Dear President Obama,

I know you’re busy what with running for re-election and all, not to mention playing catch-up after last night’s debate debacle.

That notwithstanding, I thought you’d get a kick out of hearing what a day in the life of an ordinary citizen in what WILL continue be your hometown for the next four years – the District of Columbia – is like. (Yes, I’ve chipped in my share of $5’s and $10’s thanks to the pressure of your stalking emails. And while I do appreciate the cool car magnet, I’m still waiting to hear when and where you, Michelle, and I are gonna do dinner.)

After attending a funeral on New York Avenue the other day, I returned to find my car wearing a lovely orange hubcap commonly known as the dreaded boot.

To be fair, I did owe for past tickets so I’m willing to own up to my transgressions. As an aside, however, we really do need to talk about those speed cameras – your comrades at the John A. Wilson Building must be making a killing.

Anyway, I sighed, got in the car, and began the process of atoning for my vehicular sins.

I call the first number on the beautiful red and white “Do Not Move This Vehicle” sign affixed to my windshield (look to the right – I’m sure you’ve never gotten one of these) and, after 15 minutes of prompts and press ones, finally reached a Lovely Call Center Agent. She informed me that I had a host of outstanding tickets from years gone by so I really put on my humble pie voice as I had been driving around on borrowed time for years.

Once she told me how to pay up, I called the automated payment system and followed the instructions. I was informed twice, however, that due to technical difficulties, my transaction could not be completed.

Bummer.

So I call a friend who was at work and asked her to try the website route. 

Decline.

Now for once, I actually had the money (there goes my contribution to stimulating the economy) so I didn’t understand what the deal was but my friend suggested I call my bank.

They informed me that the DC Parking Ticket People had put a grip of my money on hold after submitting the transaction three times.

Now this poses a huge problem for me as I don’t have a confirmation number for any said transaction but DC is definitely holding my money!

By this time, about two hours have gone by so I call the Lovely Call Center Agent back who then transfers me to The Manager (now we’re getting somewhere).

The Manager then tells me that DC doesn’t have my money – it’s stuck in limbo in cyber space somewhere and maybe I should consider changing banks.

As you can imagine, Sir, I’m beginning to get a bit upset.

I mean, I knew this process wouldn’t be quick or anything, but I thought I could at least pay my fine and patiently (and humbly) wait for Mr. Boot Man to come and take me out of bondage before rush hour.

After going back and forth between The Manager and my bank at least four more times (we're all on a first-name basis now - Ms. Stringer and Sherri, respectively), Sherri tells me that the only way to get this money released is for DC to write a letter on their letterhead saying they would not pursue this transaction.

To quote Bugs Bunny, “She don’t know DC very well, do she?”

My friend told me I’d better high tail it down to the DMV in person before they closed and I would really be short.

So I get to the DMV Room for Commoners and find a lllooonnnggg line. That's when I call my friend Ms. Stringer The Manager back and say, “Looka here, I’m in the building. Can you please tell me where I can get my letter?”

At this point, I’m really getting on her nerves, but she tells me to go to a Different Room and I begin to keep hope alive (oops, sorry - wrong African American Presidential candidate).

In true DC style, I walk into the Different Room with a big of swag (since I have an in with my friend Ms. Stringer and all) only to find that everybody in that room is there to see The Manager.

By this time, it’s Hour Four and I am trying very hard not to cry, I mean panic.

I’m not only concerned that I may not be able to make the payment and get the boot off of my car by close of business, but am thinking they are bound to tow my car on top of everything else.

Not to mention that I live in Baltimore, have a daughter to get to basketball practice, and haven’t a clue as to how I’m going to get home should that happen.

You don’t know me, but I’m a right-brainer with just enough left-brainage to be dangerous.

So as I wait for the Calm Automated Voice Lady to call Number B192 (so much for my in), I start envisioning Plan B.

Should I go to Amtrak? And how am I going to pay for a ticket since DC has a vice grip on my money? Who’s gonna pick me up? Maybe I could hitchhike my way to B-more by way of New York Avenue (I look really cute in a great dress with new shoes showing just enough leg….OK, I apologize if that’s a bit off color but you and I know that in life, especially in DC, you gotta use what you got.).

Just then Calm Automated Voice Lady tells me, Number B192, to go to Window 20.

I explain my plight to Miss Window 20 and, just in the nick of time - I mean 4:59pm - we get the letter faxed to Sherri at my bank, my money is released, and I make the payment.

There’s only one glitch – my car is now at Impound Lot #5 on 15th Street, NE.

Another sigh.

I hail yet another cab (which takes about four tries because the cabbies now don’t know DC – only the hotel / tourist areas) and finally get my car at 5:30pm.

So much for beating rush hour.

I thought I’d share the events of this adventurous day with you in hopes that you would at least get a hearty laugh. I also though you would find it comforting to know that navigating the world inside the Beltway can be dicey for all of us.

Sincerely,

Allison Miller

Registered Democrat, Obama Supporter, and DC DMV Survivor