Caveat Donator; How Technology Doesn’t Work For Us

This is a tale of what perils can befall the doer of good deeds.

This may be a typical story, although I would hope it is extremely unusual.

I bring it forward only so that you will think about your presence within
the intractable web of technology.

I am a musician and a poet. I work hard to cobble together a life with my family, one that is deeply invested in my community. Everyone in my ever-widening circle of artistic colleagues is similarly struggling to serve and be blessed by art, while being responsibly invested in community.

Times have been tough, not just recently, but for a long time. We all just keep tilling our fields and hoeing our rows, painting our canvases, arching our bodies in dance, plying the singing staves, playing our instruments, because—ultimately—our art is what keeps us alive. But, keeping it all going seems to get harder and harder.

Times have been toughest for our small non-profit art organizations. The National Endowment of the Arts does not serve the small arts organization. It cannot possibly. If you thought of the human body as a mass analogous to the national budget, the amount of money the Federal Government funds the NEA might be represented by a single hair follicle, if that.

Aside from the annual fundraising efforts that have gone on for years, there have been emergency appeals, as well. Please… if you can give anything, it will help us offer our next show.

Investment. It is all about where we live, what we believe and who we are.

I have little, but I try to give, nevertheless. So, when in January a dire straights appeal came out from several groups at once, I responded in the only way I could at the time. I selected one really, really small group that I have worked with and responded, first with the word: YES. How could I help? Well, we had a car to donate; and donate it, we did.

The umbrella organization that handles car donations for non-profit groups is very well organized and efficient. You sign on the dotted lines the pick-up driver points to on his clipboard, you are given a receipt in exchange for your signed off pink slip, and the vehicle is towed away. Our donated vehicle left our driveway in the first week of February.

This week, in the mid-October of the year, we received a lien notice from a tow yard in Stockton. I had no idea what it was about, but examining it closely, I saw that it had to do with the car we had donated. Hmmm. I fished out my donation receipt, made a copy, and sent it, in the enclosed pre-printed envelope, to the Department of Motor Vehicles, and went on with my life.

Two days later, my out-of-town-on-business husband received a cell call from our auto insurance company, requesting information about the accident. What accident?! My husband called me to ask about the accident that occurred, apparently, the day after he left on his business trip. I told him that on the day in question, I didn’t drive the car until that evening, when I had to drive out of town to a rehearsal. That drive was uneventful. I told him I would examine our car to see if there was damage, but I already knew there was not.

Meanwhile, a bell went off in my head. Could this be related to the lien notice we had just received in the mail, the day prior?

I called my husband back and told him about the notice, and that I suspected the accident was with the car no longer in our possession. He called the agent back and talked to him, then both the agent and my husband called to speak with me afterward.

In all these communications, there were missing bits of information. The agent had neglected to mention that the auto that had been in the accident was the one we had taken off our policy, earlier in the year. While we had all been playing phone tag, he had been able to look up in the databases he has access to and find that a release of liability form had been submitted for the vehicle. I told the agent about the lien notice and he was puzzled by it and the situation. What apparently happened is the car we donated was auctioned off to a person who did not subsequently register the vehicle. Unspoken, but probably true, the new car owner didn’t insure the car. The car owner got into an accident, and the car was towed to the tow yard, from which the lien notice had been issued. Once we wrangled with the spotty details we had before us, the insurance company took my statement and that was the end of it. We had done everything that was required, and it was obvious that we were not involved or in any way at fault. I asked the agent what I should do about the lien notice. He told me to call the tow yard and tell them that I had no interest in the car, having donated it in February, and they could sell it if they wish.

Getting off the phone with the agent, I called the tow yard. I explained to the woman who answered that the car that had been involved in the accident last week was not my car, and if they wanted to sell it they could. I told the woman I could fax her the donation receipt, so they would have it on record that we are not responsible—

I was cut off.

“That’s not what we need,” the voice was full of venom.

“Excuse me?”

“We need a DMV notice.”

“I’m not sure you understand, you see, the donation receipt clearly states—“

“Are you gonna go on, or are you gonna let ME TELL YOU?!”

