Friday, January 19, 2007

Dear Mexican Restaurant,

It has now been a year and a half since your sink fell off the wall and onto my foot. I find it absurd that you have now denied my claim three times, despite the fact that your sink, um... FELL OFF THE WALL and shattered on my foot. It fell off the wall! How is that possibly not your fault?

I know the little game you're playing. You're trying to push me to take it to court. Well, Mr. Big Fancy Restaurant Insurance Company, I just might do that. I will have to fly to stinkin' Virginia to do it and you don't think I will. If I'm going to be stuck with chronic arthritis in my foot and an ugly scar and a toenail that now grows in a more adventurous manner, then you'd better bet your biscuits that I'm going to show up.

I suspect what you're going to say...."well, her medical bills weren't that high." Well, guess why? Because there's nothing they can do about fixing it. It's just going to be all weird and sore and angsty for the rest of my life. So you owe me money. Or your big toe, whichever.

Then you're going to say, "Well, it wasn't our fault that the sink wasn't attached properly by the installer." Well, then Mr. Stinkypants, you go and sue them. It's not my problem. I firmly believe that when a major porcelain fixture is a part of your establishment's bathroom, you should probably make darn sure it's going to adhere to the wall before you open for business.

So, Mr. Snootybritches, watch out. 'Cause after waiting a year and a half on your stupid paperwork and lame procedures and irritating policies, I'm ticked off. And I want your money. You owe me a bunch of interest on the money you haven't paid me for my jeans and nice shoes that were ruined, as well as fees for the tennis season I didn't get to play. So come on, you crooked insurance pansies! You want a piece of me? ROAR!


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