So, Thursday I ventured into Springfield in search of the Index Department.
With that success under my belt, I ventured on to the roads. The weather was a balmy 56 degrees and I was loving it! The drive was uneventful. I reached Springfield successfully and even managed to find a parking space. Then the moment of panic arrived.
Being unaccustomed to traveling more than thirty minutes from home without my family I did not have the foresight that one usually gains from experience, namely, always bring quarters and cash when you travel to a city. This went through my head as I gazed for a moment at the hungry parking meter. Then turning from the small, black beast, I rummaged through my coin jar, wallet, purse and even looked on the floor. All I found was the two quarters that I had grabbed from the jar in my bedroom that morning with hopes of finding a good book for sale at the library. Hoping that .50 would be enough for a short stay on the streets of Springfield I fed them into the meter.
I had one hour to get my papers authenticated.
My GPS said that I had reached my destination so I started wandering across the street. I looked both ways checking for traffic but then felt rather silly, as it was a one-way street. I found the Index Department within moments of crossing the street, a humble and unassuming little office that was nothing like what I had expected. Upon entering, I observed a woman behind the counter trying to be polite but clearly annoyed, as she explained to the person on the phone that she was at the Index department and that she certainly did not have the ability to discover or disclose someone's personal address. She concluded by informing the insistent person on the other line, that "if he was indeed an investigator," (her tone indicated that she sincerely doubted that he was,) "that the local police department would be who he should contact."
She hung up and asked kindly what I needed. I explained my situation and she paged someone to come and take my papers. While I was waiting she received another phone call. Again, she directed them elsewhere and hung up. She rolled her eyes and confided, "You wouldn't believe that calls that we get sometimes." I laughed. Then she began to inquire about where I was going and what I would be doing. She was very sweet and motherly in both her inquiry and her concern for my safety.
Then the lady who had taken my papers into the back office came out again and informed me that I needed a new notary on both papers. One I was able to substitute with the notary from my bank. The other I had to walk a block and a half down the street to a small stamp shop to obtain.
Upon entering there was an apparently homeless man who seemed to be friends with the two ladies behind the counter. He explained how he had lost his money for the week and his gloves on the bus. One woman gave him $20 to get him through the week.
"Don't lose it this time." She warned laughingly, handing him the $20 bill and picking up the to-go box that she had on the table behind her. "Do you want something to eat too?" The old man blessed her and took it gratefully. They chatted briefly and then he took his leave.
I watched all this as the second woman took my paper and notarized it for me. "That'll be $3." She said.
"Do you take debit?" I asked.
"Yes," she paused, "but, only on purchases of $5 or more."
I shook my head at my lack of foresight. With a helpless shrug, I said, "What can you give me for $2?"
I left the stamp shop and headed back to the Index Department with my freshly notarized paper and two glue sticks.
Ten minutes later I was back in my car with my authenticated documents.
Praise God that step is finally complete!
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