You lost an ear in the subway. Your left ear. The subway doors closed quicker than you thought they would.
One quick snap and it was gone. So were you – gone in the subway car, halfway to the next station before you knew what had happened.
No blood, strangely. No pain. Just the snap and then, where your left ear had been, nothing. You could still hear fine with your right ear.
Still, this was not a good thing to happen.
In the otherwise deserted subway car, above the seat opposite you, you saw a poster:
Ear problems?
Contact us at...
Then there was a postal address. No phone number, but you suspected this was to better target the ad to its intended audience – people with ear problems. And a large proportion of people with ear problems would have difficulty using a phone.
Later, at home, you composed a letter to send them. Postal letters were increasingly rare, supplanted by email, so you enjoyed the opportunity. But you were sceptical of the “ear problems” people and doubted their ability to help. This is what you wrote:
Dear [REDACTED],
Lost left ear in subway door accident.
Please send replacement.
What was that?
What?
No, sorry, I can't hear you.
Yeah, because of the ear thing.
I'll take one left ear – medium-rare, over easy, sunny side out, without the broccoli, plus an extra pickle. No, make that two pickles. ASAP.
Kind regards,
[YOUR NAME]
Two days later, the replacement ear arrived in the mail. You clipped it on. It worked like new.