Whenever I get something with an official seal on it in the mail, my first thought is always, Oh God I'm being audited. Not that an auditor would be able to find anything hinky in my books. Just that it would take up so much of my time, it would be hideous.
So the latest, Oh God what's that thing with a seal on it? moment came when I got a postcard from the state informing me that I need to file my corporation's annual report.
Oh God what the hell is that?
I went and cried on Josh Lanyon's shoulder a bit--because, really, must everything be full of strange forms that freak me out?--and then I put it on my to-do list to handle. And this morning I handled it. It involved things like "name" and "address" and "type of business" and a $25 fee. It wasn't rocket science to figure out the answers to these questions. Now it's done. Whew.
I suspect part of the problem is that I tried to start an illustration business at the tender age of 19, back in the days before you could do any of this stuff online, in Chicago. To do municipal stuff in Chicago you have to visit a creepy warren of underground offices downtown. (There was the time a stray gerbil bit my friend on the thumb and then died, and we had to take its body in to be tested for rabies. That office was waaaay underground.) With my fragile fledgling business, I remember trying to figure out what paperwork needed to be filed and what fees needed to be paid, standing in a long line, and getting barked at by very mean municipal employee and coming out intimidated and confused.
I really need to get over that. I'm sure she's retired by now.
To this day, whenever my characters are dealing with bureaucracy, in my mind, they're somewhere in those underground downtown Chicago warrens.
So the latest, Oh God what's that thing with a seal on it? moment came when I got a postcard from the state informing me that I need to file my corporation's annual report.
Oh God what the hell is that?
I went and cried on Josh Lanyon's shoulder a bit--because, really, must everything be full of strange forms that freak me out?--and then I put it on my to-do list to handle. And this morning I handled it. It involved things like "name" and "address" and "type of business" and a $25 fee. It wasn't rocket science to figure out the answers to these questions. Now it's done. Whew.
I suspect part of the problem is that I tried to start an illustration business at the tender age of 19, back in the days before you could do any of this stuff online, in Chicago. To do municipal stuff in Chicago you have to visit a creepy warren of underground offices downtown. (There was the time a stray gerbil bit my friend on the thumb and then died, and we had to take its body in to be tested for rabies. That office was waaaay underground.) With my fragile fledgling business, I remember trying to figure out what paperwork needed to be filed and what fees needed to be paid, standing in a long line, and getting barked at by very mean municipal employee and coming out intimidated and confused.
I really need to get over that. I'm sure she's retired by now.
To this day, whenever my characters are dealing with bureaucracy, in my mind, they're somewhere in those underground downtown Chicago warrens.
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jordan_c_price- jordan_c_price
- JCP Books
Comments
I think I don't trust a human to tell me if I'm doing it right. Just don't trust 'em. So many people answer the question they assume you're asking rather than the question you're actually asking, regardless of how clear and specific you're being, because they're too lazy to actually listen to you :(
(That seems like such a paltry fee...not that I'm complaining.)
We can count yesterday's meltdown as April. It was right on the cusp ;-)
Yay! I still get to have a meltdown this month! Woohoo!
;o)
Sort of guilty.
Eh, not really guilty at all :D
Glad I amuse you ;o)
Oddly, that's not the first time I've heard that.
This is what happens to me whenever a police cruiser pulls in line behind me. I'm not speeding and registration is up to date, insurance is current, I have no wants or warrants, but still... I get nervous and worried. Then I get mad at myself... getting all worried about some poor guy (or gal); I can't imagine how that'd feel to know they inspire such dread in the average, law-abiding citizen.
Of course he didn't understand what it was because he'd never dealt with any adult responsibilities like car stickers while we were together. Or ever.