i fought the law.
... and the law definitely won.
My vehicle sticker arrived in the mail. My car is finally completely legal. I can breathe again.
Last Wednesday, I went out my door and found a ticket on my car for not having a city sticker. My car spent twelve months parked on the streets of Chicago without getting a ticket, so why would it get one now? Because I just changed my address with the state. The car is now a "Chicago car" and thus must be eligible for fleecing.
I am completely serious. The cop wrote right on the ticket, "car is registered in city." Try to follow the rules, and you'll get screwed.
Here's the thing. Here's the conversation that followed when I walked down to a local check cashing place to get the city sticker.
Me: "Hi, I'd like to buy a vehicle sticker."
IDIOTIC BUREAUCRATIC UNFEELING EMPLOYEE: "When did you buy the car?"
Me: "1999."
IBUE: "Oh no no. I can't give you a sticker."
Me: "Why not? How am I supposed to register my car?"
IBUE: "Was it registered before?"
Me: "Yes, it was last registered in Carol Stream."
IBUE: "Do you have the sticker card?"
Me: "I have my insurance card. It should have all the information you need." (Trying not to say: "I HAVE THE STICKER. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DRIVE THE CAR THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR SO YOU CAN SEE IT?")
IBUE: "Do you live in Chicago now?"
Me: "Yes. Here's my paycheck stub with my address."
IBUE: "Do you have proof you moved here within the last month?"
Me: "Do I need that to get the sticker? I'm just trying to make my car legal. Why is it so hard to make my car legal?"
IBUE: "I'm just trying to save you the $40 late fee."
Me: (Thinking: "Can you save me the $120 ticket?" Also: "If that's all you're doing, could you try to speak in a nicer tone too?") "Just charge me the $40 late fee and sell me the sticker."
At this point, it looks like I might actually get my sticker. Then I show her my credit card.
IBUE: "I'm sorry, we only accept cash."
You know, it took me about five minutes to buy it online, and I didn't have to deal with an officious bureaucrat. It cost a dollar more than what she would've charged me, which is well worth avoiding her in the future. When I saw it in the mail, I wanted to run to the check cashing station and shove it in her face, "SEE THIS? I DIDN'T HAVE TO SHOW THEM ANYTHING OR PUT UP WITH ANY DAMN CONDESCENDING ATTITUDE FOR IT EITHER!"
I still had to pay the city my right arm, left leg and first-born child, of course. It was a very expensive day and a very expensive lesson learned. I think I have the last laugh, though; I never plan to have any children, so the city will never be able to collect on that deal. TAKE THAT, CITY OF CHICAGO.
listening to: Boards of Canada, the La's, Bloc Party, Life at Sea, Radiohead, the Beatles, the Art of Noise, the Ponys
in my sink: a glass, a cup, a bowl, a spoon, a spatula.
My vehicle sticker arrived in the mail. My car is finally completely legal. I can breathe again.
Last Wednesday, I went out my door and found a ticket on my car for not having a city sticker. My car spent twelve months parked on the streets of Chicago without getting a ticket, so why would it get one now? Because I just changed my address with the state. The car is now a "Chicago car" and thus must be eligible for fleecing.
I am completely serious. The cop wrote right on the ticket, "car is registered in city." Try to follow the rules, and you'll get screwed.
Here's the thing. Here's the conversation that followed when I walked down to a local check cashing place to get the city sticker.
Me: "Hi, I'd like to buy a vehicle sticker."
IDIOTIC BUREAUCRATIC UNFEELING EMPLOYEE: "When did you buy the car?"
Me: "1999."
IBUE: "Oh no no. I can't give you a sticker."
Me: "Why not? How am I supposed to register my car?"
IBUE: "Was it registered before?"
Me: "Yes, it was last registered in Carol Stream."
IBUE: "Do you have the sticker card?"
Me: "I have my insurance card. It should have all the information you need." (Trying not to say: "I HAVE THE STICKER. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DRIVE THE CAR THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR SO YOU CAN SEE IT?")
IBUE: "Do you live in Chicago now?"
Me: "Yes. Here's my paycheck stub with my address."
IBUE: "Do you have proof you moved here within the last month?"
Me: "Do I need that to get the sticker? I'm just trying to make my car legal. Why is it so hard to make my car legal?"
IBUE: "I'm just trying to save you the $40 late fee."
Me: (Thinking: "Can you save me the $120 ticket?" Also: "If that's all you're doing, could you try to speak in a nicer tone too?") "Just charge me the $40 late fee and sell me the sticker."
At this point, it looks like I might actually get my sticker. Then I show her my credit card.
IBUE: "I'm sorry, we only accept cash."
You know, it took me about five minutes to buy it online, and I didn't have to deal with an officious bureaucrat. It cost a dollar more than what she would've charged me, which is well worth avoiding her in the future. When I saw it in the mail, I wanted to run to the check cashing station and shove it in her face, "SEE THIS? I DIDN'T HAVE TO SHOW THEM ANYTHING OR PUT UP WITH ANY DAMN CONDESCENDING ATTITUDE FOR IT EITHER!"
I still had to pay the city my right arm, left leg and first-born child, of course. It was a very expensive day and a very expensive lesson learned. I think I have the last laugh, though; I never plan to have any children, so the city will never be able to collect on that deal. TAKE THAT, CITY OF CHICAGO.
listening to: Boards of Canada, the La's, Bloc Party, Life at Sea, Radiohead, the Beatles, the Art of Noise, the Ponys
in my sink: a glass, a cup, a bowl, a spoon, a spatula.
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