PERMIT PARKING ONLY

Well, it's the last day of January, 2006, and I live in Cambridge. So, what did I do today? What else? Spend hours waiting in line at the Cambridge City Hall Annex to get my 2006 parking permit sticker and visitor parking pass!

I ALSO got to spend an hour and change driving around to renew my expired-in-October registration, too! Bonus!

Yeah, so, what did I expect, right? I DID let my parking permit renewal go til the last possible day, but, whatev. I figured I'd wait a while past morning rush hour and then head to the city hall annex and probably hit an off-peak line, wait a while, do the deed, and proceed with my commute on into work, right?

Wrong.

I got there after 10am, and even with most of the seven windows open to help people at any moment, the line snaked around and back on itself, filling up the first floor before trailing up the stairs to the second and folding and flipping around the second floor overlook, and finally (so far as I could see, at least) turning into the main hall of the second story (thru the sculpture/archway).

Wack.

I worked my way up the stairs to find the tail of the snake and at the top of the stairs spotted a checklist-sign that told me I should be ready with this many of this type of proof/s of Cambridge residence, the $8 fee in cash, check or money order (I'd brought a check, cuz the website said they'd only take check or money order), and a copy of my registration with a Cambridge address or garage address and a certain weight class of auto. Cool, I'd brought all that. Looking around at the moebius strip of people, tho, I figured it couldn't hurt to double-check. I opened up the envelope I'd put all my paperwork in and flipped thru it: check - check, my January 2006 "this amount overdue" verizon bill for the landline at the apartment - check, vehicle registration expiring 10/2005 - che--- *record scratch here*

Yikes! I've been driving around for three months with an expired registration! Oops.

So, I had to go and take care of that. Renew my registration, then come back here and get back in line and get my resident parking hooha taken care of. I felt dumb doing an about-face, but it was better to know right then - that's for sure - rather than two hours in line later at the window, right? And altho I knew I'd hafta come back for that, part of me was glad to be leaving the vealy-feeling lobby and waiting area.

I made my way back home to regroup. I checked online to find out where I could renew my registration. At massrmv.com I could renew online and pay by credit card. I called a contact number from the site to make sure that it would be an immediate status change once I completed the process. Alas, the human being on the other end said that there would be no guarantee that registration renewal would make it into the system immediately, or even the same day. The best bet would be to go to an RMV office where I would get my physical registration hardcopy stamped and handed to me right away. He told me there were two or three offices local-ish to Cambridge, but I should call and check to make sure they handle registration renewals. I thanked the man and clicked about the site some more. I knew the Watertown and Cambridgeside malls both had offices, but the Galleria one was sort of an "express" version of the typical full-service RMV, a la Watertown. At the RMV site, I found locations listed, and woo-hoo! The Galleria one handled registration! AND, according to the site, the wait time was 00:00:00. =)

I grabbed my papers and motored on over to the Galleria mall. I was extra pleased to find out that the Galleria RMV handled registration, cuz while there, I could buzz the Apple store and also grab some heroin chicken teriyaki lunch at the food court - next to Chick-Fil-A, probably my favorite food court offering. =)

I got in the short line at the RMV office, next to the Public Safety Station, which this afternoon looked to be manned by no one but some kind of security robot, standing against the wall behind some desks. Seeing that there reminded me of a wonderful piece-o-crap movie I saw on VHS in high school or college - CHOPPING MALL! A group of hormonal teen consumers decide to hide out and sleep over in the mall (What could be cooler? They did it on THE OC!) on the night the new automated security system happens to be launched. Coupled off, the kids attempt to make new shoppers, behavior that is strictly against mall policy, and thusly, the robot guards decide they should die, mostly by burning laser head and limb removal, from what I can recall. Dammit, I should've snapped a pic of that robot... Maybe I'll hit the mall again sometime soon...


* Did make it back to the Galleria a few days later and found Mr. Roboto once again at his post. I think maybe he's dating one of the parking garage ticket machines... Y'know, the cute one?

Anyhow...

