search of the elusive marriage license. But let me tell you - they don't make it easy.Try to google Van Nuys City Hall. You will not get an address. Try to phone Van Nuys City Hall. You will get a recording, if it picks up at all and the recording will not give you the information you need. Like, the address. So we got in the car and just sort of drove toward the general area. We did have an address for the police department which we believed would be in the complex so we put it into GPS and it took us somewhere else. So we drove toward the "big buildings", parked the car and hoped for the best. The picture above shows the complex from the sky. Being on the ground was just as useless.
Immediately after we got out of the car and paid the meter with all the spare change we had in return for an hour, I was pleased to see a map. But the map failed to post the standard "You Are Here" location point and so all we saw were colored blocks for buildings we didn't need, located on streets we couldn't find (Uh - a street sign anyone?) with no idea of where we were in relation to any of it. And NONE of the buildings on the map were labeled "Hall of Records" or even "City Hall". We located Superior Court buildings but every other building name gave not even a hint of what its function was. Except for the library. And I didn't need that. So naturally, I started to lose my mind. Bob had just finished telling me that I was "getting embarrassing" when a nice man (apparently seeing Bob's distress) came up and tried to help us - but as nice as he was, he was as useless as the map. So we just started walking. We walked into a few buildings asking security personnel present in the lobbies where we could find the Hall of Records but no one seemed to have anything other than a vague idea of kind-of-sort-of where it was. Most of them just looked at us as if we were stupid for having asks them. As if to say: "I work in this building. Why would I know anything about any other building? You are interrupting my standing here!" And then I really started to to lose my cool. I began ranting as we walked through the pathways of the complex wondering out loud (out VERY loud) how anyone with a brain could possibly ask why this state is bankrupt. At this point Bob - who started walking a distance away from me mentioned something about the possibility of investigating medical marijuana and then it was over. I was in full nut job mode. Expressing my anger at his very un-funny comment all the way, we decided to go to the tall old building. I looked at it with hope. Maybe, (I hoped) because it was old, old people worked there. Old people know things. We had to walk all four sides of the building before we could find a door that would open to us but sure enough, there was an old guy there. Very pleasant, sitting in an old chair behind an old desk. He knew exactly where to send us, with exact directions. He also knew the physical address of the building and the name on the building: "Los Angeles County Community Services". And he knew this off the top of his head. And he smiled. I love old people.
We got to the one-story brick building and saw a very long line that ran out the door of young people with babies. Security asked us what we were looking for and we said that we needed to get a copy of our marriage certificate. We were directed to the end of the line. Once we moved inside the building and saw that we were in a line for marriage, death, and birth licenses, I started to get irritated that the building was not then, more aptly named freaking "HALL OF RECORDS". "Los Angeles Community Services" seemed to be hiding that fact. And based on the line of people needing various licenses' and the extremely limited number of employees on hand to serve them, I suppose they were.
It became apparent almost immediately that this long line of young people with babies were there to get married. I started to stare at the couples to get a feel of the circumstances. Truthfully, not a joyous observation. The girls were for the most part excited, in a pretty dress and talkative. You got the sense they were relieved - that this was the final element they needed to complete their story-book. The guys looked nervous and anxious. I counted 4 of them who stood waiting with their hands in their pockets as if resigned to what life had just dished out to them. None of them seemed truly unhappy - but none of them looked as if they were gettingtheir storybook ending. I imagined them all to have thought that they had, at some point, found the girl of their dreams only to find that facing a judge with a marriage license gave them an altered view. They seemed to be looking at their soon-to -be wives and thinking: "Oh, I thoughtyou were something else". I felt terribly sorry for all of them.
Of course, who am I? Maybe these were fairy-tale romances. But seeing giddy, under 20, young girls wearing off-white, jersey dresses in well worn heels holding a marriage license in one hand and a screaming baby in the other, standing on line at the Los Angeles County Community Services building at 11:30 a.m. next to a guy staring at the floor doesn't feel right. I found myself praying for them. I took great heart in the one couple - albeit too young - who were there in a wedding gown and tux. No baby in sight. They were singularly out of place but they were clearly both very excited and happy. I wished I had rice.
In line we chatted with a Ukranian woman holding her baby daughter. She was there to get a birth certificate. Seeing Bob must have prompted her conversation about the baby's father being bald. She worried that her daughter might go bald too. I told her this was highly unlikely.
Finally we got to the window. We were separated from a petite Asian woman by a window of thick plexi-glass. The microphone was intermittent and so she spoke very loudly - so loudly that when it did work, I nearly went deaf. I had to keep stepping back and forth from the window in an awkward dance timed around trying to avoid an ear-splitting spasm of sound coming from her end. And invariably I had to ask her to repeat which caused more anxiety knowing that at any second I might be blown out of the room with mind-numbing clatter. But I did learn, with a kind nod of her head - that she was, in fact, able to verify that the wedding license did exist. At this point my blood pressure started to go down. Of course there was a fee involved in getting this information (because hearing loss, I guess was not enough) but trying to make out what she was telling me while trying to be polite ended with me writing three different checks before I got the figure right. I managed to finish my business before my ears started to bleed and all I need to do now is wait 10 business days to receive a copy. And that, by the way, is the expedited service, for which I paid an additional $18.00. The regular wait is 3 to 4 weeks. I am guessing that this license must be buried halfway to hell.
As for the divorce papers? I didn't even go there. If somehow those papers are messed up and I am technically married to two people - I don't want to know. Ignorance is bliss. At least for today. One adventure at government offices at a time please.
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