by Bill H Myers
I was stunned. The amount was less than half of what the motorhome had been worth a year earlier. Before the wreck, I wouldn't have considered selling it for what they were offering.
To me, it was worth at least thirty grand before it had been destroyed. And I'd lost more than just the motorhome. I'd lost everything inside it. My computer and electronic gear, my GPS, my metal detector and lots of other things that would be expensive to replace.
It didn't seem right that I had to cover the loss and accept so little from the insurance company for something that wasn't my fault.
Agent Jacobs was waiting for my answer on whether I would accept the fifteen grand he was offering or not. Instead of answering his question, I asked, “What about contents coverage? Everything I owned was in the motorhome. My cameras, my computers, my phone, all my clothes, everything. Doesn't my policy cover any of that?”
Instead of answering right away, I could hear him typing on his computer. After a few moments, he said, “Good news. It looks like you have full content coverage. It maxes out at five thousand dollars. I'm pretty sure we can add that back into your payout. That'll bring it back up to twenty thousand.
“If you agree to this amount, we can send you a check today. Will that work?”
I was thinking, No, it wouldn't. I had suffered a huge loss, and the amount they were offering wouldn't come close to covering it. Beyond that, I had paid the towing company thirteen hundred dollars out of pocket. I asked the agent whether the towing and storage fees were covered.
Again, he said, “I'm glad you asked. Your policy does cover that. If you can provide a receipt, we can reimburse the towing cost as well as the storage fees you've already paid.”
I had another question. “If I accept your offer, what happens to my motorhome?”
The agent knew the answer. “Since we've determined it was totaled, we'll sell it for scrap. In most cases, the impound lot where the vehicle is stored will be given the first chance to buy. If they want it, we'll sell it to them usually for what we owe in storage fees. If they don't want it, we'll sell it to a scrap yard. Due to the amount of damage it sustained, we won't get much for it.”
He continued, “If you're interested in buying it, we could sell it to you for the storage fees you covered. Then you could do whatever you want with it. But you would be responsible for any additional storage fees incurred after we reach an agreement.”
I hated to think that my motorhome, the one that had taken me on so many adventures, would be scrapped. But there was no way around it. It was a burned-out hulk with no usable parts. I'd spent two hours going through it and knew there wasn't anything of value left.
Still, I hated to see it go. But I had no place to put it and no reason to keep it.
I told the adjuster I wasn't interested in buying it.
He said, “I understand. It hurts to lose something like that.”
Then he said, “Your final payout looks to be twenty thousand dollars. This includes fifteen thousand for the motorhome and five thousand for contents. You'll also receive reimbursement for towing and storage fees after you send in the receipts.
“Does this sound acceptable to you?”
It was hard to believe that my motorhome was worth so little. But it was fourteen years old, and RVs tend to depreciate quickly after they reach a certain age. I knew that mine was well beyond the depreciation cliff. I also knew I wouldn't be able to replace it for the insurance payout being offered.
But I really didn't have much choice. The insurance policy was what it was. I had picked it out, and I would have to live with the results. Reluctantly, I told the agent, “Yes, twenty thousand dollars is acceptable. Please send the check to my new address.”
I gave him the address of the beach cottage and was about to end the call when he asked, “Mr. Walker, your YouTube video has gotten a lot of views and will probably get more in the future. The truth is your motorhome has become an internet star.
“Because of that, Bob Young in our marketing department would like to speak to you. Can I transfer your call?”
I was pretty sure I didn't want to talk to anyone in marketing, but since I didn't have much else to do until Taylor showed up, I took the call.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I expected the insurance company's marketing man, Bob Young, would try to sell me a new policy or transfer my old one to the replacement motorhome when I finally bought one.
But I was wrong. The guy didn't try to sell me anything. In fact, he made me a very interesting offer.
He started out by saying, “I’m glad you survived the accident. I've seen the video, and it looked bad. It's amazing you lived through it.”
He took a breath and then continued. “As you may know, we sometimes feature customer stories in our TV commercials. Maybe you've seen the one with the bear that got into an RV and tore it up.”
I'd seen the commercial and several like it, so I knew what he was talking about.
He continued. “In your case, the video of your accident has gotten over sixty million views, and everyone is talking about it.
“Because you're one of our valued customers, we'd like to feature your story in some of our promotions. We wouldn't reveal your name or any personal information, but we would show video clips and photos from the accident.
“Of course, we wouldn't do this without your permission or without offering some compensation.
“Based on the widespread popularity of the crash video, we could offer you five thousand dollars for the exclusive use of your story and video. Would you be interested?”
I wanted to say, “No.”
I didn't want the publicity. But because the video of the wreck had already gone public and had been viewed by millions, the publicity train had already left the station.
Even though the video featured me and my motorhome, the only one who made money from it was the person who had posted it on YouTube. I didn't get a penny.
Like a lot of things about the wreck, the YouTube earnings didn't seem fair. I should have at least gotten something. But nothing had been offered. So, for that reason, I was interested in the marketing man's offer.
