A Tale of the Roslindale RMV
I am a delinquent. I wish I could be gentler on myself but the reality, the cold truth, is that I am a delinquent. A parking ticket delinquent to be exact. First, let me publicly shame myself. Until about 2 p.m. today I left a string of unpaid parking tickets that hit the delightful cities and towns of Boston, Cambridge, Somerville, Winchester, and Worcester. I had a ticket in Winchester from 2005. Let me restate that for dramatic effect: I had a parking ticket, unpaid, from 2005. Ouch. Like I said, I am a delinquent.
Now some quick background. As I have mentioned numerous times before, I am from Wisconsin. In cheeseland there really is no such thing as a parking meter. Everything is acres upon acres of blacktopped horor. I suspect there more parking spots in the entire state than there are residents; there is just that much parking. I wasn’t exposed to meters and the like really until I moved out to the big bad East Coast. I clearly at not good at paying them or keeping them fed. Given my lack of meter experience I left the great Dairy Land without a parking ticket; each time I renewed my license (I actually don’t ever remember doing that out there) I didn’t run into a string of delinquency like I have out here.
A little more background (yes, the post is longer for this but it will help you understand me). My wife and I moved here in 2002 and in that time we have had a total of 4 cars. This means we have never gone through the “natural” registration renewal process. Additionally we have also had our licenses for a while. These two facts — never having an expired registration and the expiration of my first license — are like massive cold and warm fronts colliding to create the perfect storm.
The storm landed this Sunday in Groveland, Massachusetts. My lovely wife and I decided to drive our favorite route along the ocean by way of Route 113 from Haverhill. We were but 5 minutes into our leisurely drive when a police officer in sleepy Groveland noticed my expired registration. (He was following behind us; apparently the officer’s best use of his time was to run my plate for no particular reason.) I should say I harbor no ill will for the officer; he was very pleasant. As standard operating procedure he of course asked for my registration and license. The storm came violently on shore at that moment. He sternly but politely let me know that my expired license was cause for potential arrest. Instead he informed me that he was issuing me a summons for the Haverhill District Court on a date to be determined by the Court. (That day surely will be another blog post.) My wife took over as driver given that she had a valid license. We promptly drove back to Roslindale where the car remained parked until today.
So this morning I quickly paid as many tickets online as I could so I could clear my license of all my delinquency. Alas, the dreadful Town of Winchester continues to operate in a pre-internet and credit card world. This meant I had to drive to Winchester with cash and get a receipt to prove to the Registry that all blemishes had been removed. (I think I have the makings for one of those cheesy Visa commercials where all stops because someone had to pay with cash and get a receipt.)
Finally my friends we arrive at the whole point of this post. I strolled into the Registry of Motor Vehicles in Roslindale, Massachusetts at approximately 12:30 p.m. The situation would more accurately be described as walking into a wall! There were at least 100 people waiting. My number in line was just short of “never gonna happen today buster!” Nonetheless I had to get this straightened up so I wait. And waited. Then I waited a bit more. Let me further paint the picture. 100 of my not closest friends on a 70 plus degree day with no air conditioning, little or no breeze, and even less patience.
My number was finally called after nearly and hour and a half of waiting. By now I was paniced because I was in a 2 hour only spot with only 30 minutes to go and no clue what lied ahead. (Gee, I wonder how I got so many parking tickets in the first place.) I went to the window ready with my forms and for the woman to help me. I would say that customer service was abysmal but that would imply that there was even customer service. I experienced none. The woman asked a series of questions clearly designed to get me out of her face for failure to comply with some sort of bureaucratic minutiae. I pass them all with flying colors. We were ready to proceed. It appeared that the storm had passed and I had weathered it. I gave her my driver’s license number. Turns out that I was only in the eye of the storm; you know, that minute or two of calm before the back end of the storm batters you one last time. It turns out a Worcester ticket from just weeks ago was blemishing my record unbeknownst to me. I had paid it but apparently paid an insufficient amount. Thank goodness for my iPhone. I was able to use its phenomenal internet to pay the ticket online. I was able to jump back into the queue ahead of the other masochists like myself and get my issue resolved at last. I hope to never have to go back to the Roslindale RMV again. The experience was simply too dreadful to fully recount or relive.
So what is my moral for the day? Pay your darn parking tickets on time! Or in the alternative, never live in a state where they asphault half the surface area.
dude I totally hear you.
omg, I feel ya…..I’ve had a neverending experience with the Boston city hall parking clerk….after trying to fight three violations over the past 8 months, I had to suck it up and pay the fines. I will never again park at a meter in boston. I’d sooner suck it up and pay at a lot than to allow myself to be put to the mercy of meterpeople.
If you’re expecting sympathy, you’re not getting it from me. I’d say you lucked out with the cop. An expired registration AND license? He very easily could have made you leave the car right there and have it towed. Oh, that’s right, you’re just a sweet, innocent guy from Wisconsin. Man, what a whiner.
The “new” Registry office, re-opened with all pomp and circumstance and alleged with new systems (read computers) in place, seems to have held to their long-standing tradition as you experienced.
I did that very same dance some years back, in the heat of that same building, though back then (BR - Before Renovations) it was sequestered in the basement, so your experience was coupled with the feeling of being in a dungeon with no windows.
Nothing seems to have changed.
Thankfully, and with mixed emotions, I no longer operate a car.
On one lone occasion a few years back I was in the waiting cue hoping that I may eventually be called sometime before my Social Security would kick in when the manager emerged from his hidden office, and seeing the lines he took pity on those nearest him and out of sequence of the numbers being called. He was just grabbing people closest to his door and I managed to get taken first.
Of course those waiting with numbers in hand gazed at me as if I was about to be their next meal - you know that look that says “I’m going to pull out your esophagus and knot it around your neck like a bowtie.”
Needless to say I paid the money, said many thank yous and got outta Dodge as fast I could, but upon reaching the light of day reveled in my good fortune. Indeed it was one of those “Dear Diary” moments that could never be published in a book that was not otherwise marked as ‘fiction’ because no one would even beleve you.
Getting out of the Roslindale Registry quickly is harder to make people believe than telling them you just got dropped off from the Mother Ship in the middle of Adams Park.
Solution… The Quincy Registry. For what ever reason, it goes much smoother. I have no understanding of why, as they allegedly have the same rules and computers, but the people smile and are nice and are helpful. Sort of like an alternative dimension when you compare the two.
In fact I was certain there was some odd fellow running the show from behind a curtain. They did however have plenty of chairs in which to sit while waiting where th eold Rossie Registry did not.
Go figure.
Living in Roslindale is bad enough. Sorry you didn’t live in Groveland.