It’s such a pain in the butt to make a new life here, that you immediately block out the pain of it. . . until you have to do stuff all over again!
I realize that things (what I mean is Bureaucratic Red Tape) vary from state to state. Of course the more populated a place, the slower the cogs seem to turn. . . unless of course you are at a small base in GA (I can say that- I’m from the South :)) Anyway- I was just reminded of all of this as I helped a new wife on our boat get situated in Paradise- that land of slow moving Palm fronds and even slower Red tape! Example;
The Car situation. You pull your car off the truck, thankful that it made it across the Pacific without taking a dip. The POV place seems well run, even fast by most standards and you think things are going well. That is of course until you try to register it. That my friends- takes an act of Congress! It seems easy enough at first glance but that is before they tell you it is a 3 step process that does not lend itself to 88 degree Pacific sun and a screaming kid.
First, you must have a Safety Inspection to register your car. Of course this involves finding a station, having it done and then getting the sticker. . . or not. You get a piece of paper that says that you have had the inspection done (assuming that your car passes). Then you must trot yourself down to a DMV to get registered. (Mind you, if you are an out of state resident (with Hawaii tags), this requires a form from your command- at least that saves you money!) When you get your fabulous piece of paper, you get to go BACK to the Safety Inspection people and then they place the thing on your car. OK- so if you are in small town America great. On an island with a whole lot too many people driving around- it’s a day project.
Oh- and for all the women who drive cars that their hubbys have modified. . . well oh my STARS! You (because no doubt your hubby is way to busy to leave the boat) get to drive down town into some of the not so nice parts, looking for a small 1ft x 1 ft sign that reads RECON. You won’t see the sign- it’s way too small. But if you see what appears to be an accident scene under the H1 Freeway Overpass- TURN IN- that’s the place. There they will measure you cars lift- or lack there of, inspect it’s rims and tires all along ignoring the most important mods- like the fact that your Hubby removed the vehicles computer and had it reprogrammed to make it much faster. But you know- rim height is much more important than the capability to drive at the speed of light right. . .
Alas- I’ve been in paradise a year- but as you can tell, I’m still a bit spun up from all of that trauma. However- just as I have forgotten the pain of pushing out a 10 lb 1 oz baby boy, this pain fades too. . . until I have to repeat the process!
Filed under: A Day in the Life |