Galen Kindley and the Evil Notary.
People watching is a great way to find new characters. You’ll encounter quirky, odd, eccentric, and just downright funny characters almost everywhere you go. It’s easy to use their attributes in your work. Who doesn’t like quirky characters?
Well, you might not like them if you actually have to conduct business with one.
Just yesterday, I had to have a document notarized for the sale of my Seattle house…don’t ask. 
The notary, let’s call her Matilda, was for sure, a quirky character. What should have been a two minute drill, was instead five minutes of blood-pressure-elevating annoyance. It went something like this…
“Hi, I’d like to get this document notarized.”
Matilda looks appraisingly over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses . “You a credit union member?”
“You bet.”
“What’s your member number?”
“Uh, sorry, don’t know.”
Matilda casts me a grumpy glare, asks for my social security number…which I thankfully DO know. She fidgets with the key board. “Name?”
“Galen Kindley.”
“Says here Earl Kindley.” Matilda glowers at me with suspicion.
“Sorry. It’s actually Earl Galen Kindley. So, yes, Earl is me. Galen. I’m Earl. That is, I’m Earl Galen…Kindley” I toss her a warm smile. Not sure where it lands. Not near the cold, cold recesses of her heart, that’s for certain.
“Hrmph. Got ID?”
I fumble for my driver’s license. “Here you go.”
Matilda looks at it with acute and abiding interest. She then looks at me. Then, back to the license. “Hrmph.”
“Is there a problem?”
Annoyance and forbearance crosses Matilda’s face, as if she’s dealing with a slow learning child. “Noooo, I simply have to confirm who you are…sir.”
Sir. That one word serves as a declaration. We are officially at war.
“Okay. Is it confirmed?” I ask, more abruptly and annoyed with her officious and snotty attitude.
“Not yet.”
I sag. It strikes me. Matilda holds all the cards. I can swing in the wind for as long as she wants to toy with me. If I strike back, I prolong the agony. I’ve just met a real life Little Hitler. Put that in your book Mr. Writer, I think, and immediately begin to consider today’s blog.
Matilda leaves her desk, goes to a large, beige file cabinet and fumbles through one of the draws. She withdraws a five-by-eight card and returns. She compares the signature on the card with the signature on the license. She pauses, then, puts down the documents and reaches for a pen.
She completes several lines of entry in what looks like a logbook. She asks for the Deed I want notarized. I pass it too her. More entries in her logbook. She asks for the cover letter sent to me by the escrow company. I reluctantly pass her the letter. More entries.
“I want only the deed notarized.”
Matilda shoots me a stare, this time a cross between incredulity and annoyance. “I realize that, Sir. But I need some information from both documents.”
I grimace and nod.
She passes me the deed. “Sign it…please.”
I do so—gladly.
She retrieves the document and again, compares my Deed signature with the license and signature card.
After more entries, she passes me the logbook.
“Sign on the this line.”
I snatch a pen from my shirt pocket and hold it over the place indicated.
“STOP!”
“What?”
“You gotta sign in black ink.”
“Really.”
“Yes, black ink only…sir.” Her tone indicates she wants to add, “You moron,” but does not.
“Good.” I wave the pen about a bit. “It is black,” I reply smugly . A hollow victory.
“Hope so.”
“Well, let’s see.” Before she can stop me I sign…in black ink.
I pass the book to Matilda. She compares my signature with the one on my driver’s license. Apparently satisfied…or not, I can’t tell…she also compares it with the the bank signature card. Then, she compares the license and card with a printout of my signature from the computer.
Now, bear in mind, I’m not asking for money…or anything remotely to do with money. I just want her to confirm, that I’m confirming, that I own this Brackeity, fractistes, Gallresaaffeat house of horrors in Seattle. That’s it. She’s simply to confirm she watched me sign. Period. No exchange of bodily fluids, just a witness that I signed.
Mercifully, (Do I imagine reluctantly?) she reaches for her notary stamp. Officiously, and with too much fanfare, she makes laborious adjustments thereunto. In what was most certainly a calculated bit of drama, she holds the stamp over the document. Then, at the last second, stops and looks at me.
“Do you swear that you are Earl Kindley, and that the information on this document is correct, and that you signed without threat of coercion?”
Now it’s my turn to stare with incredulity. “Lady, are you kidding? I…”
Matilda smiles benignly. “Sir, I have to ask you to swear these things, it’s part of the process.” Her tone and manner remind me of Delores Umbridge, the temporary headmistress at Hogwarts.
“Okay,” I lean forward, adjust my glasses, and squint elaborately at her name tag, “Matilda, think about this. You’ve confirmed who I am five different ways. You saw me sign the document sixty seconds ago…without coercion. As to the information on the document, that’s what my signature means, that it’s correct!”
Matilda affects a sugary sweet tone and disingenuous, angelic expression. She knows she’s won and is savoring the moment. Delores Umbridge reappears. “Sir, if you don’t swear to these things, I can’t notarize the document.” She moves her precious stamp slightly toward the desk drawer. My heart skips a beat. The message is clear. I will kowtow to Delores…er…Matilda, or, chase all over town in 98 degree heat looking for another notary.
I stare at the floor and mumble, “Yes, I swear all the things you just said.”
I expect her to say, “What? I couldn’t heeeeeeaaaaaaar you.” Kinda mean and sarcastic, like the Tac Officers did when I was in flight school. But, she doesn’t.
“Good, thank you…sir.”
With a flourish, she stamps the document. Offering it to me, she says, “Have a nice 
day.”
The battle is over, the war lost….but is it? Might not Matilda appear in one of my novels…or blogs as the Wicked Witch of the Notary Stamp? It could happen. There’s a terrific line in, The Knight’s Tale, where a very young Chaucer says to a tormentor…”I will eviscerate you in fiction.” What a lovely thought.
Themocracy
Great Job observing and recounting a normal daily event that is beyond normal.