I felt bad for the clerk because I still don't know how my car tag got to Chicago. It was confusing.
Clerk: "You got a screwdriver?"
What I wanted to say was "Why, does one of us have a screw loose?" But, what I actually said was not that bold.
Me: "No, I don't."
Clerk: "Okay, I've got one you can borrow if you want to take your plate off and bring it back so we can exchange it. Can you do it by yourself?"
This time I gave her a look. I knew how to handle a screwdriver well enough to remove a few screws from a license plate. (In Georgia, we only have one plate and it's in the back. The front plate usually has a UGA plate, a Nascar racing tag or is empty like mine.) I removed the plate easily and took it back inside. A line had formed while I was outside and now I stood outside the room waiting in line. It wasn't very long before I heard someone calling my name "Palmer," "Ms. Palmer," and finally the one that caught my attention "Wrong plate from Chicago."
I smiled at the six people that I moved ahead of in line and one man frowned at me. In his hand he carried stacks and stacks of paperwork. "I'm in a hurry," he said.
Me: "I've already been in line once and they sent me my car tag from Chicago."
Man in a hurry: "You go right ahead."
I handed the screwdriver and plate over to the clerk and watched as she punched a few buttons on the screen, shuffled a few papers around and handed me a new plate. Somewhere I had the thought of trying to explain what happened in her paperwork and couldn't help but ask.
Me: "What did you write in your reason code for giving me a new plate?"
The clerk for the first time offered a small grin.
Clerk: "I said the Post Office delivered it to the wrong state."
Maybe? But, who knows?
I thanked her and drove back home to have my lunch before continuing with my errands. I put the new tag on, gathered a few letters and headed to the Post Office.
I talked to several people in line and took my turn at the counter. I exchanged pleasantries with the clerk and told her of my lost car tag. As a former postal worker, I know that the Post Office gets blamed for everything and wasn't surprised when she said "It was probably delivered to the wrong house. You were lucky someone sent it to you."
I agreed with her and was about to walk out the door when she called after me. "Was it in the blue envelop?"
Me: "Nope. It was in a plain white envelop."
Postal clerk: "Doesn't surprise me one bit. Those people at the tag office screw up my stuff every time I go in there."
I'll never know how my car tag got delivered to a residence in Chicago, or maybe, I don't want to know. I do have the return address of the person that mailed it to me and I will probably send them a thank-you card.
It's the least I can do...and I just might ask about that blue envelop!
Monday, March 28, 2016
Posted by Gianetta at 10:08 AM