When I got to the front of the line, I spotted a sign behind the woman working the front desk that told me I could only pay for registration with a check or money order. I had a check w me, but I'd already made it out to the City of Cambridge for my permit fee! In a few minutes it was my turn, and having no doubt caught my look of dismay regarding the sign, the woman anticipated my as-yet-unformed apology-cum-question and informed me that I could get a money order from the Bank of America or at the CVS.

She's good.

I thanked her and turned to exit back to the mall, when she stopped me with, "What's your license plate number? Might as well find out how much it's gonna cost you..."

She's very good.

$38 to renew my (expired) registration. It seems a bit off, doesn't it? But whatev, you gotta do what you gotta do, right? (At least, in this particular scenario.)

The Bank of America was right across the mallway from the RMV, but I opted to go to the CVS, around the Benetton corner and downstairs. Between allergy meds, anti-lactard pills, and 12-packs of cola for the office, I'm a pretty regular CVS customer, and would much rather pay a fee to them than to a Monster Bank. After all, CVS is the only place I know where I can pick up my Futuro Sport ankle and knee braces, and every couple months, with my CVS card points or bucks or whatever it is they give me, I end up getting a Futuro coupon to knock a couple bucks off my next brace. Seeing as how I've taken to wearing some of them all day, almost every day, those have become quite valuable to me. I'm wearing an ankle brace on my left at this very moment, and TWO on my right...

Yeah, I pulled a sudden stop maneuver last night to keep from running down a teammate along with an errant pass, and apparently didn't distribute the shock past my ankle, bleah.

I forget the exact amount, but the surcharge on the $38 money order was less than a buck at CVS. I escalatored back to the RMV, got back into a new short line, and once I got to speak again with the nice woman, exchanged money order for goods and services. That is to say, I got my renewed and officially stamped registration, along with a nifty new green 07 sticker - huzzah!~

Fresh from the printer, the paperwork still had the perforated "crust" pieces attached. It's fun to tear along the perforation, isn't it? Before leaving, I asked why it is that I didn't receive a registration renewal notice in the mail. She explained that it could be because of an address change or outstanding tickets or violations. Yeah, okay. My move to Broadway did happen within the last two years...

Exiting the RMV in triumph, I decided to reward myself with some tasty vittles. I escalatored down to the court of foods, sampled freely a toothpicked hunk of teriyaki chicken, faked looking thoughtful about whether or not to buy the teriyaki chicken special or move on to Burger King, and of course, got in line to order my fixx...

Me: "Chicken teriyaki, no vegetables..."

Mr. Sakura (or is it Sakkio there?): "Fried or white rice?"

Me: "White rice..."

Mr. Sakura: "Extra chicken ninety-nine cents more?"

Me: "No thanks..."

Mr. Sakura: "Something to drink?"

Me: "A medium diet coke..."

Mr. Sakura: "Seven dollars. Thank you!"

I call it heroin chicken cuz of a fun theory Jim posited to me over a meal at the court of foods in the Prudential mall. We discussed what grade the chicken meat probably was - I think he went with "Z," I guessed "Q" - and I said something about how I really don't care if this is what it tastes like. Jim conceded that the taste was pretty irresistible, and suggested that maybe it's not exactly the taste, but more of a physical craving, an addiction, and that (along with the dozen sticks of butter) the secret ingredient is heroin. I couldn't comment for a few minutes as I had to finish my teriyaki chicken, but when I was done tearing up the styrofoam container and licking the pieces clean of the sauce, I agreed.

Then went back for more.

I didn't, really. But I'll bet I wanted to. I'm pretty sure now it could be anything under that sauce (except maybe brocolli or celery or sprouts or coconut) and I'd enjoy eating it.

I'd been carrying around my sketch/notebook all day, something to pass the time in line-world, and when I stopped to breathe between gulps of sauce with chicken and rice, I jotted down some ideas and doodled a bit on things Valentiney... It's Black Tuesday this year, I believe? Pondering coming up with a little digital somethin-somethin to comemmorate the day in a non-Hallmarkian way...

I suspect that in the end I will fall back on my Sweet-N-Sour Hearts. Jazz them up with some new words of roam-ants, maybe some diff tunes, but in the same basic package. Eh. We shall see what I'm up for motivating on...