But I had a question.
“I appreciate your offer, and I might be interested in it, but the video on YouTube isn't mine. I didn't shoot it, and I don't own it. I can't give you permission to use it, no matter how much you pay me.”
The marketing man didn't seem bothered by my response. He said, “Everyone has seen the dash cam video of your accident on YouTube, but that's not the one we want to use. We want to create our own, using the four camera angles caught by the highway department's traffic cams.
“They show the accident more clearly than the YouTube video, and we can easily get permission from the highway department to use theirs.
“As I mentioned earlier, we won't release any information about you and will blur out your face if it appears in the footage we use. Are you interested?”
The five thousand dollars he was offering for the marketing rights was unexpected and would help when it came to replacing my motorhome. But I wasn't sure I wanted to sell out so quickly and for so little.
I wondered if the amount offered was firm. I asked, “I might be interested. The money would help me buy a replacement, but I'm not sure I should sell the story to anyone. When you start running ads showing the accident, they might come back to haunt me.
“I'm facing medical bills that will likely be over a hundred thousand dollars, and maybe I should hold off on your offer until I talk it over with a friend.”
There was a pause on the other line, and finally the marketing man said, “Mr. Walker, I totally understand. You were in a serious accident, and it's not something to take lightly. I appreciate your concern about privacy and assure you that we would never release any information about you.
“But because you mentioned your medical bills, we might be able to offer you a bit more. If you don't mind holding, I'll ask my boss.”
He put me on hold, and I listened to background music while I thought about whether I wanted the world to see commercials in which my motorhome was destroyed.
I knew the wreck was already being viewed by millions on YouTube. Having it shown in TV commercials wouldn't change that. On the plus side, agreeing to the offer would put more money in my pocket and wouldn't affect my privacy any more than the YouTube video already had.
About two minutes later, the marketing man came back on the line and said, “Mr. Walker, thanks for waiting. I've spoken to my boss. He said we rarely pay this much for the customer stories we use. But in your case, because the accident is so well known, we see value in being able to use it in our promotional materials.
“But that value diminishes over time. Two or three months from now, something else will be popular on YouTube, and the video of your accident will be forgotten.
“For us to gain from the use of the video, we must be able to use it quickly, while it's still fresh in everyone's mind. Three months from now, it may not be worth anything to us or anyone else.
“But it's worth something now, so we can up our offer a bit. But understand this is our final offer.
“You can either accept or reject it. If you accept, we'll send you a contract via next day air. If you sign it and send it back to us, we'll send you a check for ten thousand dollars.
“If you reject our offer, you won't hear from us again. It's up to you to decide. But our offer expires in forty-eight hours.”
I didn't need forty-eight hours to think about it. Getting paid ten thousand dollars to use public domain video of the accident sounded like something I'd be a fool to pass up. As long as the contract clearly stated my privacy was protected, I would sign.
I told the marketing man to send me the contract and I'd read it over. If I liked what I saw, I’d sign it and send it back. He congratulated me on my decision and said the contract should arrive at my home the next day.
We ended the call. I tallied up the two checks the insurance company would be sending; twenty thousand for the motorhome and contents, and ten thousand for the use of the video. A total of thirty thousand dollars.
It would have been better for me not to have been in the accident in the first place, and not been in a position where I needed to replace my motorhome and everything in it, but the thirty thousand dollars the insurance company was offering would help ease the pain.
Clearly, the day was off to a good start.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The swelling under my eye had gone down a little overnight, but the skin around it had turned a deep shade of purple. Anyone seeing me would think I'd either been in a fight or walked into a door.
If they asked, I'd tell them it was a door.
Taylor showed up at nine, right on time. I heard the crushed shell of the driveway crunching under her tires as she pulled in. I looked out the window and saw she was driving a Miata. A small two-seat sports car. Red with a black convertible top.
My first thought was that a two-seater might not be big enough for both of us. For her, it was the right size. She was about five foot four with a slim build. She'd have no problem getting behind the wheel. But I was a six-footer and even though I'd lost fifteen pounds while in the hospital, I still weighed close to one seventy. And then there was the issue of the roof line. I wasn't sure I'd be able to sit inside the Miata without hitting my head on it every time she hit a bump.
While I was thinking about this, she climbed out of her little red sports car wearing dark blue shorts, a white shirt tucked into her pants, and a chauffeur’s cap on her head.
When I went outside to greet her, she said, “Good morning, boss. Hope you had a good night. I'm ready to go whenever you are.”
She seemed cheerful for someone who had just lost their job, but maybe that was her nature. If it was, I liked it. Cheerful was good.
I grabbed my wallet, my burner phone, a stack of lost cat flyers and went outside to her car. When I got close, she walked over to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I looked inside. The seats and floor were clean. I'd have to duck to get in, but it looked like there would be enough room for me to sit comfortably.
I got in, and she closed the door behind me.
