about the words, adjusted

I’m an adjuster. Claims adjuster. (That sounds a little James Bond-like, doesn’t it?)

But here you go:

claims are messy.

They always involve loss. Even the simplest and smallest. Even the most frivolous and absurd.

And that means adjusters see this:

folks at their messy worst.

It’s loss and heartache and conflict and pain and anger and betrayal and violation and confusion and inconvenience and ruin, all rolled into one big sloppy ball of barbed wire.

We see things no one should see. We cross thresholds closed off to most guests. And we hear words that you never realized Grandma knew.

I’ve learned my ways to process the inevitable angst I encounter in the work. Thanks to a dare from L.L. Barkat (she can be persuasive) to write the sparrows-in-flannel-lingerie-insurance-report-poem-about-a-frozen-hot-tub, I may be learning yet another way.

adjust the words. control the damage.

For you who’ve wanted to do a ride-along, this is your chance.

We’ll bear witness to loss.

.   .   .

[Lace up your boots and wade on in.]

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