"IT STRIKES" Again: “My happy birthday on the road to ruin”

[I started writing for The Londoner in 2002. My very first column, about a painful experience, hit the streets on October 10, and now appears below - free of charge. Like old stinky cheese, it just keeps getting better. Or something. gah]

“My happy birthday on the road to ruin”

Happy birthday, Mr Harrison!

Faceless, nameless representatives of your provincial government want to meet you, get to know you a little better, reach their grasping hands into your pockets while singing “Happy Birthday” and remove a pile of cash (they’ll take debit cards too) on this your birthday.

The special transaction can all be arranged prior to your birthday as well, perhaps on a day when it’s more convenient to take your cash. Anything to help. Absolutely painless.

Happy birthday?

If you own a car, have a birthday and want to drive with real licence plates on your car and a valid licence in your wallet or purse, you have to renew your car’s plates and your driver’s licence at regular intervals.

Every few years, simultaneously. You can do this by mail, though it’s probably better to go to the licence bureau as I did recently, just before my birthday bash.


["G. Harrison - the early days": photo by PH]

There are people there who are able to help you with the obligatory forms, fine print, photo (in my case, yes; they forgot what I looked like. Coincidentally, I was sporting the same little round head and grey T-shirt as last time) and payment in one form or another, i.e., the quick emptying of pockets.

I don’t mind paying for the privilege of driving in Ontario and beyond, and the amount of cash the government wants doesn’t usually strike me as outlandish until it comes time to pay.

But my mind boggles at how much money the bureaus rake in every hour, how smooth the raking process can be and how easily I let them take or rake everything from my pockets.

I was completely lamb-like. I asked one question only.

The friendly lady behind the counter actually asked the first question 20 seconds after I walked into the Cherry Hill Licence Bureau in London a few days ago.

“Can I help you down here?”

“Gotta rake? Want my money? Can you help me with these forms?”

I thought all these things as I approached her. The space at the counter was fortunately wide enough for the numerous papers I began to spread out before her.

I started, “Hi, my name is Gord and I have to renew my plates and licence and...” I cautiously pointed to the forms.

The lady took over, efficiently. My one question was asked about four minutes later - after a short, numbing, mental nap.

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion.

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“A short, numbing, mental nap.” Is there such a thing? Are naps numbing where you come from?

If you’re in the mood for old stuff, please click here for Cartoons in Progress.

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