2 gentlemen walked up to the front door a little after 8:40am. One introduced himself as the insurance adjuster and the other as Field Manager. Both hail from Texas, although they do not have a twang.
The first ten minutes were spent exchanging excuses and reasons, their excuses for this extreme delay and my reasons for being speechless.
Next to the business at hand, the damage. Tweedie-dooo, tweedie-dee, he examines the carnage in the basement and the remaining appliances. Little doubt on the damage, hardly any questions on the cause. The adjuster measured and probbed, while the field manager was trying to get a feel for our level of cannibalism. Subtly I had mentally prepared my battle strategy, ready to pounce and debate on any queries, armoured with defense systems comprising of Powerpoint Presentations and Excel Spreadsheet. NONE. A week's mental anguish and multi-scenerio preparation were untapped. Such a disappointment.
Overall the adjuster rated the basement a disaster, we exceeded the deductible and allowable coverage just on the floor tiles and wall panels. Here I was ready to fight tooth and nail over the breadmaker, which is sitting by the curb.
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