I really had 3 brushes with my state today. First I went to vote in the Primary. That went very well. Of course, most of the workers are volunteers or temporaries, but they were courteous, it took no more than a couple of minutes, and a precinct worker even helpe4d me file a change of address, as I recently moved and had to vote this time in my old precinct.
Then I noticed that my Drivers License still had the old address. I checked online and discovered they had a Jr. tacked onto the end of my last name and the system didn’t recognize me without LASTNAME-JR being entered. Entering LASTNAME and checking the Jr checkbox as should be done did not work. I called and found that to change a name, I’d have to go into one of the offices.
I grabbed a recent letter from the Social Security Administration addressed to me correctly, without the -JR just in case that became an issue, and headed to the nearest Registry of Motor Vehicles (RMV) office in downtown Boston. It’s a busy office in the heart of Chinatown, so I was braced for a long wait and tired, perhaps rude workers by 3 PM. I could not have been more wrong. Since the race of government workers comes up in so many discussions of this sort, I’m going to identify the ones I could guess from here out, although I see no reason that’s relevant.
I had to wait briefly while a Swarthy gentleman of unknown nationality in front of me tried to communicate by gestures with the Hispanic lady who assigns you the floor and window number for what you need done. She tried Spanish, French and English with him to no avail, so then directed him by arm waving to a language specialty area where hopefully someone could figure out what he did speak. The few words he had mumbled sounded like no language I’ve ever heard before. When I stepped up next, she seemed particularly relieved to serve someone who actually spoke English and could just tell her what they needed to do.
I got my G-781 window number, a form to complete, and directions to proceed to the 2nd floor. I sat down, filled in the form which seemed to be reasonable, two sides but just basic information needed to prove I am me and make the needed changes to my license. I waited maybe 3 minutes after completing the form, and they called my number.
The Hispanic guy who served me was jocular and got a good laugh out of my explaining the issue with the -JR hooked to my last name. I let him know my dad had died since that was originally appended, and therefore I’d now grown up and no longer needed the Junior anyway. Given that, he set about his work.
Meanwhile, at the adjacent window, a Hispanic customer was getting a change made to her license, and she seemed a bit camera shy. The black lady behind the counter was genuinely charming and got a big smile out of her after getting her to pull her hair from in front of her face. She snapped two pictures and brought them up on a monitor so the customer could chose the one she liked best. She actually had made quite a nice photo. The customer was an attractive lady once she quit hiding behind her hair.
I was out of the building within 10 minutes and greatly impressed with how smoothly the whole affair had gone and how pleasant the people I had dealt with had been.
I then descended into the Chinatown T Station without even thinking to check if it was the Inbound or Outbound entrance. Many of the stations have a single entrance for both, and branch underground. But the Chinatown station has separate entrances and if you use your Charlie card to get into the wrong one, you either waste that fare or take a train one stop in the wrong direction to reverse course. So I asked a white MBTA officer if this was the Inbound (toward City Center) line. He could have just said Yes or No, but instead, he took the time to ask where I wanted to go. When I told him Haymarket, he said yes, this is the correct entrance.
Three separate brushes with Gubment today, and not a single horror story to tell. Did I just get incredibly lucky, or is the gubment = evil meme a bit out of whack?