Forget the Little Guy

Usually in the City of Chicago, the way to get things done is by finding the employee at a desk in the basement who eats her lunch before a brick wall every day and hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to be human for all the mindless directives she’s given by pompous administrators. This is the lady who has worked so long in the system that she knows it better than anybody else and knows how to help you if you make the appeal that you, too, are getting screwed by the man. She will take pity on you and go to the people who owe her favors and will help you get what you need. She will probably say God Bless You, too.

This is not the way with Westrec.

Maybe it’s the power trip that comes with managing harbors for the third biggest city in the nation. Maybe it’s all the money to be made. Or maybe it’s the fact that more than a few boaters are jerks who have a lot of money and can buy big toys which they don’t know how to operate. Whatever the case, Westrec was not buying the Driver’s License + Vehicle Registration + Insurance Verification we were sending them to prove our residency in this fine city. They weren’t disputing our residence, but they demanded two utility bills to prove it.

We were running into the brick wall these city workers eat their sack lunches in front of everyday. In the late hours of our infuriated head-banging, we had visions of getting a lawyer and suing Westrec for discrimination; we were being discriminated against because we live on a boat and don’t have utility bills.

My Aunt Kathy shook her head, “Just can’t be a non-conformist anywhere anymore,” she said.

Mark can be a little disorganized at times. And while his constant searching for lost items is endearing…and sometimes a little maddening…the good part is that sometimes, his disorganization gives way to the great benefactor called Chance. By Chance, he lost Westrec’s number and did an online search for the company. By Chance, he found the Westrec Head Office in California. By Chance, he called and talked to a nice lady in customer service who said, “What are they making you fax them? Why don’t you send it to me.” By Chance, this nice lady called the Chicago Regional Manager – twice – who finally had his little guy get in touch with us and say, send your lease. So Mark emailed our lease, proving our winter residence, and we haven’t heard anything since.

Sometimes, as in the case with city workers on a power trip, it’s best to go to the top.

And for all parties involved, we are calling this matter closed.