Having killed my teriyaki stash, I managed to fight off the desire for another fixx with the mental image of a fresh parking ticket on my car tomorrow morning. I had to get back to the city hall annex to get my sticker! I made the trek from the court thru the mall and into the parking garage in record time. I'd gotten in my car and started the engine when I flashed forward in my imagination to the snaking line and the windows and my shiny new parking sticker and sparkling visitor pass...

I turned off the engine.

The website, and maybe the sign in the lobby as well, had specifically asked for a COPY of your registration to complete the permit transaction. When I'd done this before by mail, it made sense to send a copy, so that you'd still have your registration on you, but maybe once in their hands, mailed in or in person, a copy of your reg had to travel thru a number of hands to complete the process?

Frack. Where to get my reg photocopied? I started back into the mall. In the elevator foyer or whatever, between the garage and the Border's, I opened up my paperwork envelope to separate the valid reg from the copy of my expired one and spotted the green 07 rectangle. I picked that out and went back to my car and planted that sucker. Even if the rest of the day goes to poop, I did that. No frickin ticket for expired reg. Damn straight.

Right. Back into the mall I went. I knew the public safety station was only robotted, and not manned, so I went to the customer info desk. I slowed down a bit to scan the machinery in the Ritz Camera store, but they didn't have anything as old-school as a simple copier. Foo. The young woman at the desk saw me approach and quickly ended a cellphone call to ask how she could help. Of course, I immediately flashed to the smarmy "Who Cares Wins" customer relations training video played on that episode of BBC's THE OFFICE when David Brent reveals that he was one a rock musician, well on his way to the level of fame and fortune achieved by the likes of Texas!

Of course.

See, there's a couple of roleplay skits featured on the video about how a salesperson engaged on the telephone can poorly and then positively welcome a potential customer. Poorly, she tells the customer to wait - "Can't you see I'm on the telephone?" - and returns to her gossipy personal phone convo, driving the customer to leave in a huff. Positively, she asks the customer to wait one moment, ends her call quickly - "I have to go. I've got a customer here I shouldn't keep waiting..." - thanks the customer for waiting, and proceeds to... whatever it is she's supposed to do.

This is my brain. And it's not even on drugs. Well, except for the teriyaki. Of course, it doesn't take quite so much time or so many words for these connections to zip and zap as it does out here, in language.

Well, info-woman was very helpful. I asked if there was a place in the mall that made photocopies. She directed me to the tailor's shop in the first sub-level, "across from the florist," and she pointed down thru the escalators to the downstairs garage levels. "He's got a copy machine."

I made my way sub-downstairs and into the tailor's shop. I think it's a tailor's shop, I'm honestly not sure. It sorta felt like a cobbler's/shoe repair place. I asked the (I'm gonna call him the) tailor if I could use his copier. He said sure. I handed him my registration and told him I'd like 2 copies (who knows what could happen between the mall and city hall, right?). He placed it on the flatbed of the copier, dropped the lid, and made my copies. For the gajillionth time in his life, he said with a straight face, "That's gonna be fifty bucks..." I told him, "In that case, I'll only take one." And then he gave me a look... kinda sad, sorta annoyed, very tired, and told me, "Forty cents." I fished the change out of my jacket pocket. He handed my my copies and the original. I slid them into my envelope o'stuff, and wished him a good day.

On to the Cambridge City Hall Annex!

*insert SUPERFRIENDS transition sound effects and spinning spiral animation here*


MEANWHILE... beneath Meg Griffin's sweater...

I took Broadway back from the mall so that I could pass the annex and see if there was any parking closeby. None to be had. So, I parked street next to my apartment, stopped in at home for an email check and to fix my hair, as I'm always doing, packed up my bag for workywork, and set out upon my morning mission once again... only about four hours later, almost 2.30pm. Phpthhh...

I hiked on down to the annex and was actually relieved to find that the line only snaked back and forth filling up the first floor! A bit of time lapse luck, that. Even so, I think it took about ninety minutes to make it thru the hairpin turns up to the windows. Along the way I spotted Patrick, of Tiffany and Patrick (and Samson), and we chatted a bit about the scenario, last possible day and all, and a bit about movies. After a few minutes the progress and non-Euclidian geometry of the line separated us for the rest of our journeys.


