everything involved in getting a trout stamp
(originally posted 3/31/2018)
Beth was a romantic. She started looking at the county clerk’s office in her quest to get a stalking license. The same place you get marriage licenses.
Yep, Beth was a dyed-in-the-wool romantic.
She couldn’t find the necessary form online so she created her own, including all the information she thought might be pertinent. While it must be supremely flattering to acquire a stalker, many stalkers don’t appreciate the commitment stalking is. The hours involved. So she was very thorough in creating her application, including three references. Two of which had filed restraining orders against her.
That would speak volumes to whoever was making the decision.
The restraining orders an unfortunate side effect of her not knowing the particulars involved in ending a relationship. Beth thought it odd that she was not allowed within 500 yards of one of her ex-boyfriends when apparently it’s perfectly fine to sell drugs if you are 1001 feet away from a school.
The math simply didn’t add up.
The county clerk just stared at her when she inquired about the stalking license and proved to be absolutely no help in directing her to the correct room.
The thing was, she knew that he still loved her. There could be no question about it. All the signs were there. It was just a dance they were doing.
The gentleman who issues death certificates was equally unhelpful. She thought for a moment that the government would find the demise of relationship on equal footing with the passing of a loved one but apparently not.
She took that as a sign that the local officials knew that their relationship wasn’t dead after all. She just needed to put in some quality time lurking in bushes and hacking emails to show her ex that she was committed to the idea of happily ever after. Perhaps where they issue birth certificates…
She was hit with a wave of nostalgia when she passed the machine that took fingerprints. After a misunderstanding that resulted in the first restraining order she had been introduced to the guy who took her prints. They’d had such a nice time talking that she returned again the next day.
And the next.
And hence the second restraining order.
But that wasn’t love. She understood that now. He was the rebound restraining order … although she kept a copy of her fingerprints over her bed just the same. Some ink just doesn’t wash off.
The old woman at the naturalization office thought she was kidding, even after reviewing her paperwork. “You know that you can’t stalk people right?” she asked Beth.
“Of course not. You need a permit for that” she replied and rolled her eyes.
“No” the lady countered “There are no permits for stalking. You simply can’t do it.” She fixed her gaze on Beth and added “It’s simply not done.”
Beth turned on her heel and departed. It was bad enough that this woman didn’t know the answer to her question but to simply pretend that a stalking license didn’t exist just to avoid admitting it seemed almost belligerent.
She drew a familiar blank stare from the guy who issues passport applications. Ditto with the man entrusted to process property deeds.
Exasperated she even tried the Fish & Boat Commission but succeeded only in getting her yearly trout stamp. This year they had lumped in trout with salmon. “Typical” she muttered to herself.
Beth enjoyed fishing. Something about there always being more fish in the sea.
SPOILER ALERT: the guy who took her fingerprints really did love Beth. It was complicated.
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