CURBSIDE ETIQUETTE

Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess





Below you will find links to dates when new entries are added. The stories will not necessarily be in chronological order, but rather as I remember them. I am dating them so that you can skip to new ones you haven't read since the last time you visited, and so that you are more easily able to find something you found humorous to share with others.



Dead Tags, Part 1


Sicne this is such a long story, I decided to cliff-hang part two until tomorrow. I'm sure most people really don't have tons of time to read about my life as a Delivery Goddess, so I try to keep each story relatively short. I'm not always successful, but I DO try. This time, though, I think two parts will serve this story best.

We bought my truck at a dealership in Baltimore Maryland. I can hear the majority of you saying, "Baltimore?? Really?? Are you NUTS??" well, maybe. It was the lowest price and lowest miles on a generation one Tacoma pick-up truck we'd found, so Bob decided it was smart to drive five hours to Baltimore and five hours back. I've got to tell you this: We took his white car with the Steelers decals on the side - during the week after the Baltimore Ravens had beaten the Steelers in a pretty embarrassing game, so we really stood out like a sore thumb. We had lunch at an iHop; it was good, and we bantered with the waitresses about Steelers versus Ravens. As I waited in line to pay our bill, the guy in front of me (naturally) had an issue with his meal, and we were waiting on a manager. There was a line of a half dozen or more folks behind me. I was looking at the pictures on the wall paper; there were older photos of different International House of Pancakes restaurants. I found that odd, since we were at an iHop. Why not pictures of THIS restaurant? I was actually stupid enough to say something to the cashier, "Was this location originally an International House of Pancakes?" She paused, and with a puzzled look, said "Yes", and I heard some giggling from the folks in the line behind me. I'm sure everyone could see the lightbulb go off over my head. I said with a tone of complete amazement ... "OOOOOHHHHH... iHop STANDS for International House of Pancakes!!! I get it now!!". The line of patrons roared with laughter. I turned to the line and glanced at each of them as I said, "Hey - we don't have these restaurants in Pittsburgh!!" Someone from the back said, "I guess you belong to that shameful Steeler's car outside, too." I stuttered jokingly and said, "Uh .. no ... gee ... what would make you think that?" By that time, the manager was there and I paid my bill. Bob was just coming back from the restroom, and I'm sure, if he'd have known the exchange between me and the customers, he would not have walked out the door at my side.

So, on with the purchase of the truck; I told the financial guy at the dealership, that he should put our PO box first on the address line, and our physical address second, because we would never get any of the mail - the owner's card or the bank book. He assured me that there would be no problem. The Temporary plate was good for ninety days. Sixty days after our purchase, Chase Bank called and wanted to know if I was ever going to pay my bill. I said I would, if I had even known which bank to contact to make a payment. I explained our PO box situation, I made a payment over the phone, and he changed our mailing address in their files. I ran sixty days behind for over a year, which ruined my credit. Ninety-three days after our purchase, three days after the Tplates expired, I received an official PA plate in the mail. We immediately put it on the truck, since my Subaru was really not safe to drive at the time. One week after mounting the actual PA Plate on the truck, I had a cop car follow me for almost four miles on my paper route one night. Now, it is not hard to see the bags flying out of the windows, and usually, when the police find out what you're doing, they leave you alone. I could not imagine why I was being tailed, but it slowed me down considerably, since I had to maintain the speed limit in the housing plans. Finally, he hit the lights, and as I came to a stop, four other cruisers with lights screaming pulled down the street. The neighbors probably thought they'd caught a mass-murderer outside their doors. Three of the cop cars pulled down behind me, well, actually behind the original car that pulled me over, and an official Police SUV sat across the street from me without his lights flashing. The officer approached my window, and honestly - I'm not good with cops. They are people too, and I tend to be very down-to-earth with them. He asked if I knew why he pulled me over. Why do they always ask that? If I'm doing something wrong, why would I admit it - especially when he might be pulling me over for something less expensive, like a tail light or something? I answered, "No, I'm sorry, I don't". He said, "Would you like to explain the dead plates on your back bumper?" I replied that Penn Dot was lazy. He glanced back at the SUV driver (who had his window open to hear the conversation). They smirked. The cop said, "No, really..." I explained that we'd bought the truck out of state, and the address situation, and said I guessed that my registration had also been sent to the wrong address, but... I didn't think about it really, since I had received a plate. That was the truth. He said, "You'll need to call Penn DOT and get this taken care of." I said, "Are you serious? Have you ever tried to call Penn DOT as a civilian? I'll be on hold for days, unless you have a direct number you want to give me - or better yet - you should call from the station. We'd get it solved much more quickly." Through his laughter, he said that there was no special number, and he understood my gripe, but I had to call and get this straightened out, afterall, I'm driving illegally. After about five more minutes of conversation, he walked back to his car - I assumed I was getting a ticket. He handed me a Post-It® note with his name and PennDOT's number written down. He said, "I'll be back in touch in a few days to see how it's going, Teresa." I said, "Better give me a month; I don't have time to be on hold all stinkin' day with these idiots". He laughed and said, "Good Luck". So - off I went, with a parade of six cop cars behind me. Over a stupid license plate. About a week passed, and he pulled me over again one night to get an update. This went on for weeks, until I had some information for him.

In the next installment, I'll explain what I went through with PennDOT to get my registration and be legal. Don't touch that dial.........