Well, that did silence me. I was amazed that the entire tone of the exchange was so horrid. I thought I was calling to do the tow yard people a favor, and it turned out I was being mistaken as a bad guy.

“We need a DMV notice. If you don’t give us one, you will have to pay us for storing your wreck.”

“All the forms were turned in, all I have is a donation receipt—“

“Look, if you didn’t do what you were supposed to, it’s not my fault.”

“— that clearly states I am no longer responsible for the car. Can I have your fax number, so I can send it to you?”

“Here’s the fax number, but we’ll just throw it away. And then we’ll bill you.” She hung up.

When I launched into the tackling this misunderstanding, I thought it would take no more than an hour to clear it up, but so far I was into hour number four. My client’s work sat, waiting for my attention. But, here I was, in the middle of a nearly comical case of “no good deed goes unpunished.”

I thought about it for a minute, then decided to call the Department of Motor Vehicles and ask what I needed to do to obtain whatever form was needed to provide that would officially certify the fact that I no longer was responsible for the car.

I had no idea what DMV form they would need. The woman had been so intent on being malignantly self-righteous with me, she failed to be specific with a form name or number. Sighing, I looked up the Department of Motor Vehicles. I looked for a phone number to call for information. There is a phone number. There is no information. The phone number plays an outgoing message detailing which branch offices are closed. Searching on the website offered no clues as to what I needed to do. Finally, I resigned myself to making an appointment. Fortunately, there was an available appointment within the hour.

Nearly getting killed in an intersection by a driver who ran a red light (not only to my shock and amazement, but also the other drivers who were observing the red light), I shook off the adrenaline rush and drove for twenty minutes to the DMV office, located in the next city, where I parked my duly and legally registered, smogged and insured vehicle in the lot. I queued in the line designated for those with appointments. I waited in this line for twenty minutes. When I was finally called, the clerk asked me what I needed. I said I wasn’t quite sure, but some sort of form that was proof I had released liability on my donated car.

“Oh, we can’t do that here,” he said.

I looked around the vast office, filled with clerks and computers and forms and pencils. I saw posted signs telling the public that it was a crime to attack DMV workers. I heard people behind me muttering with thinly veiled anger.

“Huh?”

He thrust a form with multiple pages in my hands. “We don’t handle that at branch offices. You have to fill out this form and send it into the main office with a fee.”

“Uh, okay. How long does that take?”

“Four to six weeks. Oh, and don’t separate any of those pages, or they can’t help you. NEXT!”

As I drove home, I considered the state of modern technology and compared it to my experience. There was a vast disconnect. It would have been helpful to speak in advance with a person who could have told me what form I needed and how I could obtain one. It might even have been possible to find the form online, although if I printed it out, it would have had multiple parts, as opposed to the one I was given.

Surely, in an office full of computers, all one would need to do is pay a fee and have a clerk print out a verification notice of some sort. WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY TO DO THIS.

On my return, the pile of work from my client glared at me, but I turned my weary gaze at the form. There were multiple options on the form, but none of them seemed to match clearly with what I thought I must need, and the instructions were a bit on the inscrutable side, once you got past name, address and license or VIN number. I began to wonder if I had been given the wrong form. I finally chose the option that, naturally, had the largest fee; I would get a complete record of the car’s history for this year, a car I owned and operated for one month.

Sighing heavily, I signed the form, wrote the check, placed them in an envelope and proceeded to the nearest post office. When I got there, a hand written note taped to the glass door stated: CLOSED. BACK AT 2:25.

Pondering at the oddness of the stated re-opening time, I drove to the farther away post office and waited for twenty minutes there. Only two clerks were on duty in an office that can be worked by six clerks, and every customer had a package to mail. When I was finally called, I asked to send the item with delivery confirmation, but was told I could only send this piece as a Registered Letter, because it was not the right size to receive delivery confirmation as First Class. Not wanting to spend even more time filling out the form and getting back into line, I threw caution to the wind and let it go with just First Class postage and returned home.

When I got home, I realized it was now nearly three o’clock, and I hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch.

I had spent all day on something I should not have needed to do. I had spent all day trying to be a good and responsible citizen. I had spent all day being thwarted, abused and turned away, punished for doing the right thing.

