Penetrating the Bureaucracy

Those of you who have been keeping track of us know about our dealings with the MVA.  Everything progressed uncharacteristically smoothly when we bought the new car, so we dared to hope it would all be smooth sailing from now on.  But apparently there had to be at least one last glitch.

As soon as we secured a loan for the new car, we were sent the blue title listing PNC Bank as the lien holder.  When we paid them off eight months later, PNC sent us something which looked like a pink version of the same title (though it clearly insisted that it was NOT in fact a title) stating that PNC no longer held any claim to the car.  The cover letter told us the real title would be sent to us directly from the MVA, allowing ten days for delivery.

After waiting sixty days without hearing a word, I finally trudged out to the local MVA Express in hopes of finding a real person who could tell me what the heck was going on.  I took the kiosk ticket for "Miscellaneous" problems, because none of the other categories seemed appropriate.

After standing in the proverbial DMV line, I told the nice man what the problem was.  The way he rolled his eyes made it immediately clear that PNC had told us a lie.  Apparently this happens a lot.  The upshot of it was that I could take the blue title and the pink un-title all the way back to Annapolis to have a "clear title" printed free of charge (how nice), or I could just staple the two together and call it good.

At present I'm opting for the stapler.

MVA Madness: Take Eight

We have finally acquired new tags and a proper registration!  Apparently there's still an emission test in our future, but we'll cross that bridge when they bother to mail us the information.  It's like an ongoing ransom negotiation for the right to drive, but we've made a major step forward.

And the best news is that we can make our drive to Virginia this weekend in the younger, fitter car without hiding from the state troopers. :)

MVA Madness: Take Seven

We have successfully acquired a driver's license for David.  Finally.   Now we have to fill out the rest of the appropriate paperwork for the car registration so I can bring it back Monday and try my luck once again.  Hopefully we can lay this whole issue to rest, and my car will no longer be a fugitive from Virginia.

MVA Madness: Take Six

My latest trip to Annapolis once again ends in abject failure.  Seriously, the only people benefiting from all this driving around is the oil company.  I had our bill of sale covered with more stamps and signatures than a Nazi passport, but they barely looked at it because they were busily inventing other reasons to turn me away.  We'll have to wait yet another week before we can make our next attempt.

Now we suddenly find our our credit score is abysmal, apparently for no other reason than we're young, don't have enough debt, and have been financially responsible enough to live without a credit card.  Now our number is so low we can't even get cell phones.  We pay all our f*&@#ing bills every month, on time or earlier.   I am sick and tired of being penalized for attempting to be a respectable citizen.  The message I seem to be getting from all these obstacles is that the ideal American will not move from state to state, will have at least five credit cards, run up enough debt to leave his grandchildren destitute, not integrate any of his affairs with those of his spouse, and not leave his parents until the age of thirty-five.  While perhaps typical, I didn't suppose it was desirable.

Our entire family has been diagnosed with acute cases of compliance fatigue in the past.  I think I'm having a flare up.

MVA Madness: Take Five

This was my bureaucratic failure du jour.  Drove back down to Annapolis today during rush hour to get to the DMV once again, hoping to finally register the car in our names.  Apparently that was too much to hope for, because we did not possess a doubly notarized bill of sale.  I swear, I wasn't in that building sixty seconds before I was tossed out again.

I feel like I'm trying to sneak into some exclusive club with enormous bouncers.  It may not technically be the city's fault, but the name is becoming synonymous with helplessness and frustration.

Oh, the Rejection

We've been trying to become bona fide citizens of this state for some time now.  Technically David doesn't have to, being active duty, but apparently I have to, and we decided to both go for it just to simplify matters.  Just imagine being able to actually have the same legal address, vote where you live, and not have so much explaining to do when tax season comes around.  We felt like we should regularize the situation in a timely manner.  We have also recently been gifted with the ownership of our primary vehicle, so we had a title to file and new registration to acquire.

