March 8 – “Disabled Parking”

We were hit with a bit of a shock today.  Mom doesn't exist.  That's right.  Not in the system.  Gone.  Never had an existence.  Surreal.   We went to the Galveston County Courthouse for the simple task of renewing her disabled parking permit.  That's the blue tag thing that hangs from your mirror when you park in a handicapped parking space.  Not that the space is particularly handicapped.  But anyway.  I downloaded the form off the internet, filled it out, and had Mom sign in the correct place, so everything would be perfect when we were called up to the desk for our turn.  I even grabbed the folder she had with copies of all the past forms she had filled out.  We even had a copy of her original doctor's prescription.  No way Mom would have to stand up for very long.    We got there at just the right time.  Two people in front of us, and almost as if by magic – as if Harry Potter himself had waved his wand – there were ten people behind us.  Fortunately there were three chairs available, so Mom grabbed one for our wait.  It really didn't take long.  The first guy went back with little fanfare.  But the second guy wanted a permit to sell beer and wine.  Apparently there is only one person who can give out permits to sell beer and wine.  She was at lunch.  That meant it was our turn.   We ambled over to the desk and leaned against it.  No chairs in this part of the courthouse universe, but we wouldn't be long.  We had all the paperwork.  In and out, right?  Well …   The girl was very nice.  She greeted us happily as I handed over the internet paperwork and the old placard.  Her smile slowly disappeared, however, as she typed in Mom's number.  Then her name.  Then she did them each again, expecting a different result.  No.  Not there.  There was no record of Mom in the system whatsoever.  She was a nonperson.  The girl very sweetly said, "I'm sorry, but she is not in the system.  You will have to go back to your doctor and get another prescription."  I asked what she meant by "not in the system."  She said, "There is no record of her under her name or even the number on the old placard.  There is no way for us to tell if she is supposed to get a permanent or temporary placard, or even that she is supposed to be issued one at all."    Determined to be nice, I pulled out the folder with all of the back paperwork and handed it to her.  I asked, "Would it help you find her if I replaced all the paperwork that came out of your system?"  She studied the paperwork intently.  She paused after the first page and said, "You know, we did lose a lot of records during the storm.  Maybe that's what happened."  "Maybe so," I agreed.  Finally she turned to the copy of the original prescription.  "Well, we could have used this prescription, but it doesn't say whether it is supposed to be permanent or temporary."  Stifling a chuckle, I asked, "Does the fact that every other form in the file does say "permanent" maybe make a difference?"  "Well," she continued, "it's just that we are supposed to have a prescription to prove that she is supposed to get a permanent placard.  Otherwise we have no way of knowing if she was really issued a placard or not."  Now that one almost brought me to my knees trying to hold in an explosion of laughter.  I replied, through clenched teeth, using all my willpower to not laugh in her face, "Perhaps the fact that I just gave you her old placard could be some evidence that she was issued one."  "You know what," she said, "I think I should go check with my supervisor on this one."  "Sounds like a plan," I agreed.   She was gone for but a few minutes into the mysterious back room where supervisors dwell.  She returned with a gleam in her eye and a bounce in her step.  "You learn something new every day," she remarked.  "My supervisor said that since you turned in an old placard, that would constitute proof that you really had one, and we can go ahead and issue a renewal."  "Wow," I said, "that is awesome.  Thank you so much for your help."   She had to make one more trip to the black hole back room to actually pick up a new placard, but she finally came through.  I told Mom she is now legal to park in a handicapped space until March of 2014.  She said she's not so sure she won't be parked in a space up in the clouds by 2014.  Maybe so.  But at least they'll know she exists up there.  All they have to do is check the computers at the County Courthouse.   Psalms 104:33 says, "I will sing to the Lord all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live."   Father, thank you for a good laugh today.  And bless that girl who waded though her bureaucratic rules with a smile on her face.  Amen.