YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP

“And we call ourselves the human race…”

John F. Kennedy

Statement to Secretary of State Dean Rusk just after they had been given a military briefing on every city that would be wiped out with a nuclear bomb if war should break out, 1961.

Well. I’m not really comparing the weight of JFK’s words to what I’m about to say to you today, but his words do reflect this post’s title. I always have faith in people, but sometimes I also wonder how things can get so ridiculous. Read on.

As many of you know, I live in New Hampshire. I own and drive a 2016 badass Town & Country minivan. I would like to tell you that this is because I have kids. Sadly, it is because minivans are one of the few types of vehicles that can safely be modified to have a retractable ramp, removable driver’s seat, and hand controls. Not sad that I can drive, but sad that someone as cool as me went from a styling black Honda Accord with leather seats and a sunroof, to….a minivan. It’s ok. Independence is key.

Well, like you, every year I am required to register my vehicle with THE STATE and the town that I live in. My birthday is in November, and the nice folks at the NH Department of Transportation faithfully send me a renewal notice via email around the third week of October. This year was no different. A few clicks, input of some numbers, and my bank account was lighter by a couple of ACH withdrawals, while my vehicle registration would be mailed to me, along with the colorful month/year stickers that go on my license plate.

Uh-OH! Two days later, I receive 2 emails: one from the STATE telling me that my registration cannot be completed and that MY TOWN will send further instructions……email number 2 was from MY TOWN telling me that I have a handicap license plate on my van and that every five years, I need to prove to the state that I am still disabled.

Why? Because people lie and forge paperwork so they can get handicap parking placards that hang from the rearview mirror of the car. Slap one up there, park in a handicap spot, fake a limp, go about your day. ASSHOLES.

To obtain temporary or permanent parking placards and/or handicapped license plates, the state sends you a form that must be completed and signed by your physician AND include a diagnosis code AND a short letter explaining what the disability is. My point? It’s not easy to fake this, but somehow, people have found an angle simply to park near the door to the business. This is the part where I hear Kennedy’s ‘human race’ quote. What kind of P.O.S. do you have to be to (a) think of something this low in the first place? and (b) actually put in the effort to go through with the work to get a handicapped placard if you don’t need one? There’s a place in hell for you, right next to the music critics, and the eternal Enya concert. Enjoy.

So…because of these humans, the state email told me to visit my town office to obtain the medical form that I needed to fill out. I went there and was told…no, no, you need to go to the local DMV across town. I went there and they have signs in 300 font everywhere saying that THE DMV IS NOW APPOINTMENT ONLY! NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO WAIT IN LINE WITH QUESTIONS AND NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO SEE THE WIZARD!

I waited in line only to be told that the state was wrong and that I could simply download the form, fill out the personal part, email it to my doctor, who would fill out the doctor part and then he/she could fax it to the state. The friendly lady at the DMV said even though I didn’t have an appointment, she would write down the fax number for me, which was also on the website. Once THE STATE receives the form, I will be allowed to pay for the privilege of continuing to drive AND have handicap plates since, the nice lady looking at me said “Clearly, you are disabled.” Thanks lady. Clearly, she is old and close to death, but I didn’t tell her that. I think, between you and me, loyal reader, that she was nice to me because I had my youngest son with me and he’s super cute.

Said son is also whip smart. As we left the DMV, he said “Gee dad, how nice that she said you’re handicapped…in case you forgot or something.” He’s 9. He’s a chip off the old block. Teachable moment: I told him that she was just trying to be helpful and she meant well and it costs nothing to be kind so I didn’t tell her that she would likely be dead soon. OK, I only said the first part out loud…

Ah, back to the form. Download….fill out…email with a note to my doctor on THE PORTAL! Everything healthcare is A PORTAL. Love the portal.

Two days later, I am told that the form is filled out and signed, but the office can’t fax it because HIPAA, so he will put it in an envelope and I can swing by his office and get it. Cool.

I take these steps AND find out that outside the DMV there is a handy dandy courier mailbox that will ferry my precious documentation to the STATE CAPITAL free of charge. Who doesn’t like the Government? Lovely service right there. Side note: right next to the blue courier mailbox, there sat a handicapped parking space that was open! My plates were still good for about 20 days, so I pulled up in that space like a boss.

One week later, I receive an envelope in the mail from THE STATE. It’s official. I win and have proved that I’m still disabled.

I open the letter as joyful as Ralphie getting his Little Orphan Annie decoder pin in the Christmas movie to find that my entire world has been rejected due to the fact that my doctors office used an electronic signature that looked like a photocopy and could have been forged in order to obtain false disability parking privileges. Apparently no one at the STATE HOUSE understands that documentation on file of muscular dystrophy is a permanent condition. They don’t keep past records because HIPAA and no one can know that I had, have, and will have muscular dystrophy in 2029 when, with the grace of the Good Lord, I get to prove my disability next time my plates expire.

Mind you, between details of all of this, I did attempt to CALL THE STATE but even though my call was very important to them, I could find just about everything I needed by visiting the DOT website or remaining on the line.

Phoning the TOWN was just as useless as I was told that their hands were tied and I needed to get through to the STATE.

I called my doctor’s office, but was told to explain, in writing through THE PORTAL, why I needed to have him fill out another form but that he must use A REAL PEN AND SIGN HIS NAME.

My older, retired doctor had such a warm, friendly, small office that his wife was the office manager, the head nurse, and giver of gum balls to the kids. Once upon a time, I would visit their office on demand, she would fill out the form, interrupt him if he was in with a patient and tell him to sign it. Then, she would mail it to the STATE for me and all would be unicorns and rainbows. I miss them. I miss those times. No PORTAL, only GUM BALLS.

Back to life, back to reality.

I did the whole dance again AND wrote a letter to be enclosed with the second form explaining that my registration was now about to expire since it was dangerously close to THANKSGIVING and I wanted to make sure that the STATE understood that I was trying to get this done in GOOD FAITH. When I told this to Vanessa, she laughed and said “Everyone in town knows you. Do you really think you’re going to get pulled over for driving with an expired registration? Besides, you actually have until December 10 as a grace period, so calm down Mr. Nervous Nelly.”

She’s usually right (dammit). It is December 5 as I type this and I have had no response from THE STATE. For fun, I tried to call this morning and check on the status of my paperwork. My call was important to them, but all agents were busy assisting other customers. Funny, I thought being a customer was optional. Not so much when dealing with THE STATE. (Say everything that I write in capital letters in a big, booming voice inside your head. It’s fun!)

WELL. I have no idea what will happen and here is why I chose to write all of this: after hanging up on THE STATE, I went back and found A REMINDER EMAIL from November 16, telling me to renew my auto registration online. Easy! A few clicks! Pay by ACH and the fee is only $1.95 (where the hell does all that fee money go?)

Smirking, I put all of my data in. Society loves good data. Instead of getting rejected since I’m disabled but cannot prove it to THE STATE (inside booming head voice)….the damn thing went through successfully and I received a confirmation email that my new registration would be mailed to me shortly.

As Chevy Chase said: “Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?”

What will come in the mail first?

A. My parking placard that proves I am handicapped

B. My car registration

C. All of my Christmas cards from my LOYAL READERS (booming head voice)

D. My subscription materials to the AARP

E. A letter from THE STATE in 2029 saying that I need to prove that I’m disabled.

Remember, this is all in place because people try to cheat the system. And we call ourselves the HUMAN RACE. (booming head voice)

Stay safe, stay awesome, and stay tuned. I’m up to 36 cheeseburgers. I’ll never make 50. This is a good thing. I don’t want to become more disabled.