I took up the Donation Receipt. This is the printed statement, on which I had pinned my entire day’s activity:

Notice of Donor’s Liability: Your liability for your vehicle/vessel extended until the vehicle was picked up. All agents involved in the donation are not responsible for any theft, damage, vandalism, parking violations, moving violations, registration fees, late charges, impounds, storage charges, liens, etc., prior to the time the donated time was picked up. If your State Vehicle Registration Department has a form to notify them of the transfer of ownership, such as a Release of Liability, Release of Interest, or Seller’s Report of Sale, we recommend that you mail that form.

You are not responsible for your donated vehicle/vessel after the date it was picked up! It is possible you may receive a notice for ticket’s, impound, lien sale, vehicle registration or other charges relating to your donated vehicle/vessel. Send the issuing agency a copy of this receipt. If you have any questions or need assistance in resolving a problem, call 1 (800) nnn-nnnn or email help@*****.info.

I had done as directed, to know avail. However, I had not read the notice carefully enough to see that I could get help from the donation center.

I called the number on the form. A person answered the phone! I was so elated by that, I nearly burst into tears! The receptionist who answered listened to the mini-version of my tale and, said, “Oh, Sherry handles that. Here, let me connect you.”

Sherry, was on the line already, and I had to leave a message. But Sherry returned my call almost instantly, not a minute after I hung up from leaving the message. I told Sherry the longer version of my tale of my woe, and she looked up the information on the donation. In a friendly tone, she told me she would send a couple of copies of the release of liability I had signed when the car was picked up, no problem.

“Have a good one,” Sherry said, as she ended the call, “Call again, if we can do anything else.”

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Obviously, this day was wasted needlessly.

This story points to many social themes that need to be addressed. People are desperate for money. Bureaucracy is entrenched, inefficient and maintained like an armed fortress, with little accountability and stingy access. People are angry. Some of the people that are angry are irresponsible, but many more are frustrated because they are trying to do the right thing. Those people who try to be responsible suffer due to the actions of both those who are irresponsible and those who are corrupt and play the system.

The theme that this experience highlighted for me was that technology, touted as the savior of the world, does not work for us when we need it to; technology can, however, be used by others to work against us, at will.

Access to Information. There is no reason why I should not be able to obtain a copy of a form I signed from the DMV the day I go in for an appointment. These forms are not stored in hardcopy, but are digitized, and should be maintained in an electronic database that can be accessed, as needed, by various agencies, and members of the public entitled to the information. I should be able to pay a fee to get copy of a form, if one is required. Four or more weeks of turn around on a minor clerical requests is simply inadequate, particularly since I know for a fact that people working at certain agencies can see proof of my claim, proof that I cannot obtain without paying a fee. My insurance company could see the trail of everything that proved I was no longer responsible for the car, but they could not provide me with a document that I could use or talk to another agency on my behalf with any authority.

Public versus Private Information. If you have not searched for your own name on Google, do it now. You will be shocked at the array of information about you that is available to anyone. You can pay a fee to the online CARFAX service get a complete history of a vehicle, including the name of former owners. Google the owner’s name, and voila, you can find out where they live, maybe even a phone number. You can call up the former owner of the car and harass that person. I’ve heard it happens! In my case, the tow company ran a CARFAX on my former car and thought to make some money off of me, since the deadbeat new owner was clearly not going to pay for towing and storing the wreck. If you can intimidate people with a lien writ and a receptionist who acts like a bulldog, maybe you can squeeze someone for some money.

Non-Enforcement of the Law. What is the point of making laws, if they will not be enforced? This might seem to be a rhetorical question, but I assure you that it is a practical one that requires real answers. It is against the law to purchase a car without registering it and purchasing accident insurance. I reiterate my refrain: WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY. If you purchase a car, you should register it and purchase insurance at the same time. All of these agencies are hand-in-glove in that they all share the same interests and information. A person should not be able to purchase a car if they do not register it and insure it, but the only way to make sure all of those things happen is to have it happen at the time of purchase, in the case of vehicles sold off the lot. A transfer system needs to be set up for person-to-person sales. Well, guess what, there is an agency currently existing that could and should handle this: it is called The Department of Motor Vehicles.

