Bureaucracy = Insanity
So there I was, minding my own business, patiently waiting for the ponderous bulk of federal bureaucracy to slowly but surely inch its festering, massive girth toward approval of my Federal Firearms License (FFL) application. I mean, after all, it has been five months and I have been playing by the rules, calmly biding the intentional delay (they actually do intentionally delay). And then it happened. What happened, you may ask? Insanity happened.
B2, emergency planner and troubleshooter extraordinaire, called the field office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (BATF/E) that serves my region [today's secret word is serves] prior to departure on annual leave. I amicably explained to the receptionist that I would be away for the next few weeks and that if inspectors called to interview me and I didn't return their call, they would know I was out of town and not place me at the bottom of their interview schedule, thereby increasing my wait additional months.
"No problem," she cheerily chirped, "No problem whatsoever. I'll be sure to give an inspector your message." Uh-oh ... no problem whatsoever ... Little alarm bells start to jangle and I should have listened to them. Several days after that conversation my departure date was fast approaching and I had not received a return call. This prompted another B2 phone call, another message left, and then days later (in fact one hour before I was to hit the vacation highway) Inspector X called.
You can't get there from here
We chatted about fishing, the weather, and football for ten minutes, then he reminded me that I should have my local Occupational License (OL) on hand when he interviewed me. I explained that my county tax office required that I register my business with the state (which I did in June) and have my FFL (which I had been trying to obtain for the past five months) before they would issue me a county OL.
I helpfully added that I was ready for my interview four months ago and minus the OL, he could interview me at any time. I then heard Inspector X utter the words that made me understand he had not even bothered to look at my application. "Really, hmm, that's odd - in which county do you reside?" Oh, brother. Anyway, he told me it was not a problem, to have a nice trip, and to call him upon my return.
I called Inspector X when I returned from leave - and as usual had to leave another message (last week). Two more phone calls and several days later he returned my call (now this week).
Deja vu ... all over again
We again chatted about fishing, the weather, and football for ten minutes, then he reminded me that I should have my local OL on hand when he interviewed me. After regurgitating the tongue I had just swallowed in shock, I once again explained the county position. He stated that I should at least try to get an application for the OL, have it filled out when he came to my home for the interview, then he could take it back with him to place in my file. I was at this point that I became very busy bursting forehead blood vessels over his ludicrous statement so there was a moment's silence before I replied.
I patiently explained that my county does not use an application for an OL, that you simply show proof of company registration, your business certification (in my case the FFL), proof of residency, pay your filthy, measly 25 dollars and you are given the OL. And besides, I added hopefully, even if they did have an application and I filled it out for you, it still wouldn't be a legal OL. "Oh, hmm, I see." he says, then promptly tells me to work something out with the tax collector to show that I have indeed attempted in good faith to obtain my county OL. I began whimpering in frustration at this classic Catch 22, but agreed to see what I could do.
During this conversation, the good news was that Inspector X informed me that my interview and home inspection would be this Friday at 10:00 a.m. I was delirious, delighted, ecstatic, and dare I say giddy over this tiding. Finally, after all these long months, the waiting would soon be over. I jubilantly ended the call, then called my truck dealer and rescheduled a service appointment I had booked for that same Friday morning.
Big mistake. Wasn't prudent. Shoulda known better. Not ten minutes after that Inspector X called me back and said he "overlooked" an appointment for 10:00 a.m. on Friday and, "Can we reschedule?"
You just can't make this stuff up
Just after vomiting up bile and deriving a modicum of perverse pleasure by once again swallowing my tongue, I said "Sure, no problem -- look at your calendar RIGHT NOW WHILE YOU'RE TALKING TO ME and tell me when a visit is good for you!" "Hmm," he hmmed with what I knew was a smug little smirk on his bureaucratic puss, "Let's make it next Tuesday at 1:00 p.m." Which just happened to be the day I rescheduled my truck for service - you just can't make this stuff up.
So in tears of frustration, nostrils full of mucus, and minus my twice-swallowed tongue, I again called my truck dealer and re-re-scheduled my appointment back to its original time. They were not amused.
So Friday (after servicing the truck) it's back to the Little Martin tax office. "I need an application for an OL, please." I meekly squeeked, knowing there is no such animal. "There is no such animal." the Zeppelin-sized clerk haughtily informed me. Then back to a twenty-minute explanation of what is required of me by Inspector X. Now we have a conference going - a whole fleet of dirigibles have descended on me, hovering menacingly, asking pointless questions for which there are no answers.
I finally wheedled an official, notarized affidavit out of the chief airship, officially stating that I, B2, had officially made a fool of myself in their office and officially attempted to obtain my official county OL. "And don't forget the filthy, measly 25 dollars when you come back!" Zeppelin One yelled at me as I slunk out the door.
Insanity. I can't wait to see what happens this Tuesday.