Car trouble

Ack! That is the only word that can come out of my mouth .

Here is the story. When I moved to Baltimore, my parents came along to help. When they saw where I was working and an illicit drug transaction right in front of the complex, they marched me into a dealership and told me to pick out a car. They would not have their baby walking a mile through gang territory, or by the three nudie bars that are right next to the hospital. My mom wrote out a check for a down payment on the car and told me that the rest I could handle because it would improve my credit score. "Great!" I thought. Then my mother said these fateful words, "Evil Twin #1, we will add you onto our insurance, we know what we are doing."

The conversation between my mother and her insurance agent, F, a kindly overweight lady my parents have for over 30 years and who has been to our house for dinner with both of her husbands, will never be known. I imagine it started off with the two women comparing notes on their grandkids and ending with my mother telling her I was planning on moving back to California some day. In the end, F insured the car in the state of California.

Back in Maryland, I dutifully changed over my license and put on my Maryland plates. I sent my mother a check for the insurance. All was good in the world until I received a letter from the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration (MVA). Summed up: you are not insured, stop driving your car, and pay a hefty fine. "What!" I thought. I immediately called F and she told me my mother told her that I was moving back to California and just assumed the car was registered in California. My mother of course has a different account of the situation.

But this was not the frustrating part of all of this situation. My solution was just to find an agent in Maryland, give my info, start getting insurance, and pay the fine. My solution took 20 minutes. My mother had another idea. She called the MVA, she called F, and for all I know she called the Pope. She was going to fix things. Instead, she left chaos in her wake. I had three insurance agents call me saying that they would handle things for me. F called me to see what was going on. Then my mother called me. And after her longwinded explanation of things, I said, "Mom, this was my fault. I am 33 years old and I should take responsibility for myself. If I had from the beginning, none of this would have happened. Please stop calling or doing whatever. You are only making things worse. I've got it under control."

The other side of the phone got silent. Then I heard it. I made my mother cry. Her words came tumbling out in her quivering voice: she was sorry and she did not mean to make my life harder. It was terrible. When our conversation ended, my sister called and I recalled the events. The only way I could express my mix of irritation, guilt, and more guilt was "Ack!"