It didn't feel like it took all that long. I had my sketchpad to help pass the time, and the snippets of neighborhood convo floating at me from all directions. I think it also helped that everyone (except for a couple rambunctuous children) was patient and chill w the waiting situation. All very civilized.

I didn't hear a single complaint. I guess it's a unique situation, tho. Can you REALLY complain about having to deal with an hour and change standing in line if you're there on the last possible day you can get a new permit (without risking a ticket for parking on the street in Cambridge)?

I flipped thru my papers in the envelope again and came across the copy of my old registration, which I now noticed had my current address on it. When I changed my address w the RMV, they sent me address stickers to place over my old address on my license and registration. So... They knew my new address, and that would lead them... hooOOooome...

Sorry, scratch that Luke Skywalker bit and replace with...

...which means that I must've not received my registration renewal notice in the mail for some kind of ticket. WTF? Now that tickets are payable online, on the few occasions I've had to, I make a point of dealing with them right away. I didn't remember getting hit with anything in the last few months... I wonder if...?

I texted Rowan to ask if he remembered getting any tickets while using my car. He's only borrowed it for short shopping runs or for weekends out of town, and I've always sorta checked in w him about the car after those...

The line eked forward a while before I got a message back. "Absolutely not." That's what I thought. So... WTF with not getting a renewal notice? There must've been other reasons that the RMV woman didn't mention or I didn't hear or forgot. That's what I told myself, at least...


In time I made it up to window #5. I presented my proofs of everything to the woman working the computer. She asked how I was going to pay. I told her with a check, and slided that through to her. She tapped and typed a few things, then seemed to wait a while, and scanned my registration and Verizon bill again, then looked at me...

She: "What are you doing here? Today? You live JUST down the STREET! You could walk here any day you like!"

Me: "I was waiting for that... I've got no good reason. I will tell you that I also just renewed my registration today. Big day for me!"

And she printed my plate number on my new sticker, paper clipped it to the sparkly visitor pass, along with a booklet about having/parking a car in Cambridge, and my stuff (which she apparently didn't need to keep)...

She: "Oh, and your registration was expired! Last minute kinda guy, huh? Well, work on that. I don't want to see you here again next year!"

And in a mock-tough-love sorta way, maybe like the prophet in THE MATRIX, but younger and sharper, she shoo'd me away from her window.

On what felt like a day with supraoptimal potential for a craptacular experience, I hafta say, I encountered some very decent and helpful people in all the right places. Nothing extraordinary. No life-saving measures involved. Just, well, not bad. Not bad at all. I wish now I'd paid more attention to each of these people, or was the kind of person who could, like, ACTively connect w people in these short little interactions. Not like I'd be best friends w them... except maybe that tailor, heh. No, just so that I could somehow articulate my appreciation in something better than the everyday and mundane "Thanks" or "Have a good day," y'know?

Oh, but wait...

When I was leaving the annex, I paused outside at a bench to seal up a bit better against the weather, which had gone a bit more snow and a bit less sun, and a man on his way into the annex, steaming coffee in hand, and sweatered and hatted up policeman-in-snowstorm style, turned back while opening the door to address someone behind me...

"Ohhhh... That's coOOOooLD, man! That. Is. Cold!"


And I turned around to catch a similarly dressed fellow, waving the guy off, in dismissive "gedouddahere!" fashion, working on writing out a parking ticket for a car parked illegally. I saw now that the car behind it already had one. Last day of the month, and right in front of a city hall building - I shouldn't be surprised, right?

I forget the restrictions right there in front of the annex, but I'm guessing the cars were probably parked over a posted time limit. Inside I'd heard more than a couple of people in line, and even at the window while being helped, mention that they've been waiting so long they're probably gonna get a ticket...

Irony can be pretty ironic sometimes. (In my head, that's Zorknapp, doing William Shatner's Buck Murdock, AIRPLANE 2.)

And, speaking of a day with supraoptimal potential for crapulence, I should clean up a bit and take stock of menus and snacks before the kids arrive for some 24-ing...

Keep on keepin on~


* Note: Getting out of the annex at something like 4pm (yarr), I called the office to check in on what needed doing, and managed to get myself (what remained of) the day off. And thusly, I am home and hitting you with this attack of blogorrhea.