I ignored the morning alarm when it went off, figuring I would get a little walk in before the morning driveway yoga class—no such luck. I woke up a few minutes before seven. I raced to get Elsa out the back door and ready her breakfast.
While thinking about switching car insurance companies, I wondered when mine would expire. While I paid for the next six months, it didn't start until the next day, which meant I still had time to cancel with Progressive without being penalized. One of my considerations was leaving Josh without coverage. If I completed the car sale on Tuesday, all would be well. I texted Josh.
I suggested that we complete the transaction today. Josh would have to get his form filled out and notarized over lunch. I could then come pick it up and take it to the DMV. He got back to me to say he could do nothing until Friday, his day off. He said he thought he could get the car on his insurance even if he didn't own it yet.
Before the driveway yoga class, Yvette confirmed that Josh had gotten his car insurance. There were seven people in class this morning. If everyone who has come so far were to participate simultaneously, eleven people would be in the class. We all sat closer together but did not face each other.
Yvette did different things in today's class. She did this self-touching exercise, most lightly touching ourselves, starting with our heads and faces. Its impact was amazing. I realized my face hadn't been touched except when I washed it or wiped my eyes or nose since Mike died. It was transforming. After the class, I told her she had to post this exercise on Facebook and on YouTube. It will be so healing for many people who are also experiencing physical isolation. She said she would do it. She also reminded people that she will be asking for donations starting in July and opening the class to the general public. I will be getting my classes for free. I announced how smart I was to pick her out of the litter to take care of me in my old age.
I ate my breakfast and headed out to the DMV. Since the Traffic Abstract didn't give me the information I needed on accidents, I assumed the DMV would have that. I stood online for quite a while. When I got to the counter, an outside window usually occupied by the cashier, I commented that the counter hadn't been cleaned. The clerk said, "We have janitors clean it." Is that once a day? That doesn't sound like it fulfills the cleanliness requirements posed by the virus. I wasn't too worried. We didn't have a single case on the island at the time. I suppose we could be awash in asymptomatic folks. I find myself getting lazy. If it wasn't required that I wear a mask when entering a store, I might not. So often, I've locked the car, and I'm on my way to the door when I see someone in a mask and realize I forgot mine. Back I have to go.
The clerk at the window told me that I needed a Driver's Abstract, not a Traffic Abstract. This sounds like what the Progressive agent had said, so I'm off to the courthouse to get that.
At the court, I gave the clerk, a young woman, both our Driver's licenses, Mike's and mine, asking for the Driver's abstract. This was going to cost me another $40 for the two of them. When she gave them to me, I saw they were the same reports I got yesterday. That was forty more dollars for no purpose. I had made it clear to the clerk at the DMV that I wanted a list of the accidents credited to me. She had given me the name of the wrong form. I was frustrated. I told the clerk these were useless to me, pushed them back through the slot under the plexiglass panel, and told her to just throw them out. I made some noise about them, saying that the lady at the DMV said this was what I needed. She seemed upset. I assured her that I didn't think she was at fault.
She told me that what I needed was a driver's history. That would be another $9 per report. Okay, I gave her our Driver's licenses again. It took forever, a good twenty minutes to half an hour. There was no one else online behind me most of the time. When someone came, I said I had been waiting for a long time. She said maybe there was a problem. Then, the clerk announced she was having issues with the printer in response to our conversation. I had assumed the delay was expected. I had nothing to compare it to. Sadly, the clerk never thought to say, "So sorry for the wait; I'm having problems with the printer." She came back at one point and told me that she couldn't get my husband's because he was dead. I pulled out his death certificate. She handed me a form that I had to get notarized. After a while, she handed me a sheet of paper, my Driver's license, and the one-dollar change for the ten I gave her.
I stepped aside from her window while the next customer stepped up. I looked at the form she gave me while I stood there. I said she had given me someone else's form. It wasn't in my name. I pulled out my Driver's license and saw that she had put in the wrong number; it was off by one digit. I announced, 'You gave me the wrong one." She said, "No, it's your name." I told her that she had gotten the license number incorrect. She said, "Give it back to me." I said, "Absolutely not! Not until I get mine."
By this point, the next lady in line was at the counter. I said, "I'll go into town, get this form notarized, and come back and get both forms." She announced, "You can't leave with that document." No, I'm so sorry for the error; please wait a minute. Or please, give me the document back." No, no, no. The word sorry or please never passed her lips.
I stood aside, already agitated—this whole adventure with the insurance company and now with the DMV and the courts. The man at the counter next to hers told me I couldn't stand at the counter between his window and the lady I'd been dealing with because someone might come to his window. I said if someone came, I would move. He insisted that I move, threatening to call security. I turned and said, "I've had it. I'm leaving. Why don't you call the security and have them shoot me for good measure." I was furious. I had totally lost it. I was concerned that I was going to be stopped and possibly arrested as I left the building. But my exit was uneventful. I had paid a total of $89 so far and had zero information that I could use. No one knows their ass from their elbow, and they consider me rude for expecting them to know.
