Awful, awful morning

When I first started my job with the state I was thrilled to find out that Leigh could get health benefits through my job if we filed as domestic partners with HR/Retirement Benefits. I was less thrilled to find out that our Canadian marriage license would not suffice as proof that we are more than "just friends" and therefore eligible. Instead we had to get five pieces of evidence of our relationship. This includes a bank statement, power of attorney, a lease or jointly owned property, etc. A lot of the things listed as acceptable evidence were things we just don't have like stock/bonds, etc. We do have a car that we pay toward together, but while I was in France my dad had it titled in Virginia under his name so he could manage the payments. Therefore there was no record of us owning the car together. So we decided to retitle the car in Alaska and have Leigh's name added along with mine and my dad's names.

Seems simple, right?

Well after weeks of coming up with a game plan with the credit union to whom we make car payments, and phone calls to the DMV helpline making sure I had all the correct documents, I went to the DMV the moment it opened today hoping for the best. Then I met Alice D.

Alice D. works one of the 20 counters at the newest Anchorage DMV. She is in her mid to late 40's, has dyed red hair, wears loudly colored tops and weighs about 350 pounds. Getting up and down from her elevated office chair takes a few minutes and, apparrently, a great deal of skill. Her belly hangs down under her stretch pants and bobs up and down on her knees when she walks and she is responsible enough to direct all possible questions to her supervisor, which is great because the woman can barely read. This is the person to whom the State of Alaska wants me to entrust the paperwork to my greatest asset: my $15,000 car.

When I first approached Alice D. I explained that I needed to retitle my car in Alaska and add a name to the title. This baffled her, which of course was my fault so she became a bit angry. Taking solace in a few slurps of her frozen coffee with whipped cream she decided to help me anyway. For the next HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES Alice D. typed on her computer, complained that my issue was very complicated, complained that the paperwork didn't make sense, became irritated when she could not read mine or my father's names properly off the original Virginia title, and said she might have to "hand me off" because she was so overdue on her 9:00am break. The DMV opens at 8:30am.

When I asked questions she cut me off mid-sentence, said she would help me if I would just let her "do her job" and made up several excuses why she couldn't handle my requests. I was particularly touched by the way she tossed my very important papers around her cluttered, filthy desk. Surely she is responsible and intelligent enough to remember to file my lein properly and mail the title back to the credit union. I should just trust her, right?

At nearly 10:00am (I waited in line outside for the 8:30am opening), Alice D. produced my new title and even made me a copy of it for my insurance records. Success! Until I got to my car and realized that she had assumed I was too stupid to spell my spouse's first name correctly and thoughtly provided the name with an additional "s" to spell "Jessica" rather than "Jesica" (the second spelling is, in fact, her legal first name!). I was already nearly 2 hours late for work and moment away from a 5 o'clock news-worthy emotional breakdown, so I decided to hope for the best that the extra "s" wouldn't cause any hang-ups later.

The piece de resistance, however, was just as I was pulling out of the parking lot. In my driver's side mirror I see Alice D. wobbling toward my car and knock on my window. I roll down my window and she says, "did you walk away with the DMV copy of your new registration because I can't find it!" I look through my papers but it's not there, I only have what I'm supposed to have. Undoubtedly my registration is acting as a coaster for her frozen coffee on her desk. "Oh well," she says, "if you find it please bring it back to us!"

So now I just have to hope that everything is eventually filed correctly and one day I'm not pulled over for stealing my own car. I also have to hope that an extra letter in my spouse's name on a piece of paper typed up by a moron who may or may not have managed to finish high school wont' keep us from both having health insurance for the first time in our relationship. Such is life, I guess, but today I am officially hating life.