Story Tellers

It's Wednesday again and time for a cuppa with shannon of asouthernbellewithnorthernroots.blogspot.com .

I have grumped before about the dragging inefficiency of  "the bureaucracy" and the license my daughter was waiting for then still has not arrived.  The state's 60 days have elapsed and it's time to call a lawyer.

But I need to tell you a different, older story. 

Back a long, long time ago, in a country across the river, a young man and his wife and babies moved from Illinois and needed to register their Dodge Dart in their new land.  They procured the forms and filled them out, and sent them to the Great Maw of the State Paperwork Center.

Several times the paperwork went back and forth, yet they still didn't have their car registration.  There was never any indication of what the problem was.  Finally in exasperation, the young man wrote a letter to the Paperwork Maw, insulting their intelligence.

Quickly a letter returned explaining (patiently) that there was a discrepancy in the car description between two of the forms.  One described the car as having two doors, while another said it was a four door vehicle.  If they were having trouble determining the number of doors, they could take the vehicle to the nearest law enforcement officer who would be happy to count the doors for them. 

The young man and his wife dissolved in helpless laughter, and took the car to the sheriff, who happily complied by counting the doors for them.  Then, in due time, they received their car registration.

Happy ending.  Plus they got to tell the story on themselves for decades afterwards.

The moral of the story:  Someone at the Maw had a sense of humor.  Luckily the young couple did, too.