We pawk our caw in Brighton

STIPIMM: “Sisters,” by Irving Berlin

We finally broke down and did it. Bridget and I are 100% legal in the commonwealth of Massachusetts. We both have our driver’s licenses, and perhaps more importantly, we registered Phoebe, our beautiful gray Saturn, with Massachusetts tags.

It took some teeth-pulling to get to this point, and indeed, all the wrinkles haven’t been ironed out. But we’re pretty much there. We had been doing so well for several months, taking the T wherever we needed, walking to places that were within range. But then, it became clear that once H&R Block was through, I would have to have a way to get to all the various places I wanted to interview at, and if I ended up getting a job, I’d have to have a way of getting there. So, early last month, we began the process of making Phoebe legal. In Massachusetts, that’s a four-step process:

1) Getting insurance: The whole reason we didn’t want to get the car registered in the state to begin with. It turns out that, despite all the boo-hooing you hear from people about how bad the rates are up here, they’re not really that much worse than what I was used to down in the Delmarva area (that’s the first time I’ve ever used that stupid word!). Once we figured that out, and were ready to dip our toe into the frightening world of Massachusetts insurance, the next problem was where to get it. Because the state regulates insurance so heavily, there are only a handful of insurers available (boo hoo to the insurers), and none of them are as easy to spot as a State Farm agent would be in other parts of the country. Instead, we pretty much had to throw a dart on the map of the insurers in the area and just walk into their offices.

The one we picked (the main criterion was that, instead of some funky business name like Windmill Insurance or Viking Fidelity [made-up names], it was actually someone’s name: John Ryan Insurance, which of course, screams folksy, and mom-and-pop [which it turned out to be!]) was just down the road from our apartment, which is nice. More importantly, they made the process extremely easy, walking us through what we needed, and what our options were. No pressure, no nothing. Moreover, they made the next two steps of the process easier by preparing all the materials we’d need for it and telling us exactly what we’d have to do. [Paid for by John Ryan Insurance]

2) Registering the car: More standing in line at the MVA or the DMV or the RMV or whatever the hell they call it up here. Not very exciting, just handing over the title and a hefty chunk of change in exchange for new license plates and registration. The title came in the mail yesterday, which sparked this “all-official” post.

3) Getting Phoebe inspected: There were actually two inspections we had to do, both of which got done at the same time. One was the usual state inspection, which I’m always paranoid my cars will fail, even though they never have. The other required inspection was one asked for (and paid for) by the insurance company to make sure the car was in one piece before they insured it. Easy and straightforward. Indeed, where states like Maryland and D.C. (yeah, I called it a state... fuck you) have complicated inspections that could take hours at a time, the Massachusetts one was done in about 10 minutes. I think the commonwealth still has a way to go if it wants to uphold its reputation as having the worst bureaucracy in America.

4) Getting a resident parking sticker: Had to go to City Hall for that, which was a pain for parking purposes (downtown Boston – not fun for driving). But since I had actually read the website in advance and knew what I needed to bring to prove my residency, it was a fairly easy task. Again, Massachusetts falling behind on the red tape. As a new resident of the commonwealth, I just have to say: we can do better.

And so, with the tags on, the inspection done and the resident sticker affixed to the back window, Phoebe became a resident of the city of Boston (or Brighton, however you want to look at it). We now get to park her virtually wherever we want on the streets of our neighborhood, which is a nice change from the 10-minute walk we used to have to endure to park her in the non-resident areas. Even so, we’ve still learned one key thing about parking in our neighborhood: don’t go anywhere Friday or Saturday night unless you want to do some walking from the parking spot you’re able to find. Are all those extra cars party-goers who are just parking illegally? I dunno, but they sure do fill the streets. Nevertheless, the walk home from those parking spots is still much better than the hefty trek we used to have to take, regardless of what day it was. It’s good to have a car again!