Many of you may have wondered where I have been for a while and why there have been no posts for the past few months. No, it was not a life threatening illness. It was much worse than that. I have been caught in an endless loop between the United States Post Office and the State DMV. Yes, it was that bad.
It all started innocently enough when I purchased a car back in 2006. Cute little number, fast as all get out with a high performance engine. We all know that a girl who likes high performance engines doesn’t stay focused for long. The relationship lasted for five years and the car went the way of most things that get reminisced about. It sat in the garage, not being fueled with high octane fuel in favor of a more practical, dark color American car. Turns out that in such a vehicle, a middle-aged woman is well-nigh invisible to law enforcement. Helpful for speeding tickets, not so helpful for roadside assistance needs.
Anyway, the little red beauty sat in the garage.
A couple of years following the purchase of the vehicle, I took a notion to correct the grave injustice of a last name that I had been saddled with since birth. Where I grew up, we couldn’t afford to buy any vowels. Harking back to an old French custom of celebrating the patron saint of the date of one’s birth. I chose that for my last name.
Five years later saw a move to a high rise condo with a view that still makes me weep on occasion. A lovely building, very secure and a lively neighborhood to live in. Then I tried to give my daughter the car. You know the one. The little red carriage languished in the garage with no one taking the horses out for a canter.
My daugher lives in San Francisco, where finding parking sometimes becomes a spectator sport. She was thrilled. Little tiny red car to zip around town in, fast enough to get out of the way of on-coming stupidity, good looking and it runs well. Turns out, cars are subject to these odd things from the motor vehicle department called titles. Unable to find the original belonging to the little red car, I went to the DMV station to get a copy. Paid good money for it, too. They said wait five or six weeks. The car was already in California and I was anticipating not having to pay for it on my insurance any longer. No such luck. I had to go to the DMV station again. They assured me the title had gone out. I ordered another one. It would take five or six weeks. Never saw it. Went to the DMV station again. More reassurance, more waiting.
Luckily I saved the original receipt so I didn’t have to keep paying them. They were able to track that the title had been ordered and sent three separate times. Was the problem perhaps with the Post Office? The next trip was to the local branch of the USPS. Helpful people they are, but they couldn’t tell me why something that kept being sent to me wasn’t being delivered. After all, how did they know I was supposed to receive it? Seriously, I am not making that up.
Life goes by, back to the DMV. Thank goodness for inexperience! The DMV clerk asked if I was that name that has no vowels. Indeed I am, well, I was, but now I am different. That will cost another $60-some dollars plus proof that I am now referred to by a name that has a nice balance of consonants and vowels. Another trip to the DMV with documents and check book in hand.
Yup, they finally sent me the title. Five to six weeks later.