The Case of the Imprudent Student

On Saturdays I volunteer as a candy striper at Sacred Heart hospital. I used to do it solely for the outfits—the red and white striped aprons really brought out the bloodshot in my eyes. But then the patients began to enjoy my friendly face more than an all-night morphine drip, so I made it a habit.

On this particular Saturday, I was pushing the Jell-O cart near the psych ward when I overheard someone trying to explain a rather prickly insurance quandary to a boy with a thick accent.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I peeked inside the room to discover my friend Dave standing next to a bed-ridden young man wrapped in white gauze from head to toe. The only exposed parts of him were a pair of dark brown eyes and one gigantic eyebrow that wriggled like a belly-dancing caterpillar.

“Ace! Man, am I glad you’re here!”

“Is everything OK? You looked as worried as an elderly woman merging onto the Autobahn at rush hour.”

“Everything is definitely not OK.”

“Who’s the mummy?”

“This is Kip. He’s from Ralphstantinople. That’s…that’s…”

“It’s south-northeast of West Fangoria,” I quickly answered, showing off my awe-inspiring geographic knowledge that won me six blue ribbons in grade school.

Kip’s eyes lit up like a kerosene-coated Christmas tree decorated with candle ornaments. “You have been there, friend?”

“No, but I flew over it once on a flight to Istanbul. It looks lovely from the air.”

I walked to the end of the bed and looked at his chart.

“So what happened anyway?”

“Well, Kip is a foreign exchange student staying with my insured,” Dave jumped in. “They own a 4-wheeler, which Kip crashed into a barn while riding on their premises.”

“A barn, Kip?”

The bandaged boy shrugged. “In my village, barns are made of dried camel dung, so I thought I’d roll right through.”

“As you can guess by looking at him,” Dave continued, “the hospital bills are higher than the audience at a Snoop Dogg concert, so I’m wondering if there is liability or medical coverage under their homeowners policy for this 17-year-old student.”

I ripped off my apron to expose the insurance investigator underneath.

“Dave, good thing we’re in a hospital, for we may need to call in a resident.”

Why was Ace calling 911 for the 411? For help solving this mystery and to check your solution against Ace’s, click here.

Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contributing editor.