A day that was just not the ticket

It was a normal day that began like any other. It did not end that way.

My wife was on her way home from a friend's with a car full of five kids, one ill with chicken pox, when she realised she needed bread. She pulled over at a nearby store and parked. A few minutes later she returned with said bread.

As she fired up the car, a KAT Lada raced up from behind sounding like a surplus T-54 tank. The officer began writing out something and stuck it on her windshield. "What is this?" she inquired. "Anngh," he officer grunted and drove away.

After some time, and the best of her abilities she realized that it was actually a ticket written in an amazing combination of Swahili, Cantonese and ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

When Margie returned home, I knew I was in trouble. "Arrrgh!" "You won't believe what happened to me today!" I cringed inwardly, knowing that I would be in big trouble.

Then the dreaded words came out. "WE are going do deal with this now!" she ranted. "Look, let's just forget about it and do it some other time. I've got too much to do," I replied.

Now when Margie is on a personal crusade of principle there is simply no putting it off. I was trapped. So off to the local obstinata we went, ticket in hand.

Being a veteran of the Bulgarian bureaucracy, I knew that the best alternative was simply not to deal with it at all costs. Yet, with an inflamed wife complete with steam and smoke oozing out of her ears I knew I was trapped.

After standing in line at our local friendly obstinata for 20 minutes or so, and 23 pages later in my book, Margie's turn arrived. She explained in great detail how she just wanted to pay the fine, and how she had parked for only five minutes in a place that was surrounded by other cars without a "no parking sign."

After thoroughly examining the document, the clerk noted; "Look, you can't pay this fine. It is NOT filled out correctly!" Naturally, this would be my wife's fault. This is when I started laughing.

"What do you mean not filled out correctly! I didn't fill it out. KAT did!" Yes, the fur indeed began to fly. Frankly, this is one of the better times in any line. Someone has a problem, voices rise and people get free entertainment while waiting her turn. One must admit that stuff like this is better than any current movies playing. Doesn't cost even one stotinki either. Any other time it would have been all fun and games. But this time it was us.

After the decibel level decreased 20 points, the clerk explained that the officer did not fill in the EGN of the owner of the car and there was no way Margie could pay the fine.

Then she tried the most foolish thing of all. She actually attempted to reason with the clerk. You know that desperation has set in at this point. "Look, I know this is not your fault. But you want the money for the fine, right? Bulgaria needs the money. I want to pay the fine and clear my record. Let's be reasonable. Can't I just pay the fine and you figure out something later? After all, this ticket could say that I was taking a mud bath with a yak in the Gobi desert for all we know, right?"

That's when I knew our goose was cooked. Hell has no fury like my wife on a mission. The answer was a very strong NAY! I left along with my wife. Her face was red, fumes came from her head and she was muttering very strong and unedifying words under her breath that were peeling paint off of the walls.

"We're going to KAT. I WILL pay this fine today!" As effects of method number 2 began to kick in, I went along meekly as a lamb to the slaughter. I could be going to have my head cut off for all I cared now.

On arrival at the Stara Zagora KAT, I was reminded of what prison camps must have looked like back in the 1940s. All that was missing were barbed wire, and surly guards with vicious attack dogs.

Five different buildings and six different clerks later we arrived at a police captain's room. Just as we were about to enter, a very friendly and helpful KAT officer asked us if he could help us. We were stunned and just stood gaping at him open mouth. Drool slowly trickled down our chins.

In my stupor, I nudged my wife and she began the now familiar tale of woe. At the conclusion of her speil, the courteous policeman studied us and mentioned, "You are Americans, aren't you?" At this point I would have agreed if he called me a turnip. "Look, I'll go check this out and get back to you," and he strolled off with our modern day linguistic puzzle. "Hey, let's just cut our losses and go home," I said to Margie with a pleading look in my eyes. We had already wasted nearly four hours of just touring various buildings and offices.

After some period of time, the friendly KAT officer returned with Margie's ticket. "Don't worry," he began. "We WILL find this Ivan Kunchev!" he replied with a firm tone and a smile on his face.

Now this is what you would call your basic failure to communicate. Ivan, my best friend in Bulgaria, did not get the ticket. He actually was working in Germany at the time. Only the car was registered in his name.

As all foreigners know, the XX blue license plate on any vehicle here is equivalent of posting a sign, in Bulgarian, saying: "Steal me, PLEASE!" Thus the registration in innocent Ivan's name.

By now I was on page 174 of my book, Margie had calmed down and Ivan was safely in Germany. Finally, Margie admitted defeat and we drove home.

The fine is still not paid, poor Ivan will probably be arrested and thrown in irons upon his return to Bulgaria, and my wife has almost forgotten about the ticket. Let's just keep it that way, right?

Sounding Board is a weekly guest column for members of Bulgaria's expatriate community to voice their opinions or recount stories from their life in Bulgaria. Submissions should be 700 words, accompanied by a photo, and emailed to editor@sofiaecho.com.