What's In A Name? Part III

or Our Hero's Epic Quest to Win His Name

The only thing that can explain my day today is the fact that not only am I a masochist, but I'm a stubborn one at that. And before you accuse me of hyperbole or of misrepresenting masochism, let me assure you that I do know what it is to be a masochist. Intimately.

It started with my deciding to take transit to the notary's office, even though they offered mobile service. I could have chosen to have them come to me. Instead, I thought it would be a good idea to take the bus into the suburbs. This also could have been avoided if I'd gone to a notary downtown. The reason I didn't actually has more to do with my particular brand of anxiety than anything else. It's easier for me to make an appointment by actually talking to someone rather than leaving a message or e-mail, and the one in the boonies had a 'talk to an actual person' option. So.

Between Google Maps telling me this place was impossible to get to and me only really knowing one bus route in the area, this meant a bloody lot of walking, and just to be clear, there is definitely not a Chinook going on right now. Once I actually got there, things went pretty smoothly. It was warm, the notary was nice and helpful, and the idea was brought up of getting to a registry right away. And guess what! There's one close-ish that's open late! Sounds like a good idea, right?

…

Right.

So maybe if I hadn't stopped at that Starbucks to warm up with a hot drink I'd have made it on time, but I'm a masochist not an idiot. When I say I was freezing I mean it literally, and quite frankly frostbite is not something I'm eager to experience. But I left there in plenty of time, right? Well, plenty of time if I hadn't ignored the route Google Maps suggested and gotten myself just a little bit lost along the way. After wandering around the wrong side of the shopping complex for a while, I finally get there twenty minutes to closing only to have the guy tell me they can't do it tonight because it will take half an hour to process.

Brick wall, head smash, gnashing of teeth.

I'd like to tell you there was some epic, climactic scene here, that I told him I didn't care how long it would take, he was going to do this for me now. I'd like to tell you that I didn't just gather up my things and walk quietly back out the door, but the truth is that I'm no good at conflict. Oh, I can write it well enough. Everything I wish I'd said or thought about doing goes into my characters, but in real life I try to avoid it at all costs. I'll battle my way through ice and snow, navigate inadequate transit coverage and keep at it when most sane people would say “You know what? I'm just gonna go home now,” but bending a registry agent to my will is just not one of my skill sets. I can wait for my name just a little while longer.  Tomorrow will be soon enough.