragments of the paste. “Oh, about that. The tickets are gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“Gone, like the way of the dodo and that hairstyle of yours. They were stolen last night from this coffee table right here.”

I looked at the scene of the crime to find a mountain of beer coasters, Sport Illustrateds and pizza boxes.

“Are you sure you didn’t just lose them? I mean, Jimmy Hoffa could be buried there and you’d never notice.”

“I didn’t lose them! Geez, you’re as bad as Gina.”

Only then did I recognize the house’s lack of lemon scent or organization. “Where is Gina?”

“I had to dump her. She was too much like one of them Russian nesting dolls.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was too into herself.”

I sat down next to him in the La-Z-Boy and covered my face, thankful that the big foam finger I was wearing absorbed my tears. “This is terrible news, Sean.”

“Oh, it gets worse. I tried to get my money back, but the insurance company is sticking it to me good.”

“Spill it.”

“I have a current ISO HO3 policy with a $500 deductible. I paid $1,600 for these two tickets, even though the face value was $240 total. When I reported them stolen, the adjuster said they’ll only pay the $240! Just like a match: one strike and I am out…out of options.”

“You might want to relight yourself there, Sean. That adjuster’s call needs an instant reply.”

Why was Ace questioning the call?

Jonathan Hermann is an IA contributing editor.