Cars are inanimate objects. Sure, they have headlights that resemble eyes, doors that resemble arms and legs, and some have a sunroof that resembles an old man's bald spot. But cars aren't living things, which is why it's so strange that the two cars I previously owned are returning from the dead to haunt me.
Like a bitter ex-girlfriend telling the cops about your hookah, my two former cars have come back into my life solely to spite me. My brother called me last Saturday, and said my previous car, an Oldsmobile Cutlass, was in an impound lot, and somehow I was still registered as its owner.
I ditched the car last March because the transmission was ruined. Every time I stopped at a stoplight, I had to rev the engine to keep it from stalling. So I bought my brother's Ford ZX2 and gave him the Cutlass to sell to the junkyard. The $50 or so he'd get for it was part of the deal. Instead, he decided to give the car to his roommate, who was between vehicles at the moment. That was fine with me. I like to see people helping each other, and besides, the car wasn't mine anymore. Or so I thought.
Granted, it's my fault for not making sure the title transfer was done correctly, but as far as I knew, the car was going to a junkyard. If karma is real, I must have done something extremely bad in the past. Did I unknowingly step on a kitten during my youth? Perhaps I hocked a loogie out a window, and my goober landed on The Pope. The possibilities are endless.
My brother's roommate drove the Cutlass for six months with no problems. Then last Friday, he was pulled over by the cops for some minor issue. I'm not sure how he acted towards them, but I can't imagine his tone was pleasant, because they not only ran his license, but also ran a check on his plates. Such extreme measures are unusual. Surprisingly, the license plates for the car came up red flagged.
Apparently, the tabs I bought last year weren't assigned to the Cutlass, like they were supposed to be. They were accidentally assigned to my previous car, a Dodge Daytona that has been in a junkyard since 2000. Some douchebag working for the state forgot to record the Daytona's title change when the junkyard sent it in. Then, last year, some other douchebag in the license bureau assigned my tabs to the wrong car. I cannot think up enough curse words to explain how I feel about government workers right now.
I've spent the past three days calling around, gathering proof that I don't own the Daytona. The junkyard I sold the car to is sending me a photocopy of the Daytona's current title, as well as a signed statement testifying that I sold them the car five years ago, and that they sent the state all the proper paperwork.
My brother's roommate has a court hearing in early October, which I'll be attending. I doubt they'll be able to convict him for illegal plates (An offense that brings a $300-$400 fine). I have solid proof that the Daytona isn't mine, and that no malicious intent was possible. What could I have possibly gained from buying tabs for one car and placing them on another car I owned? It's like buying a children's movie ticket and giving it to a different child than originally intended. There's no benefit involved that could harm the state.
However, the fine isn't what I'm worried about. It's the financial trouble I've endured because of the state's errors. Yesterday I shelled out $400 for new plates, tabs, and impound lot fees (New plates and tabs were required to remove the car from impound). Those bloodsucking scavengers at the impound lot even charged me $10 extra because I wanted to pay with a credit card. Unfortunately, I might not even be reimbursed for these charges, even though I had no choice but to pay. If we had waited until the court hearing to remove the car from the impound, the cost (at $30/day) would have been $600-$800, and my brother's roommate would have had no car for a month.
I hope the judge will be understanding, but when was the last time you heard of a judge awarding damages to someone charged with a traffic ticket? The judge may not even have the authority to reimburse me. So in the end, the state may screw us all. I had to waste three days of my time and spend $400. My brother had to take time off work to help me with everything. My brother's roommate was left without a car for a week, and will have to help me pay the $400.
The string of events I've described in this column are exactly what's wrong with our government. They mess up, and the little people like my friends and I are forced to clean up the mess for them and rearrange our lives around it. Nobody checks the work state employees perform, so none of the workers are held accountable when they screw up. Sadly, they screw up quite often. When I was a reporter, you better believe I'd get in trouble if I screwed up and caused a hardship for someone else. Why can't the government be held to the same standards?
Does it sound wrong to anyone else that the state messed up, and may actually get rewarded for it with $400 from the people they caused the hardship for in the first place? Welcome to America, folks.
