Morton sat across from the insurance company representative, fuming.
“So my insurance has been canceled because my son is a zombie?” Morton’s son, Jeff, moaned in the seat next to his.
“That’s correct, sir.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. I’m not the zombie, my son is.”
“Does he live with you?”
“Of course he lives with me! He’s my son!”
“Then I’m afraid he poses an uninsurable risk to your household, sir.”
Morton couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“What do you expect me to do, put my son in a dog house out in the yard?”
“Would said dog house be on your property?”
Morton’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. He took several deep breaths.
“What do I have to do to get my insurance reinstated?”
“Your son will need to leave your residence, sir.”
“And where would you have me send him? Disneyland?”
“I can’t legally offer you advice, sir,” the insurance representative said. “I’d contact the Bureau of Zombie Affairs.”
“I tried that. It’s closed. Budget cuts.”
“Hmmm,” the insurance man said, scratching his chin. He turned to his secretary. “Mary, would you bring me the zombie housing files, please?”
Mary grunted and slowly rose from her desk and shambled toward a filing cabinet. Morton was livid.
“So you work with a zombie, but you won’t insure people who live with zombies? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“I don’t insure my secretary, sir, I only share a workspace with her.”
“That’s it!” Morton raged. “I want to speak with your supervisor!”
“Very well, sir.”
The insurance representative picked up the phone and punched a couple of numbers. “Randy, I have a customer who’d like to speak with you. Thank you.” He hung up. “He’ll be right out.”
An uncomfortable minute or two passed with Morton and the insurance man staring at each other across the desk in silence. A door on the other side of the office opened.
“Ah, here he is now,” the insurance guy said. A decomposing man in a suit shuffled through the door and across the office toward them.
Morton’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
The insurance representative glanced at his watch.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m due to take my lunch break. I’ll leave you to discuss your issue with Randy.”
At the mention of lunch, Morton’s son Jeff’s mouth began to water.
“You know what?” Morton said. “It is lunch time. Jeff, you wanna grab a bite?”
Jeff grinned. Morton grabbed the insurance man and held him as Jeff shambled around the desk. And Mary and Randy decided to join Jeff for lunch.
—
© 2009 Robert C. Eccles
