A Day at the Courthouse

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When I saw this sign, I wondered if I’d been transported to Birmingham, England. It wasn’t until I uploaded the above picture at home that I saw someone else had noticed and penned a correction!

 

We had been warned – it will take 4-5 hours. So, my husband took the day off for us to get our Alabama driver’s licenses and my car tag/title taken care of. He has to go back to get his tag/title taken care of. He will do that alone. We were there for six hours last Tuesday.

We decided to go the courthouse in Bessemer as it seemed the closest place to us. I came armed with a good book to read and my cell phone. In between chapters I kept my friend back home apprised of the situation via texts. She lived in Birmingham about four years ago and was quite familiar with the scenario.

Where shall I begin? We started the process about 8:40am – we were numbers 18 & 19. At 10:15am they were still on number three. There was an older gentleman who got in line, hopefully for an ID and not a driver’s license. He had a cane but was still pretty unstable. But he had no birth certificate; could be it had been written on a stone tablet somewhere. Thankfully, everyone was very kind to him before he left in search of the elusive birth certificate.

A young upstart was walking around with a shirt that read, “I’m allergic to stupid.” I wondered how he was able to get a number. Soon, everyone was inquiring about each other’s numbers. Kind of like the first day of school but without any bells to let us know when it was time to change classes, which we didn’t need anyway as we weren’t going anywhere.

My friend suggested that I could write about the life and times of two Alabama employees. Here is my introduction: “Once upon a time there were two people who were vying for the title of Least Productive Employee of the Month.”

Another young man was quite humorous. His observation of one of the employees: “She went to the bathroom and on break all in one motion”; upon finding out some people had given up and left, “We’re the last of the Mohicans.” My friends responded that at least they are well read in Bessemer.

After I got my license, I headed downstairs for the tag business. I observed a sign behind the woman who was waiting on me that made me wonder at all the Southern Hospitality I’d been experiencing since we moved. The sign said, “Unless you pay into the coffee funds, you are NOT welcome to any of the coffee supplies.” Hmmm. SOMEbody was disgruntled.

We didn’t pack a lunch and I was afraid to chew gum for fear of a loudly growling stomach, so I survived on a few tic-tacs. I was very happy when we finally got lunch/dinner about 3:30. We ate at La Brisa on John Hawkins Parkway, sitting  outside, enjoying our meal and nice cold drink. That will be for another post.

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