Ohioans: Are We Having Fun Yet?

OK, Buckeyes, we've done it again. The great state of Ohio, philosophy: "If it exists, we can license it and thus, charge ridiculous fees for it!" has sunk to new levels of governmental overreaching and profiteering.

Recently, and following my angling success in Michigan over the July 4th weekend (see last post), I decided that I would get myself a little boat or raft to get on the water to fish at some of the smaller lakes and resevoirs around northeast Ohio. I saw exactly what I needed in an ad on Craigslist. It was an 81/2 foot inflatable boat. It seemed perfect, it had only been used once (by a little old lady who only drove it to church) and the price was right, i.e., cheap. So I called the owner and after much haggling I bought the boat for exactly what she asked (haggling is not my strong suit). Now, I should know by now, that this might not be a good idea, given my past success with things aquatic (see my post about getting my diving certification). After I got the boat home I started checking online for lakes that would allow such a craft on their waters, when I noticed a link which said "Boat Registration" and knowing I would live to regret it, I hit the link and low and behold my massive nautical vessel did indeed require a registration, which would cost a mere $30 for three years. So I set out to navigate, no pun intended, the beauracratic swamp I knew awaited me.

But first a trip in the "Way Back Machine." I'm thinking it is around November, because that is my birth month, the setting is Painesville, Ohio, circa 1967. I know this because I have one foot on getting my temporary driver's license and the other on a banana peel, and thanks to the sharp eyed and gleeful clerk at the BMV I discover there is a slight error on my birth certificate. This will necessitate another trip from Willoughby, where my family lived at the time, back to Painesville, the county seat, this time with a parent to have the birth certificate corrected with an affidavit (whatever the hell that was) attached to the faulty document making the correction "official." The error that brought the wheels of beauracy to a grinding halt? The certificate said I was born on November 21, 1951, whereas the doctor supposedly signed the record on November 20, which the industrious clerk noted was impossible, and therefore fatally flawed. So I guess officially at least in Ohio, I don't really exist. No such luck.

The job of securing the required correction fell to my father because he worked third shift and my mother worked during the day. Last time I checked government offices generally do not operate overnight. That time is reserved for scandal and graft.

Now, my father was an Appalachian transplant which meant that he would rather have had a tooth yanked out with rusty pliers and no novacaine, than have to make an appearance in any government office. So, as you might imagine, my dad was not exactly the picture of magnanimity that morning. Since this trip into the jaws of governmental red tape was of course, my fault (I wasn't sure why he felt it was my fault, until I became a father), his demeanor toward me that day was not exactly one of gratitude and pride at my very existence and I know I heard him muttering several times how underrated birth control was.

After several hours of being shuffled from one cold official to the next, somehow we finally secured the necessary notarized affidavit, now officially attached to my officially notarized birth certificate, via an official and costly staple, and I could proceed to the BMV to get my temps.
I was so traumatized by this event, that I found myself possessed in later years, to become a lawyer so I could deal with this morass of rules, regulations and crapola on a daily basis.

So it was with some trepidation that I embarked upon the mission to make my raft "street" legal. Sure enough the system did not disappoint. Instead of being able to resolve the issues and get my necessary official "paperwork" in a few measly hours, as happened in 1967, the tedious process now takes several days. And if anything, the clerks have become even less pleasant and helpful. I'm not sure why that is since THEY ARE ALL BEING PAID WITH MY TAX DOLLARS, SUCKING ON THE PUBLIC TEAT, DRIVING AROUND IN BIG CARS AND GETTING GREAT PENSION BENEFITS TO JACK SCHMUCKS LIKE ME AROUND ON A DAILY BASIS. THEY SHOULD BE CHEERFUL AND GRATEFUL, DAMMIT! Not that I'm bitter or anything. All this for a lousy rubber raft. This is part of the very beauracratic plot that spawned the great CPAP fiasco I spoke about a few blogs ago. You know, the one with the picture of that handsome guy at the end.

I happen to know for a fact, the Ohio legislature has been kicking around, aside from the electorate, ideas to license cats, bicycles, tricycles and rubber duckies. Just kidding! About the tricycles anyway. I mean come on people, we're in a recession! How is the legislature going to find money to support their annual raises? Not that it was ever a problem for them before.
So, thanks again Ohio, for making this state even more difficult to live in than just the high unemployment, massive poverty and high crime makes it. Bend over fellow Buckeyes.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ducky to hide.

Love
Dad