The irony of this story is that the man who bought and wrecked the car will not be answerable for the things he did and did not do. He won’t have to pay any money, he won’t be yelled at on the phone or turned away from the DMV. The worst for him is that he no longer has a car. The other party involved in the auto accident will have to foot the bill for what happened there, that party’s insurance company will have to cover the damages.

I will end by saying that no one mentioned in this story was physically injured, for which I am grateful. That doesn’t mean this story had a happy ending. After going through this, I can still say that I am glad I was able to make the donation, and I would do so again. I am hopeful that my experience was an exception to the rule, in these cases. It is my belief that we should strive to do good deeds, even if it is difficult.

It should be a goal of society to enable people to do good.

Current Events

Eventful, today;
not much else to say,
except that—little by little—we slip away,
but maybe that’s okay.

Voices, loudly they cry;

“Choices,” they proclaim, “buy!”

Fruits of summer
winter in discontent;
smart suits are dumber,
tinder for wildfire foment.

Voices, quietly they sigh;
invoices quell the buy-high.

From inane to insane,
rinse, repeat and remain.

Maybe it’s okay
that we slip away
when truths known no longer hold sway
with those who have the say.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

The statistics for our National GNP (gross national product) can only be generated by our purchases. We can only purchase when we have jobs and income. We can only have jobs and income if the corporations that earn the GNP open up the job market to a wider audience. Policy makers don't see this as a reality that needs to be faced; they continue to make policy based on the notion that their jobs depend on the support of corporate lobbies, not on the wider audience of potential purchasing public. The policies made by policy makers allow corporations and their talking-head-suits to abuse the working classes of the world, workers here and abroad, so that they can control more money with fewer workers (or cheaper off-shore labor). The result is economic stagnation. Policy makers know this, but refuse to do anything but pander to the corporate lobbies. Privatization has driven the cost of everything upward, even though the quality of what we are buying (think education) is substantially less. "They" tell us the costs are greater, after "they" said that business could do it all better and for less. This is the new definition of "less is more." If that weren't bad enough, out and out fraud is committed, throughout all industries, unchecked, unabated, unregulated. Seems to be a national insanity, for which there is no cure.

How to Change the World

I returned home, from a weekend away (in the peaceful countryside), to a battery of news that whipped around from "Royal Wedding" to "Death of Bin Laden" to "U.S. RULES!" I was dizzy all day Monday. I am still dizzy.

I wrote this morning:

The banner line reads: A World Changed. I say, Really? The figurehead may be gone, but the underlying problem, that which caused the figurehead to resort to terror, is not. Where is the problem? We need to look into the collective societal mirror. Do we honor life? Do we make peace? By our fruits, we are known. Do we really know what these are? Do we really buy into the policies that our leaders enact in our names?

I wonder if we really know how we stupid and foolish we are, like five year olds on a playground who cannot share the rubber ball. The decisions we make, as adults, sometimes seem to echo the mean and selfish child. Whereas we took pride in building the sandcastle and wielding the stick then, we now take pride in destruction and death.

How sad. How unenlightened. How un-evolved.

After a similar event several years ago, while some other tyrant fell (while we crowed) and other awful events occurred, I wrote this to a friend:

We spoke of emotional pain, and wondered together how it was possible to give others excellent advice that we cannot follow for ourselves. Recalling [a] recent sermon [where it was discussed how we are each made in the image of God], I surmised that it is not possible for us to look into the mirror--we must be face to face with the true image of God in order to receive the information God has to impart, and that it is for just that reason that primarily that there is more than one being. [Individuals] are necessary reflections of the ultimate truth that a mirror can only hint at; however broad and fine the resolution, a mirror image of self fails to impart what a living, breathing person can...

The mystery lives not only on the paten and in the chalice, but within the fragile architecture of sound [and of touch and of interactions and of speech and of so many other ephemeral things]...

