Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I got a postcard from the WA Dept. of Licensing yesterday saying they needed more information from me and that I needed to call a certain number ASAP. So I did, and I got the voice mail of some dude named Damon, and no indication that he had any connection to the DoL. I leave a message, and try again later. Well, I got frustrated and called the main number.

Says the receptionist, Damon does indeed work for the DoL as assistant director no less, she thought she saw him, and he should return the call later today.

Bullpuckey.

Another message and several hours later, I call the main number and hear that Damon's out for the day and will be back Monday. No, there's nobody else who can handle this. Apparently, if Damon's been hit by a bus I'm screwed.

I'm upset because

1. I sent everything they asked for on their web page.
2. Why didn't the DoL tell me what they needed on the postcard?
3. Damon didn't mention who he worked for in his outgoing message. I wasn't sure the number was current, or if it had ever been.
4. If you answer the phones for people, you should know whether they're out for the day or not.
5. It's the Friday before shot day.

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On a happier note, you may recall that I've already been grocery shopping en femme to the same PCC I've been going to for thirteen years. I went there in boy mode today, and got the same checker. I was wearing gloves because I get cold hands easily. She felt my gloves.

Let me type that again: She felt my gloves. She liked feeling them, she said. She likes the feel of things. There was another checker right there bagging my stuff. I laughed, of course, and looked over my shoulder at her on the way out the door. She looked back.

In all my years that is easily the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me in a supermarket. She's either the biggest goofball in the 425 area code or she's hitting on me.

Mental notes: Shop at the Kirkland PCC on Friday nights. Learn her name.