waiting time heals hidden license and tricycle steering foibles
Nazy and I had finally selected a new car — a sporty BMW — because..
“We’ve had boring sedans for the last 14 years,” Nazy proclaimed.
“But…”
“And I don’t want to drive a car that makes us look like grandparents.” She concluded.
“Me either!” I concurred. “But this time we are grandparents,” I thought. “I wonder how easy it will be to get the baby’s chair in and out of the backseat?”
[Melika, btw, was making the opposite transition: trading a Porsche for an SUV roughly the size of Lichtenstein with the maneuverability of the Matterhorn.]
It turned out that it is not easy to extract (or place) a 21st century child seat into the backseat of a BMW 4 series car. But that was something we’d discover in the future. Back home, Nazy was issuing orders:
“Do you think you can handle the simple job of installing the license plates? Dan?” She asked, not letting on that she was aware of a potential challenge.
“Of course I can do it!” I responded indignantly. “Do you know where we put the phillips head screwdriver?”
In short order, I screwed the rear plate into place. I moved to the front and discovered there was no place to install the front plate. “Nazy knew there’d be a problem!” I thought.
“Where’s my metal drill?” I shouted as I returned to the house. “I have to make some holes in the hood of the car so that I can install the front license plate.”
We compromised with an agreement that i would take the car for BMW to install the plates.
And so it sat for a couple of days. Finally, shamed into action, I agreed to go to service, but I could not find the front license plate.
“How can you lose a license plate?” Nazy asked reasonably.
“Well I don’t know!” I replied truthfully. “It simply vanished.”I searched high and low. I checked the trunk, the garbage cans, my office, the house and the carport to no avail. It was gone. (Gone!) I rationalized.“A lot of people don’t install front license plates, Nazy,” I explained. “The plate detracts from the beauty of the car and interferes with the flow of air over the radiator.”
“Isn’t the front license plate a legal requirement?” Nazy replied.
“No one will ever enforce that archaic regulation, my dear.” I asserted confidently.
My assertion was not only confident, it was accurate — for about 18 months. Then we got a $48 ticket from an over-achieving parking matron who was obviously behind on her quota. I paid the fine and resolved to avoid parking on the street. And then, about five months ago, we were stopped by a motorcycle patrolman who gave me a ‘moving violation’ because of the missing front license plate. A kindly young whippersnapper, he also noted that I could ‘void’ the ticket by simply installing the front plate. He even explained the appeal and cancellation process.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I noted as the trooper motored away.
“How are you going to install the license plate that you lost?” Nazy asked amiably.
We ended up ordering an individualized (NAZ DAN) legacy plate from the DMV (Division of Motor Vehicles). The DMV outsourced construction to a team of semi-skilled llamas armed with hammers and chisels designed for use by dolphins. It took many, many months to collect the gluten-free individual atoms needed to construct the plates. Eventually they arrived. I went to the DMV to hand-in, as required, the old (rear) plate. I removed it and found that I had installed the missing front plate directly behind the rear plate.
Nazy was not amused. (But now we have a cool license plate.)
I caught some kind of cold or flu during the holiday season. Initially, it wasn’t debilitating: it was just an annoying, hacking cough and an irritating headache. And then, after a few days, my legs and arms started to ache and, eventually, I got a rather high fever. I promised Nazy that I would go to (this country’s version of) ‘Urgent Care’ the next morning.
After Nazy dropped me off, I waited about 25 minutes for someone to call ‘my number’. Then, they made copies of my various insurance cards (oblivious of the fact that they already have that information in their ‘system&rsquo
. They called the government to see if my social security number was ‘valid …
“Well, they’ve probably never seen such a low, simple six digit, social security number before,” I thought.
… then they told me to sit down and wait.
Around an hour later, an admitting technician took my temperature (101℉) and blood pressure. Then he told me to sit down and wait.
Two hours after that, another technician invited me into ‘the back’ to see the doctor. He took my temperature (100℉) and blood pressure. He told me to sit down and wait. Luckily, there was a comforting sign in the waiting room:
If you have not been seen in 20 minutes,
contact the front desk.
I waited 25 minutes and then went to see if they’d forgotten me. I was assured that I was ‘next’.
Around half an hour later, an actual physician arrived. He took my temperature (99℉) and blood pressure.
“Interesting,” he noted. “Your fever has steadily decreased, but your blood pressure is steadily increasing.”
“The fear of actually having to spend time here pushed my immune system into action,” replied. “I think your work here is done.”
The Martin Family children (and spouses) dispersed for New Years. The grand(est)sons stayed in Santa Barbara with Nazy and me. I found a replacement for the missing screw on Tiger’s tricycle and then Nazy and I went for a stroll with the boys. The Tricycle has dual steering controls — and I vied, semi-successfully, with Tiger for mastery during the walk. Nazy was constantly and fully in control of Arrow’s stroller.
This week, Darius has gone to Chicago to attend the American Economics Association meeting. Testing the job market (and his juggling ability), Darius has scheduled 18 interviews in 3 days — a logistical challenge akin to Normandy landing.
“When I was doing this,” Darius said, “I thought that all the meetings were in the same hotel.”
“That’s reasonable,” I replied. “Really?” I thought.
“The meetings are in at least ten different hotels scattered all around Chicago…”
“… where it will be -15℉ …”
“ .. yeah.”
We have confidence that it will all work out. Flaunting his adventure gene, Darius is talking with large universities, small liberal arts colleges, consulting firms and banks in North America, South America, Asia and Europe. It’s going to be a full 2017 for Darius, Christiane and, early in the year, a new arrival. Exciting Times!
This week's letter has included several photos of Arrow discovering his hands and learning to sit.
For last week's letter, click here
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