So, off to the City again this morning to get my new plates. Paperwork complete, all approved and looking forward to getting my border-shortcutting investment behind me. And Guatemalan plates will make a great souvenir at the end of the day. They’re a good blue-on-white and will complement Lucinda nicely.
Not much of a line-up and within 30 minutes I’m in front of the same guy who *helped* me yesterday. He keys stuff into the computer for a few minutes, prints out some forms, gets me to sign a couple of them, duly giving me copies of everything. Then he importantly presents me with the last one and asks me to sign and points at the clock behind him.
So, seriously, translate it yourself, here was the deal:
I had exactly 60 minutes to get out of the building, find a bank in this chaotic city, park, get in line, make a direct cash deposit to a specified bank account or the whole thing was dead and I was completely screwed. I guess I was a bit punch-drunk at this point because my reaction was to laugh out loud. And I did, which no-one in the big room appreciated. They probably thought I’d lost my mind. I thought maybe they were right. The guy in front of me smiled.
Then I regained my senses, jumped up and made a race for the door, glancing at my watch. Fuck, I thought, this is hardball they’re playing.
Cutting this short, I got lucky. I made it with time to burn and got a time-stamped receipt.
So we’ll see what happens tomorrow, Everyday they say I will have my plates tomorrow, it doesn’t happen and the hurdles get higher. But there’s an outside, way outside, chance I’ll get the last laugh. I’ve been working on it.