I came in late to work today in order to take care of my traffic ticket problems. Things didn't go too badly, except for at the inspection station.

The Hub had done a great job of putting a new tail light in. I am SO BLESSED to be married to a guy who not only is able to do that kind of stuff, but feels as if it's his job to do it. Having that kind of help in a situation like this can make a lot of difference, because without him I would have lost the use of the car the whole time some shop was working on it.

Anyway, after he installed the tail light, he put some tape around the outside of it in order to make it look neater and keep the exposed metal from rusting quite as quickly as it would otherwise.

I took it to the inspection station and interupted a man, who - it just has to be said - really did look like a hog, from reading the newspaper. This inspection station also does repairs. I explained that I had a ticket for a tail light issue, and that I'd like him to sign off on it.

"I bet I won't be able to" he said, before he ever saw the work, "Is the tail light fixed?"

"Of course it's fixed." I said. I didn't add, but I'm sure he could hear it anyway, why else would I be bringing it to be inspected?

"Is there a hole in it?"

"Sir, why would there be a hole in it?" I asked, truly trying for a nutral tone of voice.

But, people say stuff like this to me all the time. I don't know if I look particularly stupid, or if all women with light hair and blue eyes experience this....or if all women experience this ( God, how I hope not!) It's times like this when I truly wish I was built like refrigerator, had a speaking voice like a spoon stuck in a garbage disposal, and the demeanor that would support me hiking up my pants, stepping up to the guys face and saying "Whaddaya mean by that?"

"Well, let me go take a look at it." he sighed, and swung his porky little legs off of the stool on which he was seated.
"Oh, no. Nuh-unh. I can't sign off on this!" he had only glanced at it.

"What's the problem with it?" I asked.

"Well it's held on by tape! I can't sign off on that! Who did this work?"

"It's not held on by tape. It's held in by a sheet metal screw. The tape is just for additional protection."

"You take this down to the police barrack and see if you can get somebody there to sign off on it." he said.

"Aren't you an authorized inspection station?"

"Well, yeah, but, I can't see what's holding that on there!"

"What if I take the tape off of it?"

"Well, okay, if you bring it back....just to be sure it's not held on by tape."

I had the worst urge to make him stand there with me out in the wind while I took the tape off of it. But then I became concerned that it would upset The Hub if I undid his work in that way, so I told Mr. Chauvenist that I'd talk to my husband and bring it back. He snorted. No kidding. Just like Winston, only not nearly as charming.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" The Hub said, when I told him the problem, "All he had to do was look under the fender he could have seen what was holding it in there plainly!"

"He wasn't going to do that for me." I said quietly.

Of course, the guy may have just been in a bad mood. Maybe he hadn't had much work lately - the place was certainly dead.

But if he had a slightly better attitude I bet he'd get more business.

Anyway, after seeing the scene at the court house, I don't feel nearly so much like a hardened criminal. After all, I had to stand in a long line for 20 minutes behind a whole HERD of other people who had the same problem ( and some had even worse ones - bench warrents and stuff) all from having forgotten abouta ticket or tickets. So we were practically a criminal community.

And then there was this poor attorney, that the women behind the counter kept making run from one side of the room to the other by witholding key pieces of information from him. I guess they were just doing that because they could. They reminded me of the Vogons in The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy, little people with little power, but that which they had they would wield unmercifully. If I thought Chauvenism died out in the 70's I'd hoped whatever you call what the Clerk Women were doing had died out in the 40's. When I got up to the counter, smiled politely and said, "How are you?" they looked at me like I was speaking Swaheli.

They didn't answer either. I suppose it was self explanitory.

Sigh.