Driving Miss Daisy…Crazy

Ever move to a different state, Dear Readers? And have you done it lately?

As I wrote in the last blog, I recently reloed from Illinois to North Carolina.

Why North Carolina?

Why not?

North Carolina has Duke in it.  And Asheville. And the great UNC- GO HEELS!  And Camp LeJeune.  And the Outer Banks.  And acceptable winter weather and user friendly taxes and comfortable house prices.

Ever since I moved here, I’ve discovered that the state of North Carolina is just like a state of pregnancy.

You don’t notice it until you’re in it.

And then when you are, you suddenly see many like-minded people everywhere you look.

I just read a great article about people moving to North Carolina for these reasons.

You’ll forgive me, Dear Readers, if I don’t say where.  Some of you know that for the last couple of years (!) I have been plagued with a stalker.

A destructive one.  He drained my bank account, eavesdropped electronically, spread lies about me, altered my Facebook posts and made my life hellacious.

Moving on with moving…

Interstate moving is one of those things like root canal.  If you knew how awful it would be, you just might not do it.

But someday, Dear Readers, you might find yourself with a change of zip code.

So in the spirit of public service, here is The Ellen Ross Quick Relocation Guide.

1.  Did you know that Interstate movers charge by weight?  Not by the mile. Get rid of everything you don’t use, need or want.

I shipped twice as much bulk as my new digs could handle.

This is just one corner of my new abode.  A cross between a junk shop, second hand book store and an art gallery.  I can finally see my floor but eBay come and take stuff away!

2.  Did you know that if you want to close a savings account at certain national banks you have to do it IN PERSON?

Moolah was sitting in my savings account at the Winstead Bank in Illinois but they would not mail, wire or return it to me.

It wasn’t that I had an early withdrawal penalty on it.

It was the fact that I had forgotten to close it before I left Illinois.

Three overdrawn check penalties, a one hour pleading phone call on my behalf made by my new banker, one certified, notarized, handwritten letter begging for my own money Fed Exed to the bank and…

One month later, I got my money back.

3.  And speaking of money, did you know that Chase Bank- Jamie Dimon’s little piggy bank- might be a huge presence in the world of finance but it doesn’t exist in North Carolina?

Yep.

NO Chase Banks anywhere in the state. Try finding a Chase ATM when you need a quick cash transfusion.

Fuggetaboutit.

4.  Did you know that if you get a temporary mailing address and a PO box because your new domicile isn’t quite ready yet, you are doomed to Casablanca Hell?

Take buying a car.

At the first dealership I tried, the Finance Lady- a close relation to Elsa Klebb- had a  problem with the concept.

“I will be moving into my permanent address in a month, I told her.  You’ll have to title it to that address- not my current one.”

“Why?” she snapped.

“Um, because my new apartment isn’t ready, ” I answered meekly.

“WHY?” she barked.

“Because they’re painting it and it isn’t ready yet,” I answered.  My pulse was starting to race.

“Why?” she snarled.

“Because the people haven’t moved out yet and…”

“WHY?’ she roared.

At that point, I gave up and left the unbought car sitting forlornly on the lot.

The two address thing also screwed up my credit card.

Don’t ask.

5. Did you know that moving to North Carolina means you might have to get new health insurance?  In North Carolina, these is no such thing as Blue Cross.

I got an eye infection, had no doctor yet, drove to the hospital E.R using GPS that I could not see, couldn’t figure out where I was insurance-wise, got a scrip, got a bill, paid a bill and then found out that I owed no bill, then I was in a doughnut and the new insurance company cancelled me until my old Blue Cross officially expired- even though I carefully explained to the agent that I was covered until June…

Never mind.

6.  Did you know that you will have to get all new doctors?  Sounds easy but…

A friend of mine – Emily- saw her internist at their local grocery store.  Emily asked if the doctor was taking new patients.  He was.  The doctor then told Emily to have me stop by his office the next day to fill out his new patient package.

I happily complied.

The first thing the receptionist- an AWFUL tattooed harridan with a thousand-yard stare- said to me was,”No. The doctor is not taking any new patients.”