I must admit, the horror of the continuing carnage of the ongoing conflict/WAR, combined with the equally senseless one-off horrors of events such as those at Virginia Tech, have engulfed me in an unspeakable sorrow. I went to my church, while the twins were at their respective karate and ballet lessons, and sat with the pastor, talking and praying. It was my thought to bring the church community together in a liturgy, not just to pray, but to cherish life, living, and the lives of the departed--not an office of the dead, but an office for the life eternal, on earth and not on earth. 

The office is supposed to honor life, but somehow, we get stuck on the death part, and glorify that more.

Today is a New Day, the newspapers proclaim. But I sit with Jeremiah and Micah on my shoulders, and I say that we have not been honest with ourselves, and that we continue to teach war and destruction and death and oppression and might-makes-right. And we give away our authority to people who misuse it, in our names.

I shudder that I sit with Evil Under The Sun everyday, and hear it called Goodness and Righteousness. Then someone says, "hey, let's go celebrate with a drink!"

Oh, darkness, darkness, how I am surrounded by it.

The mystery lies ever beyond, however. The mystery is engulfed in light. Our vocabulary cannot ever describe the life that the mystery holds and creates, vero de vero, being light within light. The Word is God, but we have never been able to hear it the way it should be heard, and so we cannot speak the mystery.

However, if we would but shut up, for a few minute--if we could stop the endless, mindless chatter of mouths and keyboards and even archaic pencils and pens, we might let the mystery speak to us.

Speak to me, Sweet Mystery! Speak to me! Teach me about light and life! Render my actions in the image of Your brilliance and peace, and guide me!

In the midst of darkness, I can apprehend your light, Oh Mystery Divine!

And I suspect that Yours is the only revolution that will survive.

Because it is not a war; we have misidentified the whole thing.

We need to lose the "r".

It is an evolution.

Silly Bandz: cute fad or environmental hazard?

Kids have been coming home with Silly Bandz now for weeks, trading them on the playground, giving them as party favors. These are brightly colored little rubber band-like items made of silicone, formed in different shapes, worn as bracelets. Inexpensive, and popular they are, yes. For now.

However, once Silly Bandz cease to be popular, they will end their life cycle as garbage. I have already seen broken ones littering the playground and street gutters near schools. Silicone is proven to be a bad thing for people, pets and other animals, birds and fish.

I point this out because our communities pride themselves in teaching "Green Thinking" and "Life Skills" to our children. I know that there are schools and even school districts that have been banning these seemingly innocent toys, mainly because they prove to be a distraction in class, even leading to problems on the playground. But parents should be thinking beyond the distraction factor, thinking in greater depth about the ramifications of ubiquitous, faddy, non-biodegradable products that are marketed to our children.

The fact is, Silly Bandz will eventually become part of the landfill and end up in our waterways, killing particularly birds and fish (they look like brightly colored worms, don't they?), but also posing a danger to other creatures. By the time that fad dies, and a new one is born, the creators of Silly Bandz (and like products) will have raked in millions of our dollars, but will not be accountable when the product becomes part of the mix of environmental problems facing the planet.

The fact that these items are cheap, numerous and readily available means that we are inadvertently teaching our kids (1) to be consumers and (2) to thoughtlessly assign value to items that have a dubious use and value, yet a life cycle that poses a future environmental threat.

Perhaps this seems a silly topic to be writing about, but we must now, at all times, be thinking seriously about the life cycle of the items we mass produce, whether they are cute toys or packaging, processed food, or whatever the items are. When we see the all too real stories about toxic sludge byproducts of aluminum manufacturing inundating Hungarian villages and flowing into the Danube river, we need to wake up to the fact that there needs to be more thought, regulation and oversight in the manufacture of just about everything.

I won't suggest that Silly Bandz need to be banned, because I know that parents will balk at the suggestion, and that I will accused of raining on everyone's parade of fun with junk.  However, I believe that this, and many other products, offer thoughtful and caring parents opportunities to teach children about consumerism of products that we know to be ultimately unhealthy for our planet.

To date, I have not spent a dime on Silly Bandz, and I have spoken of my misgivings to other parents on a selective basis. I have spoken to my children about why I think they are bad. They have a few of them, but they are informed now (by what I told them and by what they experienced recently, while volunteering on Coastal Cleanup Day), and they don't seem to be interested in collecting them.

This is a good sign.