As soon as we had our signed lease for our apartment, we went in search of the local DMV.  With the sketchy internet service we had at the time, we were able to generate one address on the Google page, and thankfully it wasn't far away.  We headed down there with our folder of official paperwork, only to discover that it is an "express" location which doesn't offer any of the many services we require.  There was no indication of an alternative location to which to take ourselves.  We decided to go ahead inside and ask someone where we were actually supposed to go, but apparently we would be expected to take a number from the kiosk and wait an hour to be seen.  We weren't about to wait an hour just to ask for directions, so we stomped out and called my parents, asking them to conduct an internet search on our behalf.

The location of a full service DMV was discovered, but it was in the next county, a good half hour drive from home.  We drove away in the hope of having better luck there.

Long story short, when we finally reached the front desk, the lady explained to us that we needed TWO proofs of legal residence, not just the lease.  We didn't have any gas or electric bill yet, and we hadn't changed our address with the bank.  Apparently a vehicle registration would work, and since we were there to do that anyway, we asked if we could possibly register the car first and use the registration to acquire driver's licenses.  Apparently we could.  We stood in line at the other desk and attempted to fill out the forms.  Every question was ambiguous, and we stood in line a few more times just to clarify some things.  For instance, there was a blank for a "Maryland driver's license #."  We didn't have Maryland licenses and anything we put down would be misleading because they would be Georgia and Virginia numbers.  And did they want the address we currently called home, or one of the two legal addresses that appeared on the licenses we did have?  It was such a mess, we walked out and decided to go back when we had a bank statement for our second proof of residence.

We went by the bank on our way home and changed our billing address.

Apparently since I am only the co-owner of our bank account, I cannot access the statements when I log into the website.  We went paperless a while ago, mostly because we didn't want bank statements bouncing between addresses while the move was going on.  So, a week after we had changed our billing address, I simply walked into the bank and asked for a statement.

They looked at me like I was crazy.  Apparently nobody asks for a statement anymore.  I explained that it was for the DMV, and then it seemed to make sense to them.  They printed a summary of our account with the new address, and had a few bank representatives sign and date it.

That Friday (a week after the first endeavor) we make the drive back to the DMV, feeling very prepared.  Who gets anything done on their first trip to the DMV, anyway?  We spread everything out for the lady at the front desk, and she promptly dismissed my paper from the bank, saying it needed to be an actual statement, not just a summary.  I explained that it was the only thing they would give me.  "Oh, well have you been a resident for at least 30 days?  Well, that's why they can't print you a statement yet."

Everywhere we seem to be meeting a new glorification of procrastination.  We went home once again, having accomplished nothing.  When we did get home, we found our first gas/electric bill in the mailbox, but we were too tired to go back.

We planned to go back the following Friday with this gas bill, but I noticed that my name did not appear on it, and apparently being married to the party named on the gas bill is not legal proof that I live with him.  Strike out once again.  We didn't even both driving down there.

At long last, thirty days passed in our new home, and I logged into the bank website as David and printed our %@#$ bank statement.  We had one Friday left before he would no longer be able to leave work early enough to make the trip, the Friday before Memorial Day.  We planned our day around it, and got there early enough to have several hours to navigate the bureaucracy.

But, unbeknownst to us, everybody at the DMV decided they wanted a long weekend, and the place was locked up and deserted when we got there.  Our bank statement wasn't going to do us any good that day.

I can't help but get the feeling that Maryland doesn't really want us.  They sure aren't in a hurry to help us get this worked out.  We don't take our social security cards for joyrides every weekend just for the fun of it.

I'm going down there again today, alone, just to see if I can accomplish anything.  The worst they can say is that our bank statement is no good because a mailman didn't deliver it by hand to our address, and that I can't register the car by myself because I'm just the co-owner.  In that case, David will have to take time off work just to visit the DMV, and I may be arrested for throttling someone.


(Several hours later . . . .)

Thank God, they accepted the bank statement.  It took all morning, but I now have a garish new Maryland driver's license.  I stood in the vehicle registration line for two minutes before I decided I would have better luck first thing in the morning on some other day.  The last time I saw a line like that was at Six Flags.  My afternoon would be better spent at the gym, which is where I'm off to now.