Between this and the Salmonella, maybe it's time to move

Have you ever read The Da Vinci Code? For those that haven't, it's a book about two people going on a wild goose chase for the hands-down ULTIMATE secret. There are passcodes and bad guys chasing beautiful people and messages so cryptic they border on farcical. There are mysteries and mysteries within mysteries and mysteries within mysteries within mysteries.

AND my little city here is sometimes like The Da Vinci Code except without the bad guys chasing beautiful people (to my knowledge). A couple of days ago, I went to the local courthouse to find information about amending a parenting plan. You would have thought I was trying to retrieve the Holy Grail, it was THAT hopeless and mentally taxing. I stood in line at one place for thirty minutes only to get to the front of the line and have a flustered woman with actual sweat on her brow direct me to ANOTHER office with a LONGER line where an even MORE flustered woman waited to direct me down a long, dark corridor that abruptly ended at some metal-detecting hoops and a gatekeeper that would only let me through once I'd whispered: "The landlord shot the mosquito." There were a few of us on this Holy Grail goose chase who followed one another around to subsequent lines going, "Dude, are you following me?"Alas, we were not officially following one another. Just looking for a myriad of answers. Or someone who was willing to give us a piggy-back ride to the next line.

FINALLY. I got to a place labeled "Cashier." CASHIER!I don't know why, but I thought CASHIER meant "employee who makes monetary transactions on behalf of a business establishment." As it turns out, cashier can sometimes mean "person who safeguards the paperwork to amend an existing parenting plan." It's kind of like finding out the the Holy Grail is hidden behind the Slurpee Machine at the 7-11 and the CASHIER is actually a secret member of the Priory of Sion.

As luck would have it, there was only one woman standing between me and the "Cashier." Her name was (changed for the sake of... nobody really) Crissy Cross! And her conversation with the CASHIER went something like this:

CC: Hi, I'm here to make a payment for my DUI court fees.

Cashier: Okay, how much?

CC: A hundred big ones. *CC lays a crisp one hundred dollar bill on the counter.*

Cashier: Name please?

CC: Crissy Cross.

Cashier: Could you spell that?

CC: C-R-I-S-S-Y. Do I need to spell Cross?

Cashier: Um..... yes.

CC: C-R-O-S-S.

Cashier: *looking perplexed* You aren't in the system. Can you spell that for me once more?

CC:*impatient sigh* C-R-I-S-S-Y.

Cashier: Middle initial?

CC: T. Oh my GAWD, this is, like, the third payment I've made! I'm here all the time!! Come AWN!

Cashier: Um... I'm sorry. But you're just not in the system. Can you give me your birthdate?

CC: blah-blah-blah-1985. C-R-I-S-S-Y Cross. CRISSY!!

Cashier: This is very bizarre. We have a Crissy T. Cross born in blah-blah-blah 1985... But she spells her name with an H. Like C-H-R-I-S-S-Y.

CC: Oh! That's right. There's an H in there. Sorry!