Thursday, March 24, 2016

Bad Customer Service Strikes Again...The Tale Of A Lost Car Tag...Part II

...Well, now I had the answers to several questions.

Court wasn't in session.

The tag office had moved.

And the cops WERE bored.

I walked back out to the car lost somewhere between my bad luck with customer service and an insane desire to know what the suspicious-looking object was inside my purse. I was rummaging around in the bag, not paying attention when I stepped off the curve and landed just to the right of the man-hole cover which threw off my balance and sent me and everything in my purse flying all over North Main Street.

I'm not as spry as I used to be, but I somehow managed to avoid the man-hole but ended up with my hand touching what was either mud or fecal matter of some kind. (I resisted the urge to sniff my hand.) After ascertaining that I was all right, my next response was to look around to see if anyone had witnessed my misstep and was relieved when I saw nothing except a puzzled pigeon that was now pecking at something that had fallen out of my purse. I stood up slowly and shooed the bird away as I picked up what had fallen out of my bag. The pigeon was poking around at a small package of Tums that I hadn't seen before. Maybe, that was the suspicious-looking contraband?

I used my one clean hand to gather up the rest of my belongings, opened the car door and sat down inside. Checking myself in the mirror, I reached to push my hair back and didn't catch myself before the dirty hand brushed my hair back into place. Yuck. It definitely wasn't mud.

Sometimes, shit happens, but luckily, I had a brand new container of Handi-wipes in the car and was able to exchange the poopy smell to one just as bad. Why do those things smell so bad? Thankfully, I didn't really notice anything in my hair, except a certain slicked-down area where my hand had been.

The old hospital--now the new administrative annex--was only a mile from downtown so I was there in a short time. I gathered all of my items again, minus the small package of tums (no need to look suspicious at the next x-ray machine) and went inside the building. I was surprised that there wasn't any security at the front door except the same sign prohibiting firearms and knives (I didn't have any) and followed the signs to the tag office.

I waited in line for a few minutes before a nice lady waved me over. The following is our conversation:

Clerk: "Hey. What can I do for you?"

Me: "Hey. Well, (placing the letter from Illinois on the counter) I finally received my car tag, and in the past, it only took three days, but this time it came from someone in Chicago and took three weeks."

Clerk: "What?"

Me: "This is what my car tag came in," (showing the letter) "Don't you guys use the blue envelops any longer?"

Clerk: "Yes, we do." She picked up the letter and examined it closely.

Me: "You can just make it out where somebody wrote 'Vehicle registration mailed to me' under the barcode,'" I said pointing it out to her.

Clerk: "Chicago? How in the world..."

Me: "That's what I thought."

Clerk: "How did it get to Illinois?"

Me: "Outsourcing..."

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