It went downhill from there.

In the end, I used the Charm Offensive.

I had the charm.  She was offensive.

But I prevailed, filled out the forms, reminded her that I also needed to sign release forms to get my old medical records and left the office ninety minutes later with a splitting headache and an ulcer.

(Btw, if I have to walk, I am keeping my Chicago gynecologist.  Nobody new is checking me out under the hood.)

7.  Did you know that no matter what the automated system says, you will need many, MANY more documents to get a driver’s license- even if you do not have to take the driver’s road test.

I called the North Carolina Motor Vehicle Hotline before I set out to become a Carolina Driver In Good Standing.

I listened carefully to the list of things I would need to bring to the facility.

I gathered up official mail with my new address on it and two expired passports. (I had gone to the bank to get my current one out of the safety deposit box but it was the first Monday after the first of the month.  The bank line was an hour long.  I bagged it and took my old ones instead.)

I also brought my current valid Illinois driver’s license, my Illinois state ID, an electric company bill and a few other valid pieces of identification.

Emily had graciously offered to drive me to a the driver’s license place.

It had moved and was now in another town now, she had said.

I happily accepted and on the way, we chatted and laughed and had a great time talking nonsense.

We were both carefree as she parked the car and we sauntered into the facility.

It was not too crowded.

Good sign.  She sat down. I took a ticket and right away my number was called.

I walked up.

“Car registration,” the civil servant demanded.

Huh?

“Car registration,” he repeated.

“It’s in my car.  Back home.  The hotline never mentioned that…”

“I need to see your car registration or you can’t get a license.’

OMG.

I sat down in a fog.  Car registration?  When did I ever need a car registration to get a driver’s license in Maryland? Or Colorado? Or Illinois, for that matter.

Emily was dismayed, too.

But I gathered my wits, called the gal at the car dealership and faster than you could say, “Paul Powell,” she had emailed me a copy of my car registration.

Back I went into line.

The clerk wearily looked at my identification and started to fill out the forms when he was stopped by his supervisor.

“You can’t take those passports.  They’re expired.”

“But it doesn’t matter, ” I pleaded.  “I had to be an United States citizen to get them in the first place.  See where it says “born in Chicago, Illinois”?  See my photos?  It’s me…”

The line behind was growing longer with disgruntled license seekers.  Emily was growing restive and regretting her decision to take me in the first place.

I stood my ground.

The supervisor was iron.

“Nope.  Go back to your bank and get the valid one.  And why don’t you go to the facility in your own home town and leave us alone?’

“It’s closed, ” I volunteered. “My friend Emily told me so.”

“It’s NOT,” he corrected.  “Go there.”

Emily looked shell shocked but she dutifully drove me back to the bank.

I ran in and saw the original line from 11 a.m. hadn’t advanced by one person yet.

I now went into my Shirley MacLaine mode and convincingly acted out the part from Terms of Endearment.

“Someone open the box! Get me someone to open the box!”

Then it was on to the hometown facility.

By now it was almost closed.  The new clerk warned me I might not be seen that afternoon.

The tension was mounting.

But at last, my number was called.  The clerk happily took my documents, praised them to the skies for meeting all the guidelines and then said, “You’re almost good to go on to the final step.  Just one more question.”

I wearily nodded my head.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.  I was plumb tuckered out.  “I’m divorced.”

“I need to see your divorce papers,” he said.

DIVORCE PAPERS.

OMG.

“WHY?” I screamed.  They could hear me in South Carolina.

“Why? Nobody ever told me to bring divorce papers I didn’t bring them and I don’t even have them all and I didn’t know I need them to get a driver’s license oh my God why in heaven’s name do you need divorce papers wait a minute I haven’t changed my name since 1976 will that work?”

It did.

Whew.

So far so good. I love it here.

When it comes to moving ever again, in the immortal words of Sam Goldwyn, “Include me out!”

I’m here for good and all.

Poor Emily.

Native son James Taylor, please sing me to sleep.