When she climbed into the driver's seat, I said, “There's no need for you to open the door for me, I can do it myself.”
I pointed to her head. “Nice touch with the hat. But you don't need to wear it for me.”
She smiled and said, “Whatever you say, boss.”
She pulled off the hat and dropped it in the small storage cubby behind her seat. Then she asked, “So what do you think?”
“About what?”
“My car. What do you think about my car?”
I thought a lot of things about it, but mainly I thought it was small. I didn't tell her that. I just said, “It's sporty.”
She smiled. “Yes, it's sporty. But what else?”
I shrugged. “It probably gets good gas mileage.”
“It does, about thirty-two miles per gallon. But what else? Go ahead and say it.”
I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say, so I said the only thing I could think of. “It's kind of small.”
She nodded. “That's it. I knew you were thinking that. That it's small.”
I didn't want her to feel bad about her car, so I said, “It may be small, but I bet it's fast.”
“It can be, but I'm scared to take it out on the highway to see how fast it can go. It sits low, and with all the big trucks whizzing by, I feel like I have a target on my back.
“So, you're right. It’s small. Too small for what I need. I've got audio gear I have to haul to events, and none of it will fit in the Miata. I need something bigger.”
I sat up straight, and my head rubbed the roof. She noticed and said, “See, it's too small. I definitely need something bigger.”
She was right, so I asked her, “Why don't you get a truck or van? They have plenty of room.”
She frowned. “That’s what I want. A van. But I don't have a job and don't have enough money to buy one. That's why I'm still driving around in this roller skate of a car.”
I didn't know what else to say, so I kept quiet. Taylor kept quiet, too, at least for the moment. Then she reached out and patted the dash. “At least it's paid for. It's been a good car, and it’s never let me down. If it were bigger, I wouldn't even think about getting anything else.”
We'd been sitting in the driveway, talking about her car, for almost five minutes. I could understand why she felt the need to tell me her car was too small. She'd been hired to be my driver, and she felt bad about showing up in something that I might not fit in.
With both of us sitting in it, our shoulders rubbed, and my knee was resting near the gear shift. Each time she went from one gear to another, her hand would be grazing my thigh. I wasn't going to complain though. I was happy to have someone driving me around.
She looked over and asked, “Are you buckled in?”
I wasn't. I knew if we were in an accident and the belt wasn't buckled I probably wouldn't survive. Even buckled in, the small car didn't offer much protection. It would probably crush like a beer can. Still, I put the seat belt over my shoulder, pulled it tight, and snapped it in.
When Taylor heard the click, she said, “Alright then, we’re ready to go.”
She put the Miata in first gear and headed down the crushed shell driveway. When we reached the road, she stopped and asked, “Where to, boss?”
I had a list of places in mind and shared them with her.
“First stop, Lowes. I need to get a heavy-duty stapler. Then on to Office Depot to get another hundred copies of the lost cat flyer made.
“From there we head up to the Walmart in Osprey. I want to put flyers up on the pole at the stoplight. A lot of people will see it there.
“Then we'll head back to Venice. At every light, we'll post a flyer.
“That should keep us busy until lunch. After we eat, I w
ant to stop by the impound lot where they have what's left of my motorhome. I want to make sure they haven't seen my cat.
“If we don't find him there, we'll cruise the back streets around the wreck and look for him.
“That sound okay with you?”
“No problem, boss. Lowes first then Office Depot. Then up to the Walmart in Nokomis.”
She put the Miata back in first gear and, after checking for traffic, pulled out onto Manasota Key Road. The little car accelerated quicker than I expected, and we were soon crossing the bridge taking us to the mainland.
Taylor knew her way around Venice and it didn't take us long to knock off the first two items on our list. We got the stapler from Lowes and a hundred flyers printed at Office Depot, in color so Bob's photo clearly showed what he looked like. Black and white just didn't do him justice. Plus, we figured the bright colors would attract more attention.
When we got back to her car, she opened the door for me again and handed me the stack of flyers. Since there wasn't much room, I put them in my lap.
After Office Depot, we headed north to the Walmart Super Center. The parking lot was getting crowded, but we weren't there to shop and didn't need a place to park. We circled the lot and came back out on the street and headed for the light at US Forty-One.
Everyone who visited Walmart had to come through that intersection. Many would have to wait at the light. While waiting, they would see our flyer posted on the pole. Maybe the right person would see it and call with information about Bob.
Taylor pulled up to the stoplight, and I jumped out and stapled a flyer to the wooden light pole. I was back in the car before the light turned green.
From there, we headed south toward Venice. My plan was to staple flyers to the poles at each light, but as soon as we stopped at the next one, I realized we had two big problems.
The first was the heavy traffic. Being snowbird season, the roads were packed with people who were either lost or were driving slowly to take in the sights. The locals, who had jobs and needed to get to places on time, were driving fast, switching lanes and jockeying for position; with all the traffic behind and in front of us, it wasn't safe to stop and hold everyone up while I jumped out of the car to post a flyer.