11.26.07

Category: dribblings

you guys aren’t going to believe this.

i go to the city hall today to get a copy of the accident report about the crash that destroyed my property, right? so i go in and first of all there’s no obvious sign of where the hell to go to get copies of police reports. and? there’s no helpful information desk where you can ask someone where you’re supposed go for…anything. there’s just elevators. very unhelpful elevators.

but there was this lady sitting on a bench. and she obviously did not work there. in fact, she may have been homeless and sitting there to be inside a warm building. so i go up to her and say, “excuse me? you wouldn’t happen to know where to go to get a copy of a poilce report wouldja?”

she says, “yeah, go out those doors, down those stairs and you’ll see another set of doors. that’s where you go. are you getting a warrant for someone?”

“a what? um, no. no. i just need a copy of a report. an accident report, i think.”

“i’m getting a warrant. that’s what i’m waitin’ on.”

“oh. er…good luck? thanks for the help.”

and there i go, back outside, down the most unkempt staircase and around what was at one time a pond with fountain, but is now an empty blue thing, and into a police building. a ha! progress!

not.

i go in and talk to the police guy who always hits on me at the grocery store. i’m not the only one he flirts with. he pretty much talks to girls who are alive, i think. i don’t like him. he’s weird. but he shows me where to go. so i go and i talk to a lady about the report and she finds the report and gives it to me and i go and file it with my insurance and they gave me a sack of money and everything is fixed and awesome!

not. what dream world are you living in?

so she looks at the report and says, “your name isn’t on here. and neither is the address of the house that was damaged.”

“well, that’s probably because no one called me to tell me anything had happened to my property. but, i can tell you, my name is Jaimie Jones and the address is 1101 6th ave.”

“there’s a note here saying that your house doesn’t have a number on it.”

“that’s because the number is on the mailbox which is on the end of the other driveway. it’s a corner lot.”

“i’m gonna have to ask someone about this.”

“great.”

a few minutes later she comes back.

“i’m going to have to give this back to the officer who made out the report so he can put your name and address on it. then i’ll make you a copy of it.”

“okay. and here, i’m gonna give my phone number too, just in case, and also? i have to go to work now, so i’ll just pick this up tomorrow morning. do you think this will be done by tomorrow morning?”

“oh sure.”

“great. i’ll see you in the morning.”

so i still don’t have a copy of the report. so i still don’t know what the hell i’m supposed to do next. and i’m completely blown away that a fucking policeman couldn’t figure out what my fucking address was. and now i’m way more pissed at the cops than i am at the douchebagging vomit bladder who killed my deck and fence.

i’ve always respected the police. i think they are grossly underpaid for doing the dangerous job that they do. but today? today i have nothing nice to say.

No Comments

%d bloggers like this: