Back to blogging about work stuff…

So one of my least favorite kinds of customers was in today (we don’t, after all, NOT like our customers, ANY of our customers – we only have varying degrees of unabashed, unwavering enthusiasm for them.) And this customer is the one who, while wanting to renew a vehicle registration has decided, upon the spur of the moment, that she wants to order a vanity plate.

In our particular state, we call these personalized plates. You know the ones. GRAMPS, one might say, or ANNIE99 (Why 99? Are there actually that many other people named Annie out there that all the other numbers are taken?)

At best these license plates can be very clever, adding just the right amount of flair to augment a vehicle’s personality. Company vehicles seem to have an abundance of these – if you’re Joe the Builder, maybe you’d try JO BLDR, or something like that.

Anything to be a little different.

But at their worst the configurations are downright bizarre. If you’ve ever found yourself driving down the freeway, tailgating a Red Corvette at a hundred and twenty, trying to figure out just exactly WHAT the letters on that thing’s license plate are and what they’re supposed to mean, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

I often wonder as I’m typing the registration information for the customer if they’ve actually thought through what they’re asking me to order for them...(MORBID? You really want that on your vehicle? And what does that do to your chances of getting out of a speeding ticket when you get pulled over and a cop sees that thing on your bumper???)

So anyway, this customer is in and decides she wants to order one. Again, as I’ve posted earlier, I’m going to change the scenario to keep myself from getting into trouble, here, not specifics about names or in this case, even license plates. But the conversation went something like this:

Me: And what did you want me to check?
Her: “GEORGE. I thought I’d order that for my husband for his birthday.”
Me: “Let’s see…”(typing, but knowing what’s coming.) “Yeah, that’s already taken. Was there something else I could check?
Her: (Spirit of incredulity) Are you SERIOUS? Somebody already thought of that?
Me: (thinking, thought of that? what, you’re husband’s the only…never mind) “Yeah, I’m sorry. “
Her: (Shock and Awe, here, only way to describe it): “I just can’t believe this.” (Lays checkbook down on the counter and stares out my front window, pondering.) “Wow! When I walked in here I just thought I’d be able to get it. Wait, what about GEORGE69? He turns 69 next month –“
Me: “Umm…”(thinking, you can’t seriously want that, but, hey, what to do?) Then I realize that’s too many characters and tell her so.

And the conversation goes on, a back-and-forth/trial and error/hit-and-continually miss barrage of every conceivable combination of license plates that could contain the name GEORGE and 1 other character (there are, after all, 7 characters available on a license plate, right?) What about GEORGE1, she’ll ask, or GEORGES? (last name Smith; apparently she doesn’t realize the average person would see GEORGES and wonder, how many Georges are in that family, anyway???)

But they’re all taken. Eventually, like so many others (and I swear, absolutely PROMISE this has happened almost more times than I count) she’ll end up just forgetting the whole thing. Ten minutes of my time, HER time, and the precious time of the three people waiting in line behind her all down the drain.

I don’t judge, though. As a government employee, I’m not here to judge. Sure, I’ll tell the story to every friend and family member who’s willing to hear the tale and have a good laugh, but don’t ask me to judge whether or not your license plate choice is a good one. Or if it makes sense. How would you read this, people will ask me? What do you think?

Always my response: Don’t ask me, It’s going on the back of your vehicle.