When I got out, I called Dorothy and told her I was going to be arrested. She became quite concerned, but she assured me I wouldn't be arrested when I explained the story to her. The truth is that if I hadn't announced I had the wrong document while standing there, I would have left with the paper in my hand unnoticed.
I went to the bank to get the form, which would allow me to get Mike's driving history notarized. There was an announcement on the table where the notary usually sits saying that you needed an appointment. "Call this number or speak to a representative," I called the number; the notary was not among the choices. I went to speak to a representative. You can imagine my mood was not 100%. I told this lovely lady that their information wasn't adequate. She said she thought the sign said to dial 0. She actually brought me the sign to see for myself. All this time, she was lovely, just sharing information. I thanked her for being so calm and told her I had had a rough day. I should have apologized for my snarling tone.
I made an appointment for myself for Thursday. While I was there, I made an appointment for Josh for Friday. He had to get a form notarized to complete the transfer of title for Mike's car to him. I wasn't up for going back and dealing with the court clerks, so I headed home. Judy called while I was driving. I shared my story with her. Telling her the story was calming.
When I got home, I called Geico to set up my insurance with them. It's not that I think their employees won't make similar mistakes; it's just that I have bad associations with Progressive. I don't want to have to think about having to deal with them. For the most part, the unpleasantness was caused by their lack of knowledge. How can people be so undertrained in their own field?
I called to cancel Progressive. When I reached their local agent, the one who had advised me to get an 'abstract.' I told her that was the wrong information. If someone wants a record of their accidents, it's called a 'driver's history," "Please, don't do that to anyone else."
Judy came over, bearing a large piece of chocolate cake she made for Zion's birthday. She was wearing a plastic shield mask with a flower attached. She had gotten the shield at Ace Hardware for $5. They came in different price ranges; she got the cheapest. She said she painted the headband, which bore Ace's name. It looked pretty good. It was wonderful to see her whole face.
She had told me yesterday that Adam and Jazzy were snapping at each other. She was concerned because her son Adam wasn't as considerate as he should have been of his wife, who had borne a 9lb. 15oz. baby, three days before, and was on bed rest because of an elevated pulse rate. All was well today between them. They both confessed their fears that this baby might also have FoxG1 disability as their second son has. Luke is extremely disabled and also extremely loved. Once they confessed their fears to each other, they cried together and consoled each other. They knew then they would deal with it when it happened. What a story!
While it is statistically unlikely that one couple will bear two children with this genetic disorder, there are two recorded cases in the FoxG1 community. Two cases means it's not out of the question. Whatever the case may be, they can already be sure that Zion will never be as disabled as Luke is. Luke's head size was much smaller than that of a normal baby; he had no soft spot, an odd cry, and didn't respond to movement. Zion's head is normal size, he has a normal soft spot, his cry is typical, and he was tracking movement by his second day. It's still going to be a wait before they know for sure. Do all parents worry about their children at first? I doubt it. If it hasn't been part of your family experience or among your friends, once the baby arrives with all ten fingers and all ten toes, the rest feels as if it will proceed as expected. How naïve we all are. There is so much that can go wrong. I've heard parents speak about the chances they took adopting a child. Bearing a child is just as much of a gamble.
Yvette came up to visit. She has been stopping by the chat more often, and I'm enjoying it very much. I know we have known each other for her whole life, and yet we don't
I couldn't find anything on TV worth watching, so I reverted to watching an old show that Mike and I watched, Endeavor. It's an English mystery set after the Second World War in England. The main character is an Oxford graduate who goes into police work as a detective. Because his methods are unconventional, he's harassed by one of his supervisors and a coworker. He is considered not normal. He thinks that's what makes him abnormal. Boy, it is such a relief from most of what I've been watching, which is badly written, badly directed, and badly acted; this show has none of those failing. Also, Endeavor is not needlessly violent, nor does it feature people motivated by mental illness. Ah.
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Musings:
I am struck by how rudely the clerks at the courthouse treated me compared to how politely customer service representatives from retail providers like Amazon or Apple treated me. If I have had a problem, even one that is clearly no one's fault, they say, "I'm sorry. How can I help you?" They are always not only polite but downright sympathetic.
In this bureaucratic situation, the employees were unempathetic and downright rude. Is it a lack of training, do they attract people with low empathy, or is it the institution?
I heard a TED talk by Zimbardo of the Stanford Prison Experiments on what causes deviant behavior in people. He disputed the bad apple theory and said we are all vulnerable to bad behavior if it is encouraged by the leadership or the group we're in. It's disheartening to know how vulnerable we are all to exhibiting pure evil.
He spoke about the incidents in Abu Ghraib, where military personnel tortured Islamic prisoners. They had been told by their superiors to 'warm up' the prisoners for interrogation. Their behavior was not only sanctioned but encouraged.
This suggests that the bad behavior of the court clerks I dealt with is due to their superiors and their training, not the individual people. Telemarketers are embedded in bureaucracy, too. If they can be trained to be polite and downright empathetic, these court clerks can surely be trained to be so. The same goes for the police, no?
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