More on the Form

Well, we managed to get Sam's ADA Bus Application completed. As I did three years ago, I wrote an attachment which allowed me to a) give a fuller explanation of (a small portion of) Sam's disabilities, and b) answer several of the form's questions with a "see attached" jotted in the all-too-short response lines. 

Also, as I did three years ago, I went through the form, question by question, with Sam, explaining those questions which needed an explanation, eliciting answers from him on those questions where he had an opinion. I'm not sure how helpful he finds this. I like to think, maybe (probably) foolishly, it makes a difference.

Going through it this way can be time consuming but in the end it's probably the most painless part of this ritual. Sam, without exception, has always been compliant with everything he's had to deal with over the years - so filling out these forms together was pretty minor, at least, in the greater scheme of things. And if I were in a better frame of mind about this entire nonsensical process, I might even be tempted to call this portion of it enjoyable. Maybe.

Next up was figuring out what to do about the doctor's portion of this application. Ultimately, I called his physician's office which resulted in making a phone appointment with Sam's doctor. As it turned out, she had an opening the next day and we could get it taken care of pretty quickly - if I could get the form over to them right away. Otherwise, it might be a few weeks.

This meant driving over to the doctor's office with the form (no big deal), facing the newly installed nurses (or possibly random volunteers) who are stationed inside the entry, who now take your temperature and ask you questions about possible COVID symptoms (leaving me to wonder how many people answer those questions honestly) and then dropping off the semi-filled out form (along with my attachment) with the receptionist stationed behind the also newly installed sneeze guard, in the now nearly abandoned, magazine-less waiting room - all of which was accomplished in well under an hour.

The next morning, the doctor called at eight A.M. - right on time. She and I pretty much breezed through her portion of the form, mostly because, shockingly, few if any of the answers had changed from the three years previous. Still, it was good that I could elaborate on a few things with her. Plus it's good to (hopefully) get some of those elaborations in Sam's record.

The next morning, the receptionist called and let me know I could pick up the completed form, so... see paragraph above.

With the form back, Sam signed it and addressed the envelope. I cosigned it... and noticed the doctor had forgotten to fill out a small portion on the back of one of the pages. So, after a brief call, it was once again back over to the doctor's office where... etc., etc, etc.

Finally, we were ready to get this thing out of our (my) sweaty hands and over to the Bus Company. We called the Bus Company before heading over, only to find out that, due to the pandemic, they are now open only limited hours. "Limited" in this case meant they had closed ten minutes ago. 

The drop off would have to wait another day.

Yesterday, Sam and I headed over to the Bus Company, making sure we were there within their new, limited schedule - only to find we couldn't get in. Every single door was locked. Every single door had the exact same sign on it. The only difference was that on some doors, the arrow pointed in a different direction. This resulted in cleverly leading you (us) in an endless loop around the building. 

Looking inside the dark building, we could see some kind of security guard(!) stationed in the lobby (I guess to prevent all the potential looters looking to steal those bus schedules). Whatever else he was doing in there (which appeared to be "nothing") he was doing his level best to look in every direction but ours. 

After finally giving up, leaving the security guard to his more important work (of counting the holes in the ceiling tiles), Sam and I went over and parked ourselves on a bench while I tried calling the Powers That Be. Nothing. Nothing but the same old recording about the Bus Company's apparently non-existent new hours.  

I had hoped to be able to hand this form over to an allegedly real person, both in order to get the name of who was responsible for receiving this form, as well as for allowing me the opportunity to give said allegedly real person one of my patented "do you know how ridiculous this is" glares. But it was not to be. Instead, we headed over to the post office and we mailed the damn thing.

Now, it's in the hands of a Higher Power, which is to say, the Post Office (and if you've been following the news and how Fearless Leader is now weaving his magic with them, well...). 

Anyway, now we wait. This is probably the worst part of these kinds of things - the waiting. Waiting for someone, god knows who, to make a decision on whether Sam can, in this case, continue to ride a bus he's already been found to be in need of. 

But for now, at least, and for hopefully for at least three more years, it's done... unless the Post Office or the Bus Company manages to lose it. Then we can to do this all over again. 

I'm sure that would never happen.