A Day That Will Live in Bureaucracy

Yesterday morning, oldest daughter Melanie and I went to my office where the 'new' car had been parked for the last eight or nine days while undergoing repairs. As I said yesterday, the car was running and ready for licensing. But of course, the local bureaucracy must have its pound of flesh. The state says you can't move an unlicensed/unregistered vehicle without the emissions test.

I mentioned in earlier comments that "the testing here is scheduled to end in early '12. Anchorage hasn't had a 'non-compliance day' in nearly 20 years."  I refer to the EPA air-quality standards. If memory serves, the last such 'non-compliance' event was in the late '80s. I could be wrong ... but let's just say it's been quite awhile, and leave it at that. Nevertheless, until the EPA agrees with Anchorage's application to discontinue the testing, it's still a requirement.

So we were first in line at the DMV, and I paid the five dollar fee for the one-time, one-way permit to move the car from its location on private property to the testing site in midtown. I asked the clerk how I was supposed to get the car, once the test was duly passed, back to the DMV so I could register the paperwork. She admitted that the DMV website omits mention of a pen-and-ink addition to said permit, to wit: "/DMV".  This handwritten amendment allows the permittee to drive from test site to the state office. Okay. I asked, and she put it on the paper.

So we drove back to my office, put the permit in the back window of the little car, and drove it proudly to the test facility.

It didn't pass. The old battery had to be replaced during the course of repairs, and therefore all the sensors and on-board computers blanked out, and hadn't yet reset.

The technician told me that the car needed to be driven for "thirty or forty miles" to get the sensors recording again. I explained about the one-time, one-way permit allowing travel only from Point A to Point B for testing, and then only to the DMV office. No exceptions, not no way, not no how.

He said the drive would be necessary, or the car wouldn't pass.

Okay, then.

I reckoned it this way: the state mandates the test in Anchorage. The car MUST pass the test, or no title/registration/license. Therefore, the drive is a necessary - nay, mandatory - part of the testing process ... permit or no permit.

Not fun ... but the IM testing facility mandated the drive, so off we went. On the way out of town, we stopped at Sam's Club to have the snow tires mounted. The roads here are still messy from the last round of snow, so old worn tires weren't the way to go.

Vehicle freshly shod, we headed south on the highway, buzzing along at two miles per hour under the speed limit, looking nervously over our shoulders for troopers or local P.D., and doing our best to remain as inconspicuous as an unlicensed, unregistered car can be on the highway.

Thirteen miles down the road, the entire instrument cluster went Tango Uniform. No gas gauge, no temperature gauge, no speedometer, no odometer, no trip meter.

Nothing.

Did I mention we had expired plates and no registration? At this point, I just gritted my teeth and kept going. When I reckoned we'd gone about 20 miles, I turned around and went back. I pulled into the test bay, handed over the keys, and went to the lobby. "Please Lord, just let it pass this time."

Yeah, it did. Flying colors, too. (Thank you, Lord!)

We got back in the car to discover that all the instruments were working fine. Okay, fine, whatever. What more could go wrong at this point?

You know that little voice that tells you not to say things like that? I didn't listen.

Went back to DMV, waiting my turn, and handed over the old title, application for new title, and the test results. Everything was fine this time, except ...

... except that I'd written both daughters' names on the old title as purchasers, before I discovered that unlicensed persons cannot own a car in Alaska. (Don't even go there; let's just move on.) So I added "or Paul or (Mrs. Paul)" at the end. My wife and I had signed the application, so all is well. Right?

The clerk looked at the list of four names and announced that all four persons needed to sign the application. She and I discussed that for a minute until Melanie (bless her heart!) said, "Samantha's only 16."  I immediately said, "That's right; she's a minor. can I sign for her?"

The clerk went to ask Someone Who Would Know, and returned with the news that the application would be okay the way it was, as long as I added both girls' names to it, which I did quickly.

Fee paid, new title in hand, license plate current, and car on the road. Now I'm back at work so I can rest. The office is much less stressful!